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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296353">CORE</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirstymalfoy/pseuds/thirstymalfoy'>thirstymalfoy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Character Death, Death, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Death Eaters, Elder Wand (Harry Potter), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Good Death Eaters, Mythology References, Near Death, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Self-Harm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Deathly Hallows, Young Death Eaters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:47:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>567,447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirstymalfoy/pseuds/thirstymalfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about dark magic is that it isn't by nature evil. It can be used for good just as well for evil. It is the intention that makes it evil, and it is when curiosity turns into avarice that's it becomes truly dangerous. There is only one power in the world strong enough to allow a person to resist the temptation of and to defeat the Dark Arts: pure love.</p><p>In a constant walk down the line between death and life, Celeste Zabini quickly realizes that the line between death and love is even thinner and blurrier too. Death and love are just as much rivals as friends, and often, one may lead to the other. Celeste and Draco fall in love, but this isn't a love story. This is a story about what might have happened if they both had just a little more love in their lives.</p><p>NOTE: This book has mature themes. It's sexually explicit, contains drug and alcohol use, death, and violence. Also, all the characters are aged up by one year. First years are 12, seventh years are 18.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>837</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. VELVET</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>CELESTE ZABINI<br/></em></strong>
  <strong>
    <em>July 27th, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>"Is it true you know five languages?"</p><p>I glance up at my cousin as he plops down beside me on the plush couch, giving him a mildly amused look. "It is true, actually. Not fluent in all of them, though. Yet."</p><p>"Well, what are they, then?"</p><p>"English, of course, if you couldn't tell," I say dryly, earning a light punch on my shoulder. "A bit of Japanese. A fair amount of Portuguese. I'm mostly fluent in French."</p><p>"What's the fifth language?"</p><p>"Mermish."</p><p>Blaise gives me a look of disbelief as he punches me a little harder on my shoulder. "Hah, hah. Very funny."</p><p>"I'm not kidding," I say with a shrug and a slightly smug look on my face as I look away from him and fold my hands over my lap.</p><p>"Yeah, right. Whatever."</p><p>"It's not my fault I inherited the Zabini gene for greatness, but <em>you</em> didn't," I say with a smug smirk, ignoring the kick I get in my shin as he mutters something about me being an asshole.</p><p>"You've been here for all of two days, and you're already giving me cheek," he grumbles, crossing his arms.</p><p>"What can I say? I've grown comfortable."</p><p>My parents, Corinne and Alaric Zabini, have worked for the Ministry of Magic for all of their adult lives. More specifically, the Department of Mysteries. Their job has sent them all around the world, consequently sending me all around the world. I wasn't even born here. I was three months in my mother's womb when she and Father moved to the United States.<br/>Now that I've begun my fifth year of schooling, they both agreed that I should stay in one place in order to complete my O.W.L.s, and so now we're back where they grew up so that I can attend the same school they did—Hogwarts.</p><p>Blaise is my cousin (Colette Zabini is my mother's sister), and he lives in a manor far too big for just him and his mother, which is why Aunt Colette insisted that my parents and I stay with her for however long we remain here—even if it's forever.</p><p>"Yeah, you were comfortable the last time we met too," he grumbles, giving me a slight glare. "You were only seven, but you had a strong grip on my hair. Gave me a bloody bald spot for a month."</p><p>"It's what you deserved," I say calmly, my smirk growing. "Now you know not to touch my Wizarding Chess set, little cousin."</p><p>"We are one month apart!"</p><p>It's this moment that Aunt Colette strides into the parlor room, her eyes widening when she sees us. "Why aren't you two ready! We have guests coming in thirty minutes!"</p><p>My aunt and my mother are practically carbon copies. They're both known famously for being ridiculously beautiful, with deep, brown, flawless skin, big shiny black eyes framed by long lashes, and kinky black curls that are never out of place. Most think that they're twins, but my mother is in fact three years older. She wears her hair shorter than Aunt Colette does too.</p><p>"Oh, we were just leaving to get ready," Blaise drawls with an eye roll, not shifting a single inch from his leisurely position on the couch.</p><p>"Then get going!" she says with a scowl, before adding sweetly, "You too, Cellie, dear."</p><p>I cringe slightly at the childhood nickname, but I force a smile onto my face as I stand up and brush my hands on my thighs. "Of course. I'll be down soon, Auntie."</p><p>Even in the most down-trodden places on the planet, there will always be found an upper echelon—the elite. In my time in France, the elite were typically those with Veela blood. In Japan, high society was littered with witches and wizards with rare poplar wood wands.</p><p>In London and all of Great Britain, Purebloods consider themselves elite.</p><p>I can't quite say that they're wrong.</p><p>I suppose this dinner party is partially to celebrate my family's arrival. Some of the attendees will be old friends of my parents', and I'm sure they'll enjoy catching. But I am certain that that is also just a guise, a sugar-coated shell to cover the fact that these dinner parties are only ever thrown so that the elite can get in on trade secrets, rub elbows with the right Ministry workers, bribe each other. The works.</p><p>And that's why I am excited. You're never too young to learn what it means to be the best of the best, or at least that's what Mother likes to say.</p><p>I leave Blaise behind to stride down the many vast halls of the manor, passing by portraits of my ancestors and elaborate decor. We're a gold kind of family, favoring both golden decor and golden accessories. Even the staircase shines with gold trims that glint in my eye as I walk carefully up, my hand dragging along the cool railing. As I walk up towards the second floor, my parents begin their descent down the stairs.</p><p>I smile tightly when I see them. As per usual, they look...not perfect together, not completely and utterly in love together, but powerful together. My mother's shirt curls are pulled up into a bun, and she's wearing this long dark green dress made of silk. Her collarbones are covered with a thick necklace that has emeralds embedded in it, and the stones on her rings glint with wealth. When she sees me, she tilts her chin up a little and scans me.</p><p>My father walks just a step behind her. He gives me a small smile when he sees me, making my smile grow a bit too. His skin is darker than my mother's and mine. He's got a big build, towering over most people with broad shoulders and bulky muscles. Even his face is muscular, with a scar running down his jaw that he's still never told me the story about. My father and I don't share very many physical similarities unlike my mother and I. I've always wished I inherited his hazel eyes.</p><p>"Celeste," my mother sighs softly as we pass each other, "I've left a dress on your bed. You'll wear it tonight."</p><p>"Thank you," I say with a smile, choking back a laugh when Father winks at me as they both continue going downstairs.</p><p>"And don't be late. We wouldn't want to set a poor impression on our guests, would we?"</p><p>I nod as I step up into the second floor, standing by the railing to watch my parents disappear from my view before sighing softly and walking off towards my new room. It's a massive manor, the upstairs floor having twisting hallways and nearly a minute walk to reach the guest bed I've claimed for myself.<br/>Stepping inside, I grimace slightly when I see the interior. Honestly, it was the lesser of all evils. It's obvious that Auntie Colette decorated all the bedrooms. Just as she does with men, she has terrible taste in interior design.</p><p>Only difference is that her husbands always seem to die mysteriously (which is why she is always in "mourning" and dressed in black), whereas her foul decorations are eternal.<br/>The walls are painted eggshell, the bed is covered in pink and green pillows and sheets, and there's a massive portrait of sunflowers waving in the wind hung up on the wall.</p><p>I'm going to have to redecorate soon.</p><p>Anyway, I quickly spot the dress. As usual, it's wrapped in brown paper with a little note tied with a string around the center. This is protocol—in the seven times that we've moved, my parents have never failed to shower me with gifts, whether or not I ask for anything. They'll get me the most expensive dresses, tickets to see my favorite artists (though Mother says I have to pay with my money if I want to see Muggles perform), jewelry from all over the world, novels by renowned writers, and even the newest broomsticks for recreational flying.</p><p>I suppose that's their way of making up for having to pick up and move so often. I choose not to tell that that I honestly don't care, because I still want all the expensive things.<br/>But I really couldn't care. It's hard to get attached to things, especially people, when I already know I won't have them for long, so having to move so often is nothing more than just inconvenient for me. I hate packing.</p><p>There isn't a thing in the world that can't be replaced with something even better.</p><p>I untie the note and unfold it, smiling at the familiar scrawl my father always writes in.</p><p>
  <em>My darling Celeste,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I've seen you grow these last sixteen years in so many different countries and manors, seen you adapt to all kinds of situations. But I've never seen you grow in a place we've been able to call home. Let's hope this is the one. Your mother and I love you and are proud of you.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>— Father</em>
</p><p>Setting the note aside, I then pick up the package and carefully tear the brown paper. My eyebrows quirk when I see the material of the dress. It's velvety, a dark shade of green similar to the dress my mother is wearing. Quickly, I pull the dress out and let it unfold before me, smiling in approval when I see it.</p><p>It's simple, but it's perfect. The material looks like it'll mold to me like a second skin, the neckline low, straps thin, and a slit up my left leg. I change out of my clothes and into the dress quickly, finding a pair of heels to match it before putting on a little makeup and making sure my hair isn't all over the place.</p><p>As I look into the mirror, my eyes catch on my necklace, finding the clasp right beside the pendant. I quickly fix it, gently letting the pendant rest between my collarbones. The golden pendant is a locket shaped like a skull, with snakes looping through its eyes. It's empty, though. I've never filled it with pictures. It used to be Mother's, but when I turned twelve, she told me she wanted me to wear it.</p><p>A rumbling purr beside me prompts me to snap my head to the left and grin at the sight of my fat grey cat, Cheeky, glaring up at me with his mean yellow eyes. He then yowls up at me as I crouch down to scratch him behind his ears.</p><p>"How do I look, Cheeks?" I ask quietly, rolling my eyes when he slowly bites down on my thumb, yellow eyes wide as they watch for my reaction. "You're an asshole."</p><p>Cheeky then lets go of my thumb to nip at my heels, hissing slightly as he nearly scratches my foot, pawing at my toes.</p><p>"You're right," I sigh, straightening up and kicking the heels off. "They don't match, do they?"</p><p>So I change into a better pair of heels, scoop Cheeky up into my arms, and I make my way out of my room, cuddling the fat bastard close to my chest as I carefully descend the glossy steps. I guess I took a little too much time, because I see my family greeting some guests at the door.</p><p>My mother gives me a reproachful look when she sees me walking down late, that too with Cheeky in my arms, but I just roll my eyes and set the cat down so he can do whatever the hell he wants. I then slap a smile onto my face as I take the last few steps down, glancing over the guests as I greet them.</p><p>The manor, as big as it is, fills up quickly. There are over a dozen families occupying it, middle-aged coupled with smug faces and their children of varying ages in every nook and cranny of the bottom floor. I mostly stick with Blaise, letting me lead me around while he introduces me to some teenagers that attend Hogwarts.</p><p>He introduces me to a Vincent Crabbe and a Gregory Goyle, both big boys that look like they used to be pudgier and got some muscle through puberty. They both still have baby faces, though, and they sound like grunting oafs when they talk.</p><p>Pansy Parkinson seems alright, though she shrieks very loudly when someone nearly spills their champagne on her dress, and her voice is a little... it's fucking irritating. Other than that, though, the pale, black-haired girl doesn't seem too awful.</p><p>My parents drag me around the manor first, introducing me to their old friends from Hogwarts as well as some upper-levels from the Ministry. One blond-haired man with a walking stick shakes my hand, and when I blink, I'm gripping the hand of a woman wearing large, thick glasses. When they're done showing me off, Blaise steals me away. I lose interest quickly as he has me talk with Slytherin after Slytherin, yawning despite the good night's rest I got last night, my eyes drifting off. There will be plenty of time to get to know all these people at Hogwarts—not that I plan to—but there's only so much time left in this dinner party if I intend to hear something interesting. Who won the House Cup or whatever nonsense Millicent Bulstrode is currently yapping on about doesn't interest me.</p><p>So when Blaise and some blonde girl are busy in conversation, I slip away quietly, a glass of champagne in my hands. I sip on it carefully as I eye the people around me up, wondering if anyone in this manor could hold a decent conversation.</p><p>My eyes land on Aunt Colette first, and I nearly snort out of laughter. She's decked out in a heavy black dress, a sheer veil thrown over her head as though she's attending one of her husbands' funerals yet again. Her sixth husband actually passed recently, about a month ago. The surrounding women don't seem to care how mysteriously her husbands always seem to pass—they look at her with wide, sympathetic eyes as she speaks solemnly.</p><p>Rolling my eyes, I look away to make eye contact with Father. He smiles at me before making a pointed look at the champagne in my hands. Rolling my eyes, I set it down on a random server's tray, seeing him stifle a laugh before turning to paying attention to the conversation he's in the middle of.</p><p>It's a bore. They all look the same—smug men and women in expensive clothing talking about the news, money, Muggle-borns, and politics. Most of what I'm overhearing I could find in the newspapers I get flown in by owls from around the world.</p><p>Fine, then. Perhaps the champagne I hid in my closet will have to make do for sufficient company.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. COFFEE, TEA, AND GREEN APPLES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>draco has a talk with his father !! daddy issues !! yup yup !!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> <strong>DRACO MALFOY<br/></strong></em>
  <strong>
    <em>August 3rd, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Have you thought about what you're doing after school?"</p><p>I freeze slightly, my eyes on the silver knife that's dug halfway through my green apple. I can hear his fingers tapping against the table, so I clear my throat and set the apple and knife down on my plate before looking up to meet his eyes. </p><p>"After I graduate from Hogwarts?" I confirm, watching him flip through the Daily Prophet absentmindedly, as if he isn't paying attention to the conversation. </p><p>"That's right."</p><p>Shifting slightly in my plush chair, I glance to the side at my mother, but she's too busy sipping her coffee and sorting through the rest of our mail to notice our conversation. When I look back at Father, he's peering at me from over his newspaper, a moving image almost distracting me from his cold grey eyes. He then smiles at me stiffly before looking back down to whatever he's reading. </p><p>As distracted as he looks, I know he's not. There's a right answer here. </p><p>"Ministry work, most likely. Maybe international cooperation," I say in a lithe voice, though my chest grows slightly tight as I give my father a wary look. "I'd consider becoming a governor for Hogwarts, like you were."</p><p>"Good. The Ministry ought to be filled with minds like yours," Father days as he licks the tip of his finger to flip a page, then wrinkling his nose up slightly as he adds, "else there will be room to fill with <em> Mudbloods </em>."</p><p>I clear my throat before choking out a humorless laugh, saying, "As if they'd measure up enough to get the job."</p><p>"Please," Father sighs, setting his newspapers down to look me dead in the eye while picking his morning tea up. "They wanted <em> Dumbledore </em> for Minister. You think they wouldn't be foolish enough to appoint Mudbloods?"</p><p>"You're right," I say, picking my apple up once more to continue slicing it. "But that's only if we let them, isn't it?"</p><p>Father's lips curl up into something of a smile. </p><p>"Exactly," he says, reaching across the table to pluck the half-sliced apple from my hands, making my eyebrows rise. "It's always a good idea to have a hand in <em> all </em> matters. I see you have an eye on following my path."</p><p>"No role model like your own father," I say quietly, picking up the half that dropped to my plate. </p><p>"Hm. Then I suppose you have no qualms against following the Dark Lord."</p><p>I freeze once more, my hand tightening slightly as my nails dig into the green skin of the apple. I don't lift my eyes as I say clearly, "Devoutly, too."</p><p>"I'm sure it would... <em> delight </em>him to hear that. He's always looking for new, young followers..."</p><p>I gnaw on the inside of my lip, choosing not to respond as an unsettling feeling makes its way in the pit of my stomach. That always happens when <em> he </em>  comes up as a topic of conversation. It feels like my inner organs are trying to crawl their way up my throat. I cautiously glance up to my father, finding his eyes now scanning the newspaper like he's <em> actually </em> reading it, his back leaning comfortably against his chair rather than straight and stiff like usual. He's even <em> humming </em> slightly under his breath.</p><p>"You're in a good mood," I note, glancing briefly at Mother when I hear the sound of her putting her cup of coffee down on the table. She's alert now, eyes strictly focused on Father.</p><p>"That's because I have good news."</p><p>This time, when I glance at her, Mother is already looking at me and reflecting the expression on my face. Our eyebrows rise slightly as we give each other inquisitive looks, both of us realizing that the other doesn't know what this good news is either.</p><p>"Do you intend to share it with the rest of your family, Lucius?" Mother asks with a slight laugh, her fingertip tracing the rim of her coffee cup as she tilts her head to look at Father, eyes slightly narrowed, her black hair falling to cover up the white locks underneath.</p><p>Father smirks slightly as he flips another page of the newspaper before folding it neatly and setting it down on top of the table, crossing his arms on the edge of the table as he glances between us. A chill seems to pass through the kitchen, and it's odd because there isn't a window open or a fan on. It's a surprisingly mild morning for August.</p><p>"Potter."</p><p>My eyebrows rise instantly as my lips curdle into a disgusted frown at the name of that stupid scar-faced half-blood. "What about him?" I nearly scoff. </p><p>"He's been expelled, of course," Father says casually, a rather proud expression on his face as he picks his newspaper up once more, clearly awaiting our reactions as he pretends to scan the Quidditch section. </p><p>At first it's a shock in my gut, and then it's relief. Thank <em> Merlin </em> I'll be able to spend the rest of years at Hogwarts without that freak of a wizard muddling with everything. Maybe even his stupid little friends will get out of the way without his scar protecting them. </p><p>"Well, suspended," Father then amends himself, making the gleeful joy in my stomach deflate a little, "on the account he's underage. But if the Ministry trial is done right, he'll have his wand rightfully taken away."</p><p>"Good," I say sourly, taking a bite of my half-apple as I glance at my mother smugly. "It's about time."</p><p>"Is this your work?" Mother asks with her thin lips spreading into a faint smile, an odd glaze over her eyes as she admires Father. </p><p>"No, actually," Father says with a dark laugh, "the Potter boy has done it to himself! I only shared a few years with his imbecile father, but it was enough to learn that <em> James </em> Potter was as much as a bloody idiot. I suppose his son has inherited the gene."</p><p>I smirk to myself, finding my hands jittering slightly as my brain wonders with the prospect of spending the year without Scarface, the Mudblood, and the Bloodtraitor nagging me for everything. "What's he done now, then?"</p><p>"Cast a bloody Patronus charm in front of a Muggle boy."</p><p>"Always knew he wasn't right in the head. Scar goes deeper than it looks," I spit with a roll of my eyes, struggling to decide whether I want to scowl at the thought of <em> Potter </em> or grin at the thought of <em> Potter </em> getting expelled.</p><p>Mother clicks her tongue, but she doesn't say anything.</p><p>"Do you really think the Ministry will expel him?" she asks, half her face hidden behind the coffee cup she peers over.</p><p>"<em> I </em> think the Ministry ought to put him in Azkaban, or at least in the psych ward at St. Mungo's," Father scoffs, a dirty look on his face as if the black tea in his hands has offended him, "but the Ministry's brains are filled with <em> sawdust </em> . No matter. Anyone with an ounce of sanity could see that the boy is undeserving of a wand if he's hallucinating <em> Dementors </em> attacking him."</p><p>I have to keep from choking on my bite of apple when I hear Father utter those last few words, earning a disgusted look from him and a concerned look from Mother when I make a strangled noise of surprise and amusement. I've known since third year that Scarface is terrified of the guards at Azkaban, but not to the point where he <em> hallucinates </em> them. Merlin. Maybe the universe wouldn't haven chosen him as the <em> boy who lived </em> if it knew he'd live to be so pathetic.</p><p>"I suppose that doesn't help him out very much, does it?" Mother muses quietly to herself, though I suppose it isn't <em> that </em> quiet if both Father and I pick our heads up to give her mildly confused looks. She just sips on her coffee for a few seconds before looking up and seeing the looks on our faces.</p><p>"Meaning?" I ask.</p><p>"Well," she clears her throat, setting her cup down, "hardly <em> anyone </em> believed him when he shouted that the Dark Lord is back," she says in a slippery voice, the mention making my gut tighten up. "Now <em> nobody </em> will believe him now that he's gone and claimed Dementors attacked him. When have you ever heard of Dementors leaving Azkaban of their <em> own free will? </em>"</p><p>"They don't," I say, choosing to ignore all talk of the Dark Lord. "They don't leave Azkaban on free will. Only the Ministry can relocate them."</p><p>"Are you implying the Ministry sent them after Potter?" Father asks in a voice that's small but so cold and crisp that it cuts through my eardrums.</p><p>"No," I amend quickly, my eyes widening slightly as they dart over to look at him. "Of course not. If anything, I'm affirming that he's just a lying fool."</p><p>Father gives me an odd look from over the bridge of his nose before turning his head to respond to Mother, saying with a slight chuckle, "You're right, Narcissa. I suppose that's <em> double </em> the cause for celebration, then. Only makes our... <em> mission </em> easier, does it not?"</p><p>"Mission?" I ask before I can stop myself, but he ignores me anyway.</p><p>"It's <em> your </em> mission, Lucius," Mother says in a voice so oddly cold and bitter, I can't help but turn my head to frown at her as I watch her get up with her empty mug, an off look on her face. "Not ours."</p><p>Father and I watch Mother walk over to the kitchen and spell her mug clean before hurrying past us and down the hall. Moments later, we hear the taps of her slippers against the staircase, leaving my Father and me to turn our heads to look at each other. </p><p>He's looking at me oddly, and I can't tell if it's a <em> good </em> odd or a <em> bad </em> odd. That's the thing with him. His good moods <em> and </em> his bad moods are short-lived. His mood is constantly changing without warning, and it takes years of experience observing his micro expressions and the inflections of his voice to even <em> begin </em> to <em> suspect </em> when his mood is about to switch, but this is one of those moments where the most I can do is sit in this chair that is suddenly too stiff and try not to appear nervous while he stares me down without uttering a single word.</p><p>The silence feels loud, like a buzzing, slowly growing vibration that might just shatter my bones if one of us doesn't speak up soon. I can practically feel it rattling my skull and splintering my spine, and suddenly I'm not sure if he's not speaking, or if I've just gone deaf and can't hear a thing.</p><p>And then it feels like if I don't start moving, just maybe a twitch of my finger or even a lick of my lips, my bones will not break, but they'll grow <em> stiff </em>. They'll grow stiffer and stiffer until my entire body turns into bone like a statue. I can't move my eyes, because they're glued to his face, watching carefully to see if his lower lip tenses, nostrils flare, or brows furrow.</p><p>And then he clears his throat, and it's almost like a signal that it's okay to move. My hand instantly starts moving towards my mouth, pushing the skin of my apple against my lip, and I take a bite that's way too big.</p><p>"Do you remember that dinner party your mother and I went to a few days ago?" Father asks in a cool voice, his finger tracing the rim of his cup of tea.</p><p>"Of course," I say, furrowing my eyebrows a little. I do remember. I was planning on going—after all, the other Purebloods my age were there, and Blaise Zabini is one of my closest friends—but Father told me to stay behind. I hadn't finished my Charms homework. I suppose it was fair.</p><p>"I met a young woman there, your age," he continues, picking his tea up to take a small sip. "She's a Zabini."</p><p>I frown. Blaise doesn't have any sisters I know of.</p><p>"Your friend's cousin," he clarifies, taking another sip.</p><p>My eyebrows ease slightly. I think I recall Blaise talking about some relatives he has across the pond. "Don't they live in the States? What were they doing at the dinner party?"</p><p>"They've moved here. And, last I heard, they were in <em>France</em>, not the States."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"Celeste, that's her name," Father muses, eyeing new up slightly. "About to be a fifth-year at Hogwarts with you."</p><p>"I see."</p><p>"And I expect you to keep good relations with her."</p><p>I frown again. "Why wouldn't I?"</p><p>"You will," he says simply. "Good relations are important, Draco, as you must know. Even the smallest poor interaction during your school years can shape your decisions to come. As you know, there are only so many of us left with pure, worthy blood. I hope you are thinking about your future, Draco."</p><p>"Always, Father."</p><p>"And not just your career. When I pass, this manor, this Malfoy legacy, all of it goes to you. And when you pass, it better go to a worthy heir."</p><p>I swallow thickly, all joy from the news of Potter's maybe-expulsion fading away into an unsettling feeling. </p><p>"You know you'll be marrying soon after school, don't you? Just as every esteemed Malfoy has done before you."</p><p>"Right," I say quietly, my throat going dry. </p><p>"There are only so many girls."</p><p>"Might I be blatant?"</p><p>"I value honesty. Go on."</p><p>"Have you already arranged a marriage for me with her?" I ask, cringing slightly when my voice that started off so strong fades away into a feeble, hoarse murmur. The prospect of the future has always unsettled me, because in the last few years, I've lost a bit of my naivety. Maybe all of it. And the future has gone from full of excitement to...not bleak, nor dreary, but dreadful. And anything involving the future, even the things that <em> should </em> excite me, make me feel as though I might spew all the contents of my stomach. </p><p>"No."</p><p>"With anyone?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>I deflate with relief, but only a little. </p><p>"Not yet, of course," he continues with a soft sigh, rubbing his temples before giving me a stern look. "You'll have a bit more time than your mother and I did, I suppose, just to settle your bearings. And then, after that, we'll go about finding you a suitable match. Of course, I can't do any of that until I know their scores on the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. I will not have the mother of my future grandson be an <em> idiot </em>."</p><p>I nearly choke on my spit. "O-Of course."</p><p>"Don't stutter, boy, it makes you sound mentally incompetent."</p><p>I don't respond. </p><p>"All the other girls aren't so promising, are they?" he continues without missing a beat, taking the last sip of his tea and admiring what's left at the bottom of the cup. "The Bulstrode girl is failing all her classes but Transfiguration. Parkinson... well, I don't know how <em> she </em>is doing, but her father is a bloody idiot, and I won't stand to be even remotely related to him. You're good friends with her, though, so at least we know you won't murder each other within the first week. Of course, there are the Greengrass girls. Relatively bright, so we can't cancel them out just yet. What do you think?"</p><p>"Erm..."</p><p>"And they don't look as though they've had their skulls bashed in, either, so that's a positive."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>"Do you want to get married, Draco?"</p><p>My eyes widen slightly as my fingers dig so hard into my fruit that the juices start to spill down to my knuckles. I then clear my throat, swallow thickly, and force the startled expression off my face before Father can, though my heart is still beating so fast and hard, I'm afraid it might just jump out of my throat. </p><p>"I don't know, sir," I say truthfully, squinting slightly as I watch his face react. </p><p>He smiles. </p><p>"I didn't want to get married when I was your age," he says, flicking blonde hair off his shoulder. "I didn't want to get married nearly up until I <em> did </em> get married. Didn't want a family, none of that."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>He then stands up abruptly, placing his tea cup down with a thud and slamming his palms down on the surface of the table to lean forward, making me drip the green fruit onto my plate in surprise as his face morphs quickly from mild amusement to stern anger. </p><p>"But as Malfoy men, we have obligations. We have obligations to wizardkind. It would be selfish to deprive the world of one of the last pure bloodlines," he hisses, the black tea wafting off his breath like tendrils, reaching all the way down my throat, and grabbing my stomach to wring it out. "Don't you agree?"</p><p>"I agree," I say quickly, feeling his hand wrap around my throat even when it's resting flat on the table. "You're right."</p><p>"It doesn't matter if you want it, son," he then says in a softer voice, straightening up and adjusting the collar of his shirt with his lips in a firm line. "Your future is set. But isn't it comforting, in a way? To have your future set? You don't have to worry about what you'll do," he says with a slight smile, then narrowing his eyebrows at me as his eyes go cold, "only that you do it right."</p><p>"And I will," I say firmly, slipping my hands under the table to press them against my thighs. </p><p>"Of course you will. Now, Celeste is a smart girl. Her family is well-known, powerful, wealthy. We don't have to worry about your marriage with a girl for years to come, but good relations matter for more than that. Her family could be promising in many other ways. I don't want any trouble," he says calmly. </p><p>"I won't be causing trouble, Father," I say with slight confusion, wondering why I have to promise to be civil to a girl I've never met and know nothing about except who her cousin is and that she isn't from here. </p><p>"I know you won't. Just a little reminder of what's on the line if you ever decide to act out," he chuckles lowly. "And what's on the line, of course, is our name."</p><p>"I'd never do anything to tarnish it," I say firmly, and for some reason, those are the only words that have left my mouth this morning that don't feel like lies. </p><p>"I've raised you right, that's why. You've hardly eaten," he notes, grey eyes piercing at my plate. </p><p>I tilt my bead down to stare blankly at the halved apple. It's been sitting in my plate or in my hand for so long while I've been reacting to everything around me that it's already started browning slightly near the skin. I pick it up and take another bite out of it, tasting nothing at all as I look back up at Father. </p><p>"Eat," he urges.</p><p>"Yes, Father."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: who is your favorite marauder and why?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. KNOCKTURN ALLEY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>miss celeste goes to diagon alley and meets the ferret yup yup</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>August 16th, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>I've never before said this in my life, but I have <em> way </em> too much money with me right now. </p><p>Allow me to clarify—I'm currently in what Blaise calls Diagon Alley, a cobblestoned shopping area just <em> full </em> to the brim with bustling witches and wizards that remind me of New Yorkers, moving with purpose, not bothering to glance whenever our shoulders bang together. Every time I walk, my satchel bangs against my thigh with a great and honestly painful thud, the coins probably bruising me through the thin material of both the satchel and my skirt. </p><p>The thing is, the books we use back in Ilvermorny are all different from the ones that I need to get for Hogwarts, which means that I have to buy <em> far </em> more things than Blaise and any other fifth year does, which in turn means that I'm being weighed down by more money than any sane person, rich or not, should ever carry on their bodies. </p><p>Blaise, the asshole that he is, ditched me long back to splurge in a sweet shop, telling me, "I'm sure you'll find your way!" and "Get me a copy of the books I need, won't you?" without even telling me which store I'm even supposed to be in. </p><p>I do end up finding my way to a store called Flourish and Blotts, nearly tripping over a stray cat as I struggle through the thick hordes to get through the front door. Once I'm in, however, I'm taken aback by the sheer amount of books; the walls are composed entirely of bookshelves, filled head-to-toe with books the size of boulders and books the size of thimbles. They float in and out of shelves magically, finding their way to whoever is looking for them rather than customers having to look for the books themselves. </p><p>So, quicker then I expected, I'm in line to purchase a great deal of books. In my arms I struggle to carry two copies of <em> The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, </em> two copies of <em> Defensive Magical Theory </em> , a very large copy of <em> Intermediate Transfiguration </em> , an even larger copy of <em> Intermediate Potion-Making </em> , a surprisingly thin <em> History of Magic </em> (though upon opening it, I realize it's been spelled to hold far more content than it looks like), <em> One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi </em> , a copy of <em> Unfogging the Feature </em> that feels like it's made of clouds, <em> The Dream Oracle </em> , and, lastly, <em> Care of Magical Creatures </em>. It nearly bit my finger off. </p><p>My satchel feels considerably lighter when I walk out of Flourish and Blotts holding a tote I purchased that's giving me a bit of a workout from all the heavy textbooks, muttering curses under my breath. I swear, as soon as I find Blaise, I'm gonna give him hell. </p><p>But, sadly, I'm not quite done with my shopping. </p><p>It's another hour or so before I am, because I have to scramble to get a new uniform, as my old Ilvermorny one surely won't do. After being measured, I get my three sets of robes, winter cloak, dragon-hide gloves, and a new hat (Cheeky took a fat shit in my old one. The smell didn't go away even after three washes). I get a new cauldron too, just because I can, before I'm off walking down the cobblestone pathways of Diagon Alley, pretending to know what I'm doing and where I'm going with my long and confident strides. If anyone could read my mind, though, they'd realize I'm confused beyond anything, wondering if I'm going in circles, because didn't I pass Eeylops Owl Emporium three times already?</p><p>I pass by several street peddlers and vendors trying to sell me <em> enchanted eggplant </em>and roasted chestnuts, though I mostly just throw them the dirtiest looks I can muster when they get too close, raising my heavy tote close to my chest ready to swing if one more person shoves a toad's peel in my face. </p><p>I'm about to enter Twilfitt and Tatting's, a rather nice-looking clothing shop, when my eyes catch on something a bit more interesting.</p><p>A little ways across the alley is an entrance to another alley. The witches and wizards that bustle about around me seem to unconsciously stay away from it, curving their paths when they reach the mouth of the alley, making the traffic only that much worse. I purse my lips, tilting my head as I take a step back to let a woman that smells like she's on the brink of death pass by me, but I'm far too interested in what exactly lies in that alley to even scrunch my nose up in disgust. </p><p>My body moves almost unconsciously, turning and contorting to swiftly move through the clouds, hardly bumping into anyone (though my tote swings freely, hitting someone in the back of their knees) as I make my way across the cobblestone, squinting as I approach the alley and see a street sign. The sign is faded and crooked, but I can easily read that it says, "Knockturn Alley."</p><p>It's a little odd. It's a sunny summer day, not a single cloud in the sky to obstruct the obnoxiously white sun that glares down on my head and makes my black hair heat up a bit. I can hardly lift my eyes past the horizon if I want to keep my vision intact. It's a bright day, and yet there's almost a cloud of darkness creeping from Knockturn Alley. From what I can see, the buildings are all grey and practically crumbling, and the very few pedestrians that roam outside the shops make me shiver with the creeps. Still, I find myself unconsciously leaning forward, curious to see what I might find in here. </p><p>I clutch my satchel and tote closer to me, my hand slipping into the pocket of my jacket to grip my wand as I take my first few tentative steps forward, the noise of all the chattering and walking people instantly decreasing when I step into Knockturn Alley. A smell hits me, making me crinkle my nose in disgust as I continue walking down the ragged cobblestone path. It's absolutely putrid, like burnt flesh combined with human feces, and I'm scared its going to permeate my hair.</p><p>I nearly trip as I walk. Half the stones are turned over by tree roots and moss growing between the cracks, and they're crumbled to pieces that make me glad I'm not wearing heels today. I wrap my arms around myself, mostly breathing out of my mouth as I walk in a meandering path to avoid as many of the creepy people hanging out beside the glooming buildings and shops. </p><p>It's a lot bigger than it looks from its entrance off of Diagon Alley. There's smaller pathways trailing off of it and cramped stairs that lead to who knows where. I don't diverge from the main path, though, because something tells me I'd get lost if I did.</p><p>"Hello, pretty," a man calls out from across the street.</p><p>I glance over at him, scowling on command as my spine straightens and strides grow quicker and longer. The man grins at me, revealing all his missing teeth. The remaining ones are stained yellow and brown, making my stomach gurgle a little bit,</p><p>My attention then goes to the store windows as I pass them by, and the uneasiness that comes with this place fades away to be replaced by a growing curiosity for what lays in these stores, the things I might do with them. I pass by a beard-trimming shop, eyebrows lifting when I spot several blood stains on the windows. Dystyl Phaelanges has all sorts of bones laid out on dusty velvet pillows, from human to hippogriff. Some of the skulls look mutated, making my gut twist a bit. Noggin and Bonce proudly displays shrunken heads, all of which swivel to watch me as I pass by, one cracking a great bit grin at me before shrieking at a pitch so high, I hear a glass shatter somewhere further ahead.</p><p>A shop called The Spiny Serpent makes me slow my stride until I'm standing before it, head craned up to take it all in. It doesn't look all that different from the other shops, but I find myself unable to walk away from it—not before figuring out what exactly is in there, at least.</p><p>It's got a small wooden door with a great big black knocker on it in the shape of, naturally, a serpent. I lean in a little to see green gems placed in the serpent's eyes, gleaming at me almost challengingly. </p><p>My hand moves by itself to grab the handle and pull the door open, but it grasps at nothing. I frown, looking down to see that sure enough, the door doesn't have a handle. So I push on it lightly, but it barely budges. Despite the lack of a sign reading <em> CLOSED, </em>the door seems to be locked. So then I pick up the black knocker, thudding it against the wood three times before waiting.</p><p>I lean in, craning my ears to listen closely. Behind the door I hear the sound of footsteps on creaking wood, so I step back and wait for the door to open. It doesn't open, but a slight movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. I turn my head to see a curtain behind the display cases moving a little, making eye contact with one singular orange eye (yes, <em> pumpkin orange </em>, which I didn't know is even a possible eye color). As soon as our gazes meet, however, whoever it is instantly pulls the dark purple curtains shut again, and the footsteps retreat.</p><p>A slightly scowl on my face, I step away from the door and towards the display case, trying stupidly enough to look past the purple curtains. Sighing when nobody comes back, my eyes go to what is being displayed, an eyebrow quirking in confusion. There's three great big vases, much taller than I am, just sitting behind the glass. No velvet pillow, no other decor, just three simple ceramic vases. Not even a plaque reading what makes them so special.</p><p>So I sigh and give up—which I don't do very easily. Normally, I'd probably stay a bit longer, bang on the doors and windows and shout to be let in. What's even in there that's so special? But I'm <em> tired </em>and I'm hungry, and I should really go find Blaise now.</p><p>But right as I turn on my heel to leave the way I came, I hear the jangle of a shop door opening. I glance over my shoulder to see two figures stepping out of a shop called Potage's Cauldron Shop and heading across the street towards a set of stairs.</p><p>My eyebrows rise when I recognize the taller of the two. He's a man with long white-blond hair to the middle of his arm, silver eyes that nearly blend in with the whites of his eyes, and a snake's head walking stick that taps against the loose cobblestones.</p><p>"Mr. Malfoy?" I call out inquisitively, smiling slightly as I turn back around and push my curly hair out of my face.</p><p>The two figures instantly stop walking and turn their heads to look at me. Lucius Malfoy looks a bit startled, but when his icy eyes land on me, a stiff smile finds his way to his thin lips. He then glances over his shoulder to someone who's mostly hidden behind his figure before taking a few short steps towards me, saying, "Why, Celeste, what are you doing here?"</p><p>"Oh, just some light shopping," I say with a quirk of my brow, lifting my heavy tote up with a stifled grunt. "It's <em> ridiculous </em> how many books they're having me buy. I doubt I can even fit them all into my trunk."</p><p>I met Mr. Malfoy at that party we had at the Zabini manor. He definitely struck me as <em> interesting </em> . When I found him, his nose was practically turned up at all the adults by him, and he looked around as if he knew something nobody else didn't, like he's more <em> important </em> than everyone. When I struck up conversation with him, he was a little surprised by how, in his own words, "bold" I was, but then he said—</p><p>"It's been a while since I've had a decent conversation with someone your age. Gives me a bit of faith that maybe the future of the world is in good hands."</p><p>"Ah, well, Draco here only had to purchase two today, lucky for him," he drawls as he steps aside to gesture to the figure behind him. </p><p>I tilt my head a little to get a better look, my eyebrows unintentionally twitching when I see what looks like a younger and far more handsome version of Lucius Malfoy. He's rather tall for someone I presume is my age, definitely at least 6'0. His hair is just as white as his father's, falling loose over his face, and his face is pale too. His cheeks are slightly pink in the hollows beneath his cheekbones, making him look cold despite the blistering weather. His eyes are nearly silver, though they have a bit of a summer-blue hint in them.</p><p>He's preoccupied with getting a button from his shirt unstuck from his bag, a slight scowl on his face. Once it's freed, however, he finally looks up at me. I don't miss the way his eyes scan me a bit before a small smirk flits across his lips.</p><p>"I'm Draco," he says, stepping forward with his father watching carefully from behind as he sticks a hand out for me to shake. "Draco Malfoy. Celeste, is it?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's ur wand core + wood?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>just a lil interaction btwn cel and draco thats whats up</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>September 1st, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>My interaction with Celeste was short.</p><p>We shook hands, exchanged names, and made some useless small talk that I honestly can't remember the content of now just a few weeks later. I hate small talk—it's empty and stupid and hollow, and yet every interaction I've been having with anyone these last few years has felt empty and stupid and hollow whether it was small talk or not. People have all these great expectations, good or bad, and they only ever talk to each other with the intention of getting something out of it under the guise of politeness.</p><p>I definitely see the resemblance to Blaise. They have the same high cheekbones, posture, deep and dark complexion. Even their eyes are similar, though Celeste's are bigger and more expressive. There's something to her, though, that I can't quite define. And it's unnerving, this indefinable quality, off-putting even. She did nothing but smile graciously and laugh whole-heartedly at my father's subpar jokes in the five minutes we spent together on that street in Knockturn Alley, but there was something about her that had me at edge. Maybe the fact that her gracious smiles are somehow at the same time <em>malicious</em>, and she has the laugh of a cruel god and a chorus of angels. And her necklace. It's the Dark Mark, of course, and it's brave of her to be wearing it so proudly around her neck after what happened last summer—though she's American, so maybe she doesn't know about what happened at the World Cup.</p><p>No. This isn't some oblivious girl. She knows. Doesn't make it any less foolish, though.</p><p>Our interaction was short, but I can't get that golden skull with the snakes through it's eyes out of my head, or the way her coiling black curls resemble a head of snakes, or how her bright brown eyes are so sweet but stony.</p><p>Something about her draws me in, though I'm<br/>not sure if that's in a good way or not.</p><p>"Where's your badge?" Mother asks, snapping me out of my staring stupid across the platform at some bright-faced and snotty first years hugging their parents goodbye.</p><p>"Hmm?"</p><p>"Your badge," Mother repeats, quirking an eyebrow at me as she brushes invisible dust off of my shoulders. "The Prefect badge."</p><p>"Oh," my eyebrows rise as I pat at my pockets, digging into them to procure one shiny green and silvery badge reading <em>Prefect</em> in large font. "Nearly forgot about that."</p><p>Mother takes the pin from me and smiles slightly to herself as she carefully fastens it to my robes. I smile back at her, my stiff shoulders relaxing a little bit as she straightens the tiny piece of metal. Mother has looked so stressed out this entire summer. She's beautiful, and I'll always think that, but I've noticed more and more stress lines appearing over her eyebrows and her lips perpetually curved down. She's been sleeping longer hours and waking up even more tired than before.</p><p>But right now she looks serene standing here making sure there isn't a single hair out of place on my head, or that my tie isn't crooked, or that my pin hasn't collected any dust. She's smiling, even if only a bit, and she doesn't look so tired. It's a little embarrassing having her fix the part in my hair, but I let her, knowing Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't dare have the audacity to make fun of me for later.</p><p>"Narcissa, you'll make the boy miss the train if you keep fussing over him," Father sighs from behind, his voice like a crisp blast of cold air that has me straightening my spine again.</p><p>Mother's smile drops for half a second before it grows even larger. She cups my face in one hand before wrapping me into a tight hug, making me bury my face in her shoulder to hide the smile that breaks out in my own face. I see Blaise from across the platform hiding his snickers behind his hand, but I just shoot him a glare before patting Mother's back to let me go.</p><p>Once I board the train, I'm off to the Prefects' Compartment before I even think about finding a compartment with my friends. They'll save a seat for me in our usual compartment—but first, I need to attend this meeting and confirm a suspicion of mine.</p><p>So as the train lurches and slowly begins chugging down the tracks, the platform receding with parents waving at the windows, I walk on towards the end of the train, ignoring all the people I pass that stare at the badge on my robes. The stairs only make my smirk grow and strides stronger—being a Prefect means <em>so</em> many things this year, including making sure that idiot Potter doesn't go around riding his high horse, and proving myself to Father. And maybe intimidating the new first years. That's always a plus.</p><p>—</p><p>Hermione Granger is a prefect.</p><p>But of <em>course</em> she is. The stuck-up little Gryffindor is always kissing our professors' asses, her face buried in a new book every time I see her. Honestly, it's like she doesn't have a life. If she isn't reading some stupid textbook, she's with those other idiots Potter and Weasley.</p><p>Oh, Merlin. <em>Weasley</em>. How did Ron Weasley of all people become <em>Prefect?</em> He's as incompetent a blood traitor as I've ever met one. It's an insult, honestly, to know I've been given the same position as the ruddy ginger.</p><p>But Hermione Granger.</p><p>I groan to myself as I walk down the train, twisting and turning to avoid bumping into all the stupid third hears that have for some reason decided that they're too damn <em>cool</em> to sit in compartments and therefore must huddle in groups in the walking space. Hermione-fucking-Granger, the muggleborn brown-noser, the stupid <em>Mudblood</em>, is a Prefect, and I can't get that out of my head.</p><p>Honestly, I don't even like her personality. She's stuck up. She thinks she's better than everybody, and she hasn't got much of a life outside of doing her homework two weeks in advance and stressing everyone else out by her constant talk of the O.W.L.s. I hate her, I <em>do</em>, especially because she's constantly around the blood-traitor and scar-head.</p><p>But I've had this stupid, nagging crush on her since first year.</p><p>It's not a serious crush or anything, thankfully, or otherwise I probably would've killed myself out of shame or something. I've dated girls without a single thought of her, but then she's just always there at the back of my head. I don't even like her, so why do I like her?</p><p>"Oh!"</p><p>"Fuck," I curse as I stumble backwards and nearly crash into a stupid Ravenclaw third year, throwing her a dirty looking before raising my hand to rub my chest where something crashed into it. It doesn't hurt so bad, but there's a dull ache that makes me shoot a nasty glare at whoever it is to blame.</p><p>And there they are. Those very eyes—like two steel bullets that someone poured honey over. They're big and wide in mild concern, glowing despite the unflattering yellow lighting above, and so warm and brown. Yet I can see an odd glint behind them.</p><p>"Celeste," I chuckle softly, dropping my hand from my chest and taking a step forward towards her <em>right </em>as the Express takes a big lurch, making me stumble once more in her direction. My eyes widen as I nearly crash into her, but she holds her hands up and presses them against my chest as she too stumbles backwards and presses against the door to the ladies' restroom.</p><p>"Ow," she groans as we steady, scowling as one hand goes up to rub her forehead from, what I assume, bumping into me and the other goes to her back where the door handle nearly stabs her. "Hi, Draco. Do you always greet people by running into them?"</p><p>I quirk an eyebrow, straightening up and lifting my hands so I can fix my cuffs at my wrist. "Aren't you the one who head-butted me in the chest? I preferred our handshake back on Knockturn Alley, no offense."</p><p>Celeste laughs lowly, shaking her head as she gives me an incredulous look while standing up straighter. She turns her chin up with a defiant expression on her face as she does so, coming up to just about my shoulder, making me smirk slightly. She smirks right back at me, saying—</p><p>"I didn't <em>head-butt</em> you, you just weren't watching where you were going."</p><p>I laugh slightly. "Yeah, I see you weren't head-butting me. You'd have had to been on your toes for that."</p><p>Celeste gives me an incredulous look—she tilts her head and quirks an eyebrow, her lips twitching slightly as she tries very obviously not to smile. "Really?" she asks scornfully. "<em>Height</em> jokes? Is that all you have?"</p><p>I raise my eyebrows at her, leaning forward to rest a palm flat against the door near her head. My eyes them drop from hers to her neck where I can see a delicate gold chain, the pendant hidden smartly underneath her clothes. "I like your necklace," I say nonchalantly, lifting my other hand to pick up the chain between my thumb and forefinger.</p><p>"It's a locket," she says simply, a mischievous drawl in her voice. "How do you know what it looks like?"</p><p>"Well it's hard to forget what the Dark Mark looks like, isn't it?" I lower my voice to a subtle whisper, a smirk spreading across my lips as a short laugh leaves her lips.</p><p>"It's not supposed to be the Dark Mark," Celeste shrugs, taking my hand in hers and promptly plucking it off of her neck, making me bite down on my cheek to suppress a grin because she has such a bored yet somehow still amused look on her face. "Or at least that's what Mother likes to say."</p><p>I let my hand drop to my side as I push off the wall to stand up straight once more, giving Celeste a quick scan up and down. She's wearing the same blank, all-black robes that the first years wear, bewitched to transform into the proper colors as soon as they're sorted. Of course, hers will be green. Why would she be anything but Slytherin?</p><p>"Are you done admiring me?" My eyes snap up to look at her when those words leave her lips, seeing the smug smirk that lights up her face as she hits her chin out a bit. I roll my eyes. "If you're done, why don't we go sit down before you fall on top of me again?"</p><p>"You're a bit annoying, you know," I say with a soft sigh and small smile, flicking a strand of her curly hair out of her face before turning to continue walking down the train, expecting her to follow.</p><p>"Am I? I was thinking the same about you."</p><p>—</p><p>"Honestly, if you don't pick up the pace, I won't hesitate to leave you all here to fend for yourselves," I scoff over my shoulder to all the little first years that jog after me. I know I'm tall, my legs are long, but my strides can't be <em>that</em> quick that these twelve year olds can't keep up. "There was a troll loose my first year here, you know. They tend to pick on first years!"</p><p>That, sure enough, leads to the sound of footsteps speeding up a bit.</p><p>Next to me, Pansy laughs in response, throwing her black hair over her shoulder as she adds, "Don't worry, they only go after Gryffindors! I suppose even trolls are smart enough to know that Gryffindors are the stupidest."</p><p>"Good thing I'm not a Gryffindor then, isn't it?" I hear a voice laugh from behind me, prompting me to glance over my shoulder to see Celeste keeping close behind. She catches me eye and sends me a quick wink that makes me stifle a laugh and look back forward, ignoring the way Pansy gives me an odd look.</p><p>"Good thing," I mutter to myself as we descend the steps to the dungeons, the echoes of pounding footsteps on the stone making me grimace slightly as they practically ricochet off the walls and shoot like bullets straight into my eardrums. I can feel the temperature drop several degrees as we all move down, Pansy's shouting voice echoing as she warns the first years (and Celeste) not to step on the second to last step (it opens up a trapdoor that's honestly a pain to haul little twelve-year-olds out of).</p><p>"Our Head of House, Professor Severus Snape, is right near by," Pansy continues, gasping when she slips on a narrow step and nearly tumbled all the way down. I grab her by her arm, seeing her turn to me with a shocked expression illuminated only by the dim green lamps that sway on creaky chains above us. "Thanks—anyway, the door to his office is right next to the door to our common room."</p><p>"Don't go knocking at three in the morning, though," I add, letting go of Pansy's arm to brush my hand off on my robes. "He doesn't quite like that."</p><p>I hear a low chuckle behind me. Celeste leans forward to brush her hand against my arm so lightly, but still I startle a little bit as she whispers near my ear, "Sounds like you know from experience."</p><p>I bite my lip before whispering back, "He wears a nightcap."</p><p>"Oh, my G—he's the guy with the ugly hair and sour face, right?" she whispers excitedly, her hand now grasping my sleeve tightly.</p><p>I choke back a laugh. I admire Professor Snape, I really do. He's one of the only adults here at Hogwarts that aren't full of absolute shit, and he's bloody brilliant at Potions, which he teaches, and just about everything else. Still, though, he isn't exactly a sight for sore eyes. He could use a better shampoo.</p><p>"That's the one. Now shut up. I can't be laughing if I want the first years intimidated by me," I joke lowly, looking over my shoulder to see Celeste rolling her eyes—or maybe she's glaring. It's hard to tell with the poor lighting.</p><p>"Intimidated by <em>you</em>? Please."</p><p>I quirk a brow and open my mouth, ready to question just <em>what</em> she finds so funny and amusing, but Pansy's voice comes first.</p><p>"Remember to skip the second step! I don't feel like calling Madame Pomphrey because another first year has twisted their ankle."</p><p>Celeste lets go of my sleeve as I jump the last few steps to land on the stone floor with a bit of a thud, straightening up instantly and swiveling in my step to see all the first years tumbling over each other as they come to an abrupt stop, one first year teetering on a narrow step as he tries desperately not to step n the second step. I brush off my robes before flicking a stray strand of my hair off my forehead, glaring slightly as I look over the tiny twelve-year-olds. They look back at Pansy and me with wide eyes, making me smirk slightly. My eyes then land on Celeste, towering over the rest rather comically. I'd be embarrassed to be her, but she seems perfectly natural, leaning against a wall of the narrow staircase with her arms crossed and an amused look on her face.</p><p>"Now," I sigh softly, my voice echoing back to me despite how quietly I speak because the fifteen or so first years have finally quieted down, "the password will be changing every fortnight. Don't come asking me what it is, because a notice will be posted right there—" All eyes go to the little cork board posted next to the staircase, "—on the thirteenth night, and I'm gonna get really annoyed if you come ask me something you can see for yourself."</p><p>"Ooh, scary," Celeste mumbles quietly so only really I can hear it. I shoot her a glare. She gives me a winning smile.</p><p>"Anyway," Pansy continues, "the password for the next two weeks will be <em>ostium</em>."</p><p>Right as the word leaves her lips, the sound of crumbling and moving stone reaches our ears. I turn to watch the barren stone wall shift, pieces of stone jutting out of the wall to form the shape of several little serpents before the wall itself moves forward a few inches and all the way to the left. The sound is rather quiet for such a heavy piece of stone, akin to shoes scraping against gravel. When it goes still, it reveals the big opening to the common room.</p><p>I chuckle softly at all the astonished whispers and excited mumbling behind me as Pansy and I walk forward into the common room, what sounds like a thousand footsteps following after us. I sigh in relief when I don't hear the telltale shout of a student falling into a dark pit. I do hear the stone door rolling back into place when they all walk in behind us, turning around to watch it blend back into the wall.</p><p>"Curfew is ten," I sigh as I watch them slowly spread out around the empty common room—the older students should be coming any minute now—and ogle at the sights. "You're expected time be back here by then every day. You're supposed to be in bed too, by ten, but nobody really gives a fuck as long as you're not too loud."</p><p>A first year gasps at my language, making me whim my head to see wide eyes staring at me in mild shock. They then giggle discreetly to each other, making me roll my eyes to myself.</p><p>"Careful," I hear a silky, coy voice say from behind, "you don't want to scandalize them."</p><p>"You're talkative, aren't you?" I say, not having to turn around to know that it's Celeste smirking at the back of my head. She walks around me to face me instead, her hand working at loosening the tie at her neck. "It's distracting."</p><p>"Get used to it," she laughs slightly, looking up at the round green lanterns hanging by chains from the ceiling. The whole room has a green glow because of the lanterns and the great big windows on all the walls that give perfect views into the bottom of the Black Lake. "I don't shut up quite easily."</p><p>"Really?" I muse, tilting my head as she looks back at me. "I can think of a few good ways to shut your mouth."</p><p>"Oh!" she laughs dryly, crossing her arms below her chest and resting her weight on one leg. "So you're <em>funny</em>, huh?"</p><p>"I think I have a good sense of humor."</p><p>"Really?" she grins. "Blaise tells me he only laughs so he doesn't hurt your feelings."</p><p>"Blaise is a bloody idiot," I say, my lips twitching as I try not to grin, "though that sounds exactly like something he'd say."</p><p>"It does, doesn't it? What'd you think of that lady in pink, by the way?" she then sighs, her eyes trailing off to observe a first year behind me that's opening all the cupboards to see what's in them. "The one with the whole speech and annoying voice? What'd she call herself? Umbrella?"</p><p>"<em>Umbridge</em>," I correct her with a roll of my eyes. "Professor Umbridge." Father told me about her a week ago. He was rather disappointed to tell me that, unfortunately, Potter has not been expelled from Hogwarts as any sane witch or wizard would have him. However, the incident was enough to make the Ministry realize what a shoddy headmaster Dumbledore is, and maybe it isn't wise to leave him to take of a bunch of underage witches and wizards when he's insane enough to back scar-face in the claim that <em>dementors</em> attacked him in a Muggle community. Not to mention the whole Dark Lord being back thing. Of course he's back. But why should anyone believe that? "She's alright, I guess."</p><p>"Really? She gets on my nerves."</p><p>"Oh?" I ask, quirking a brow at her as I stand up a little straighter. "Do you disagree with what she said?"</p><p>"I mean, I don't really know enough about Hogwarts to say whether it's going <em>downhill</em> or not," Celeste sighs softly. "But it's obvious why the Ministry is interfering, you know, to quell rumors," she adds nonchalantly, "which is probably a good thing for us and our parents, isn't it?"</p><p>"Exactly," I say, smirking at her now. "So why the complaints?"</p><p>"I hate her voice. It makes me want to do the exact opposite of anything she asks of me," Celeste says bluntly, a dead serious look on her bronze face.</p><p>I can't help the laugh that forces its way out of my mouth as I shake my head at her. "Oh? This coming from the American?" I tease, leaning back to sit on the top of a low, carved, dark-green sofa, my hands gripping the elaborate wood as I lean forward a little. "Your lot all sound like rusted tin men."</p><p>"That's a new one," Celeste concedes with a slight laugh, her bright brown eyes crinkling a little as she smiles. "Do I really?"</p><p>I'm so close to saying "no," because she really doesn't. Her voice is silky, smooth, almost <em>raspy</em>. It has this naturally seductive undertone that draws me and even some eavesdropping first years in, charming in a way that you know you're getting yourself into trouble but just don't care.</p><p>But then she says, "At least I don't sound like I've got a stick up my ass like <em>'your lot."</em>"</p><p>"Annoying, I tell you," I say with a scowl. "I'm practically daydreaming of all the ways I could get that bratty mouth of yours to close."</p><p>Celeste's eyes widen almost in <em>excitement</em>. "Are you? I look forward to the day you succeed—<em>if</em> that day comes."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: if you went to hogwarts, would you get a cat, owl, or something else? what would u name it?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. PRIDE AND BLOOD</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>draco and celeste are both shitty people</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im ngl this is a very shitty chapter from like september? october? i cant even remember when i started writing this oops</p><p>also if u notice any mistakes n stuff just lmk &lt;3 im wayy too lazy to proofread</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> <strong>CELESTE ZABINI</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>September 29th, 1995</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Celeste, come sit with us!"</p><p>I pause in my step, glancing around to see where the voice has come from. It's lunch time now—which couldn't have arrived sooner, because I was afraid I'd <em>die</em> before Professor Binns ever stopped droning. I've just finished actually eating and was planning on going up to my dorm to cram before my Potions exam next class. I'm not necessarily underprepared, and the material isn't too difficult, but the last thing I need is for Mother to hear of a poor grade. It couldn't hurt to study a little more.</p><p>"Over here!"</p><p>I snap my head to the left where the entrance to Hogwarts lays, the grand doors wide open to reveal the glaring sunlight and obnoxiously blue skies grinning at me cheekily, as if they <em>know</em> I'm about to spend what little bit of free time I ever have cooped up in the dungeons preparing for a practical on the Draught of Peace—something I've known how to make since I was nine.</p><p>Maybe I don't need to go study.</p><p>My eyes land on the Slytherin girls sitting on the front steps of the entrance. Pansy, Tracey, Millicent, and Daphne smile up at me, Pansy waving me over rather enthusiastically. I crack a slight smile at this, glancing over at the very door that leads to the Slytherin dungeons before making up my mind in half a second.</p><p>"Hey, girls," I call out with a slight smile as I walk towards the doors, squinting slightly as I step into the sunlight and am momentarily blinded by just how bright it is.</p><p>The four other Slytherin girls have been my immediate company since I've been here—and rather good company, if I'm being honest. Pansy, with her short, choppy black hair and attitude like she couldn't give two shits, might just be my favorite. She's the girl to go to when you need a cigarette or two. Daphne's probably more alive than the rest of us, talking even when she knows nobody's listening, talking even when she's alone. She's a big storyteller. Tracey Davis, her blonde haired dyed pale pink at the tips, stays quiet for the most part (unless she's drunk). Millicent tends to be quiet around us as well, though when she and Tracey go off alone, I hear their rather irritating laughter echoing. The two of them are half-bloods, but sometimes they stick around.</p><p>"What are you doing walking around all alone?"<br/>Daphne asks, tucking her wavy brown hair behind her ear as she shifts over to make room for me. I opt to sit on the highest step instead, swinging my feet over below me and crossing my ankles carefully.</p><p>"Well," I sigh, pulling my wand out of my robes  to twirl it casually between my fingers, "I was thinking of going to my dorm to refresh a little before Potions, b—"</p><p>Pansy's laugh interrupts me, making me shoot her an odd look. Her brown, monolid eyes crinkle at the corners as she chokes back a grin, saying, "Sometimes I forget you're new. The Potions professor is <em>Snape</em>, stupid! As long as nothing explodes, you should get at <em>least</em> an Acceptable."</p><p>I smile at her dryly as she pushes her short black hair and bangs out of her face, leaning back with her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. "I'm sure that's true," I say, leaning back as well so that the shade falls over my face, "but, unfortunately, I can't have anything lower than an Outstanding."</p><p>"You won't get one," Daphne rolls her green eyes at me. "We've been partners this past month, and I haven't had to do a <em>single</em> thing."</p><p>"That's because you can't tell your powdered porcupine quills from your powdered beetle legs," I tease with a slight squint of my eyes, grinning when the other girls laugh in agreement and Daphne playfully gives me another roll of her eyes.</p><p>"Well, I'm more interested in Charms than <em>Potions</em>, anyway," she huffs softly before her eyes widen abruptly, all her movements stilling. "Speaking of, you guys should have been there to see Umbridge in Flitwick's class!"</p><p>I laugh shortly, my mind going back. I didn't have Flitwick the day Umbridge came in to evaluate him, but I was there to witness a few other professors being torn down a couple pegs by the short, stout woman dressed in pink. While the sound of her voice still makes me want to shrivel up a little, I can't help but admire her just slightly. There's nothing like an unstoppable, powerful woman doing what it is she has to do.</p><p>In my one month here, certain things have been made clear to me—Hogwarts isn't all it's cracked up to be. <em>Especially</em> compared to my time at Beauxbatons in France and Mahoutokoro in Japan, it's in shambles.</p><p>They seem to admit students with absolutely no standards, the only requirement being them having even an <em>ounce</em> of magical ability. I'm<br/>not one to extend a friendly hand to a Muggleborn, but it isn't even their willingness to admit anyone if any blood status (I've seen plenty skilled Muggleborns and just as many shameful Purebloods). Their teachers are <em>pathetic</em>. I doubt Trelawney can <em>see</em> anything even with those bug-eye glasses she's got, and Hagrid can barely manage to put together a lesson plan for the day.</p><p>Umbridge? Maybe the Ministry is right to interfere if Hogwarts is like <em>this</em>. Only positive it really has going for it is its food, though sometimes the treacle tarts are a bit dry. Honestly, the only complaint I'd have about Umbridge is her lack of actual ability to <em>teach</em>, but I really couldn't care less considering I've already been taught what's there to be learned.</p><p>The curriculum at Mahoutokoro is <em>far </em>more advanced.</p><p>"So what'd she do?" Millicent prompts, a great grin greedy for information spreading across her lips. Her stringy brown hair falls over her face and into her brown eyes.</p><p>Daphne jumps right into the story, eyes bright with excitement as she blabs in about a tape measure and something about steam coming out of ears. I tune her out rather quickly, though, because my eyes catch on something far more interesting across the courtyard.</p><p>Leaning against a tree near the edge of the Forbidden Forest is a tall, sleek, and muscular blond-haired boy. He's the picture of indifference, arms crossed loosely under his chest, one foot propped up against the tree. His blond hair is a little ruffled from the breeze that runs its fingers through it, and his white buttoned shirt is messy under the grey sweater he wears over it. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, where even from <em>here</em> I can see clear yet lean muscle definition.</p><p>I tilt my head and squint slightly as I observe him, but he's observing something else. My eyes trace over to where one of the other Slytherin boys (either Crabbe or Goyle, I can never tell them apart because they're both brainless oafs) has his wand pointed up. My eyebrows rise slowly when I see what exactly Crabbe/Goyle is pointing his wand at—a boy.</p><p>A small boy dangles in thin air, limbs scrambling for anything to grip, though he doesn't get a hold of much except for a branch he kicks with his foot, making him howl in pain. His entire body bobs up and down with every flick of the wand, and something falls from his face. I can't hear from here, at least not over the chattering if the students around me, but I can see Crabbe/Goyle's face splitting into an ugly laugh. My eyes snap over to Draco, a smirk on his own.</p><p>"I'll be back," I then say almost automatically, barely noticing the inquisitive looks from my friends as I get up and begin walking down the steps, ignoring Daphne's call to come back.</p><p>A couple people glance at me as I stride across the green courtyard, but I don't spare any of them a single glance. It's been a month of me being in the <em>oh so coveted</em> position of the <em>new girl</em>, and the whispers and pointed looks haven't subsided. It seems that me being an American Slytherin Zabini is a great talking point for half the school, even when most of them haven't made an effort to talk to me. Not that I mind, of course. I wouldn't dream of talking to the imbeciles I got to school with.</p><p>"What's going on here?" I ask in a cool voice as I slow to a spot a few feet away from Crabbe/Goyle, smirking softly as I look up at the small boy dangling in the air with my hand shielding my eyes from the son.</p><p>The boys thrashes about, bobbing back and forth. His Hufflepuff tie dangles from his neck, and when I take a step forward, I nearly step on the glasses that must have fallen from his face.</p><p>"Afternoon, Celeste," Draco greets in a quiet but hard voice from my left, making me turn my head to look at him. He's smirking ever so slightly, steely eyes glinting in the sunlight as they briefly run up and down my body. "What brings you here?"</p><p>"Well, I saw a first year levitating ten feet off the ground," I say casually, my lips twitching into an amused grin as I look back up at the Hufflepuff, "and I couldn't help but wonder how that happened."</p><p>"He had it coming," Draco shrugs simply, uncrossing his arms to casually shift his attention to his hands, twisting the rings on his left hand.</p><p>I tilt my head at this. "I'm sure he did."</p><p>Draco Malfoy and I haven't had very many interactions in the past month after that first day. Maybe a few subtle niceties, nodding when we pass by each other and accidentally make eye contact, passing each other the salt at the dinner table when it's too far from our reach. As for real, substantial conversations, however, we haven't exchanged so many. Something about him seems to drive me closer <em>and</em> further away from him at the same time. Maybe that's why I find myself observing him from a distance so often.</p><p>Hufflepuff catches my eye and looks at me pleadingly. He opens his mouth to shout, but Draco swiftly flicks his wand and mutters something I can't hear, and then it's as though the Hufflepuff has instantly gone mute. I stifle a soft chuckle before glancing over at who I'm just gonna guess is Crabbe.</p><p>"So what'd he do?" I ask, crossing my arms and shifting my weight onto one leg.</p><p>"You wanna tell her?" Draco asks up at the boy, his smirk curving up on one side and his eyes glinting with amusement. The boy only continues thrashing in response, eyes bulging wildly making me wince slightly. "Oh. Right, I forgot you can't speak."</p><p>"Well that's just cruel," I laugh softly, glancing over at Crabbe. "Put him down."</p><p>Crabbe looks at me, that perpetually lost expression on his face turning even further into confusion. "Why would I do that?" he asks in a voice that nearly makes me choke on my spit. He's big and burly, but it seems his voice hasn't gone through puberty yet.</p><p>"Yeah," I hear Draco laugh dryly as he pushes off from the tree to saunter a few steps forward, icy eyes trained hard on me, "why should he?"</p><p>I roll my eyes before gesturing a couple yards behind Crabbe. "Because McGonagall's on her way here, and I doubt even a <em>Prefect</em> can get out of detention for..." I gesture distastefully at the dangling Hufflepuff boy, "...<em>this</em>."</p><p>Draco huffs softly, taking a few steps closer until his shoulder is brushing against mine. I startle first half a second, but quickly pull myself together to examine his face. His narrowed eyes stare out at the professor with the tight and greying brown bun before he shakes his head ever so slightly and snaps his eyes over to look at me. He looks a little startled to find me already looking at him, but then he smirks at me almost triumphantly. I don't back away though, only letting a dry smile onto my lips as I<br/>tilt my head at him.</p><p>"She hasn't even noticed us," he points out before looking back up at the Hufflepuff boy. "Alright up there?" A grin breaks his lips, and with the sunshine washing over his face, he almost looks boyish.</p><p>"<em>Yet</em>," I add, smirking myself as I look up at the boy.</p><p>"Fair enough. Put him down, Goyle."</p><p><em>Oops</em>.</p><p>Goyle glances over at Draco with an inquisitive expression, but then he lowers his wand arm back to his side. Instantly, the Hufflepuff boy falls down to the plush grass, making me wince slightly at the dull thud. He glances up at the three of us with a frightened look on his pale face before scrambling forward to grab his glasses from my feet. Clearly, he's got shoddy vision, because he pays aimlessly at the grass. I roll my eyes and crouch down to pick up the glasses, shoving them in his face. He grabs them and straightens up to scramble away, nearly tripping over his own feet.</p><p>I glance at Draco, taking in his amused and somewhat surprised expression. "I was actually gonna take the Silencing Charm off of him," he says casually, giving his wand a quick twirl before shoving it back in his pocket.</p><p>"I suppose your little scare tactic worked on him, then," I tease, shooting a quick glance at Goyle who stands awkwardly off to the side. Rolling my eyes, I ask, "So, what exactly <em>did </em>he do to deserve that?"</p><p>A scowl crosses over Draco's face—one of his default expressions. He's either scowling, smirking, or his face is painstakingly neutral.</p><p>"Stupid <em>Mudblood</em> had the audacity to call us dirty inbreds," he snaps, eyes growing even icier as they glare harshly off in the direction that the Hufflepuff went scampering in. "He's lucky that <em>Goyle </em>got to him before I could."</p><p>I can't help the strangled laugh that crawls out of my throat.</p><p>"Something funny?" Draco asks coldly, his bitter gaze landing on me now.</p><p>I swallow back another laugh, a lazy grin spreading across my face. "I mean, he isn't exactly <em>wrong </em>is he?" I joke with a slight roll of my eyes. The Hufflepuff really isn't. I bet it I go back far enough, Draco and I are somehow related.</p><p>His glare deepens. The blond turns to face me fully, taking a step closer as if expecting me to move back. I stay still, though, a rather amused look on my face as he walks forward and stops inches away from me. I have to crane my neck up a bit to see his face, and his is bent considerably, but I just flash him a cheeky smile.</p><p>"Ever heard of Pureblood pride, Zabini?" he asks with what I've learned is the signature look of Malfoy distaste on his face. It isn't a reward up beyond recognition, but a simple furrow of his brows and a wrinkle of his nose—as I'm dirt stuck to his shoe, or a Mudblood who has <em>dared</em> to taint his day wirh her presence.</p><p>"Are you saying I don't have any?" I ask lithely, vaguely noticing Goyle awkwardly stepping away. I smile at him sarcastically, my own eyebrows narrowing a bit. "I take great pride in my blood, <em>Malfoy</em>, but sometimes it's best to <em>acknowledge our faults</em>."</p><p>"You should be ashamed."</p><p>"What?" I ask, a grin breaking my face. "Hey, I'm just saying, there's no need to ignore it. Anyway, no better way of creating a pure bloodline than recycling the same people, right?"</p><p>He scoffs off to the side, jaw clenching as he shakes his head ever so slightly. Then his cutting gaze is back boring holes into my eyes. "Hardly prideful if you thought that was funny. We have silver running through our veins."</p><p>I snort slightly, rolling my eyes. "I think maybe you need to loosen up, Dray," I say in a cold but teasing voice, the edge in the back of my throat intensifying when I see anger flashing through his eyes at the nickname. So he doesn't like it. "Don't get me wrong, I'm all <em>Pureblood pride </em>and whatever, but there's nothing running through our veins except crooked jaws and fused limbs." I crack a grin, lightly running my fingers over my own jaw and eyeing Malfoy's. "Though, I suppose we both got lucky there. Anyway, I'm more of a gold kind of girl."</p><p>—</p><p>A few days later, "Get your ass up, and put on something nice," is the first thing Pansy says to me when she barges into our dorm room, short hair flying behind her and brown eyes ablaze with excitement.</p><p>I scowl slightly from my position in bed. I've been sitting here for an hour working on this stupid Transfiguration essay, and I've slowly gone from sitting upright to sinking down to the point where I am <em>part </em>of the bed—I am just as much a mess of blankets as I am flesh and blood on bones.</p><p>"Why?" I ask sourly, though I'm already waving my wand to put my parchment, ink, and quill away.</p><p>"I've invited the boys over."</p><p>Daphne, Millicent, and Tracey all look up at Pansy instantly. I glance at them with mild confusion, taking in the bright glimmer in Daphne's green eyes, the way Millicent is fixing her hair, and the way Tracey is currently peeking through the neck of her shirt to see which bra she's wearing.</p><p>"Why do I need to get dressed for that?" I ask with a frown, throwing the blankets off of me to look down at what I'm wearing. It's Friday, and I haven't changed out of my uniform despite classes ending hours ago, so I'm still in a shirt and skirt. "We see them every day. They're really not that special, babe."</p><p>"No, not just <em>those</em> boys," Pansy sighs, pulling her shirt up over her head without a care in the world to slip on a tight black tank top. "I've invited the Quidditch team."</p><p>Daphne <em>literally </em>squeals before <em>literally</em> rolling out of bed. She gets off the floor quickly before opening up her trunk to paw through her clothes, saying, "Is Miles gonna be there? Miles Bletchley?" And then she glances at me excitedly to say, "He's the Keeper. He's <em>so</em> hot. Actually, they're <em>all</em> hot. Except Crabbe and Goyle, of course, but still."</p><p>"I'm more of a Cassius Warrington girl," Tracey says dreamily, somehow <em>already</em> dressed in a shirt black skirt and a sheer black top under which she wears a neon yellow tube top. "He's one of the chasers."</p><p>"Adrian for me," Millicent laughs wholeheartedly, her own eyes glazed over as she swings her legs at the edge of the bed, head slowly tilting.</p><p>"He's another chaser," Pansy tells me as she walks over to grab my hands and pull me out of bed, a wild grin on her face. "And the third chaser, Graham Montague, is <em>also</em> the team captain. <em>And</em>, I've heard he's got his eye on you. A seventh year, Cel, a seventh year has the hots for you."</p><p>I shrug, though a small smile finds its way to my face. "I'm not surprised. What the hell are <em>you</em> planning to do in a room full of sweaty guys?"</p><p>Her grin turns mischievous. "Well, I invited some of the older girls<em> too</em>, obviously. I think Verona Wolfs from sixth year might be bi! Either that or she's just flirting with me for fun, but we'll see."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: if draco smelled you in his amortentia, what would he smell?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. PRIDE AND BLOOD</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>fun fact! when i started writing core, i searched far and wide for a magical herb that could be wizarding weed. i found one, alihotsy, except i spelled it as ALIHOSTY and never realized until like twenty chapters later. one good thing about wattpad going psycho on draco fics: it gives me the chance to fix that mistake</p><p>(ngl, im gonna miss the iconic alihosty)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im ngl i fucking hate this chapter but i wrote it in like october so whatever</p><p>also if u ever notice any mistakes and stuff just comment and lmk bc im way too lazy to proofread :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> <strong>DRACO MALFOY</strong></em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>October 4th, 1995</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"Merlin. You need a shave, Captain," I smirk, one of my eyebrows quirking when I see the seventh years' boys' dorm door swinging open to let out Graham and Miles.</p><p>Graham rolls his eyes, rubbing the scruff on his jaw. He shoots a glare at Miles who walks out behind him, saying, "Yeah, well, if Bletchley didn't spend thirty minutes gelling his hair up, maybe I would've been able to shave."</p><p>"Piss off," Miles scowls, running a hand through his wavy brown hair and then instantly moving to fix it back up. "You're just jealous yours doesn't look as good as mine, you ruddy rat."</p><p>"You got a key to the girls' dorm, Malfoy?" Graham looks at me, choosing to entirely ignore Miles. "Don't tell me I took the time out of my day to hang out with fifth years and you don't have a key."</p><p>I give him an incredulous look as Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise step out of our own dorm and shut the door behind them. "Don't act like I forced you into this," I say pointedly, my smirk growing as I fish around the pocket of my jacket, hand wrapping around the cool metal of my copy of the keys. "Weren't <em>you</em> the one yelling at us during practice that anyone who couldn't come had to do extra laps?"</p><p>"Don't talk to your captain that way," Graham jeers, though a short laugh leaves his throat. "Lead the way then, Malfoy."</p><p>The team (and Blaise) follow me down the boys' hall and out the door into the common room. I roll my eyes as Miles and Graham continue their bickering about Miles's hair habits, two of our beaters Adrian and Warrington shout loudly over each other the lyrics to some song by The Hobgoblins, and our beaters Crabbe and Goyle lumber behind mumbling incoherently. Blaise catches up to me, nudging my arm with his elbow to get my attention.</p><p>"You know if there's Firewhiskey?" he asks, pushing up the sleeves to his sweater.</p><p>I scoff as we cross across the common room to the door on the opposite side where the girls' hall is. A few eyes pick up when they notice the entire Quidditch team loudly crossing the green room, making my chest puff up instantly and smirk grow just a bit.</p><p>"This is Pansy we're talking about, Blaise," I sigh in mock disappointment as I stop at the door with my hand on the handle. "There'll be Firewhiskey, Dragon Barrel Brandy, Bin Juice. Hell, she'll probably even have Alihotsy leaves."</p><p>Turns out, I'm right.</p><p>"How'd you even get your hands on these?" Adrian asks in awe, holding the little baggie filled with dried pink and green leaves close to his face before passing it off to Pansy.</p><p>She shrugs, wearing a smug expression as she opens it up. "You'd be surprised how beneficial it is having a friend or two in Hufflepuff."</p><p>There's fifteen of us sitting on the ground in the fifth year girls' dorm. The balcony doors are spread wide open (the Slytherin common room and dorms are in the dungeon, so by balcony I mean a tiny little sitting room that juts out into the Black Lake with walls made of glass), letting Warrington and Adrian sit with their backs facing the October air, the rest of us sprawled out in the space between the balcony and the beds.</p><p>It's the seven of us in the team, Blaise, Pansy, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, and, of course, Celeste. There's two other girls—sixth years—that have brought with them a great big amount of Firewhiskey—a cup of which I hold in my hand.</p><p>I lean back against the side of Pansy's bed as I watch her pack the light pink and green clumps into a circular metal box, closing the lid and grinding it down.</p><p>"I've never actually smoked Alihotsy before," I remark, rolling my eyes when Pansy and Graham gasp dramatically. "What? Isn't that the shit that makes you laugh uncontrollably? Not my speed."</p><p>Celeste snorts from across from me, making me snap my head forward and shift my gaze from the metal grinder to the curly-haired girl. She's on the opposite side of the room sitting between Graham and Warrington with a bottle of nettle beer in her hands. When my eyes catch on hers, she gives me a smirk.</p><p>"That's when you eat them," she sighs, reaching forward to grab the rolling paper and placing something small at the end of them, "but when you <em>smoke </em>them...I mean, you might get a little giggly, but it's the high that makes it worth it."</p><p>"You seem experienced," I say coolly, narrowing my eyes at her as I bring my Firewhiskey up to my lips.</p><p>Celeste's lips curl up a bit. "Oh, I am. In more things than one."</p><p>Graham chuckles at this, stretching his arms out before casually letting one drape over Celeste's shoulders. Her brown eyes steady on mine even as her smirk grows, even as she tips the bottle of nettle beer in her lips as passes the rolling paper to Pansy. She finally looks away and turns to Graham to say something, and they both drop into a conversation I can't hear save for the occasional laugh.</p><p>"Here," Pansy says from beside me, making me turn my head to the left to see. She pours the ground leaves down onto the rolling paper before packing it, rolling it, and sealing it with a quick lick of her tongue. She fiddles with it a bit more before handing it off to me. "Mama's boy gets the first hit. Y—<em>ow,</em>" she scowls when I give her arm a swift punch, glaring at her harshly. "What the fuck?"</p><p>"Don't call me that," I say calmly, briefly shaking my hand out before grabbing the joint from her fingers and examining it with scrutinizing eyes. It really doesn't look like anything special.</p><p>"You prefer Ferret Boy?" Blaise chimes from the other side of me.</p><p>"You're not on the Quidditch team, Zabini," I say calmly, setting down my Firewhiskey to fish through my pockets for my wand. "That means I'll gladly break your fingers without fear of Mr. Montague here breaking <em>mine</em>."</p><p>"You're not wrong," Graham says with a grin before picking up Celeste's beer and bringing it up to his lips.</p><p>My eyes catch on Celeste's once more for a moment. Fucking hell, why is she always looking at me like that? Like she <em>knows</em> something. There's this small, permanent smirk on her face that I bet she wears even in her sleep, and her honey brown eyes hold a faint glimmer in them. My hand unconsciously moves back to my cup. I feel like I'll need a second pour soon enough.</p><p>"Ferret Boy?" she asks, her teasing and silky voice somehow quiet but resounding at the same time. Celeste tilts her head at me, one of her coiling curls falling in her face. "What's the story behind that one, Dray?"</p><p>My hand tightens around my cup of Firewhiskey. It's only a plastic cup, so it bends and the auburn liquid sloshes and nearly spills over in my lap. I then force myself to let it go and continue searching my pockets for my wand, pulling it out of my pants. I can't even explain <em>why</em> that nickname infuriates me so much. I've never been called it before, and I don't like it. Maybe because she's the one calling me it.</p><p>"I'll tell you when he's high and too uncoordinated to punch me again," Pansy says calmly, taking my hand that holds the blunt and shoving it towards my mouth. "Hurry the fuck up. I want the giggles too."</p><p>I shoot her a glare out of the side of my eyes before placing the filtered end in my mouth and raising my wand to the end. I've seen this done before though I haven't exactly dabbled in it myself.</p><p>"Nervous?"</p><p>Fucking Celeste.</p><p>"Don't be," she then laughs smoothly. "Take a hit or two. Should calm you fast enough."</p><p>Rolling my eyes and resisting the urge to glare or snap at her, I tap the blunt with my wand to ignite it and suck in air gently. Pansy's impatiently pulling my hand away before I can do it myself, snatching the blunt out of my hands before I can even exhale. It's warm and smoky in my mouth, but there's a faint sweet hint that reminds me of the taste of Laughing Potion.</p><p>I exhale slowly, letting my shoulders and back relax as I do so. I slump a bit against the bed, watching the smoke mingle with the rest of the air before lowering my eyes across from me. She's already watching me, not necessarily with amusement, but an odd kind of interest. Her head tilts when I look at her, lips flicking up into a small, dry smile that, <em>Merlin</em>, makes me want to <em>stupefy</em> it off of her.</p><p>When is the Alihotsy supposed to kick in?</p><p>It gets passed around the circle slowly. Pansy's greedy with it, but the girl next to her, Verona, manages to pry it out of her hands and move it alone. I roll my eyes when Crabbe grabs it by the wrong end, instantly dropping it in his lap.</p><p>"Damn, Davis," Warrington whistles appreciatively when Tracey Davis, in all her pink-haired glory, takes two long drags followed instantly by a shot of knotgrass vodka. His eyes, as black as his thick hair, drag up and down her, talking in her see-through clothing.</p><p>She blushes in response, pale skin turning the same shade as the ends of her hair as she passes the joint off to him with a slight shrug. "Here you go, Warrington."</p><p>"Please, call me Cassius," he says with a flirty wink that makes me laugh humorlessly and shake my head.  Warrington shoots me a glare as he brings the Alihotsy up to his own lips before passing it off to Celeste.</p><p>Celeste's nimble fingers carefully pluck it out of his calloused ones. Her eyes, almost like magnets, fly up to mine. She doesn't look surprised when she sees me watching her carefully, almost as if she was expecting me to be doing just that. A corner of her lips lifts up before they both part, her hand bringing the joint up and between her lips. They're soft, smooth, and painted the color of dark berries. I catch a hint of her tongue, peeking out almost as if to tease me specifically, right before she inhales long and deep. When my eyes fly up to her shining brown ones, they're twinkling at me mischievously. She's caught me staring at her lips.</p><p>I scowl at her, clenching my jaw as my hand fingers the rim of my abandoned Firewhiskey cup.</p><p>And then as Graham reaches for the joint, she gently pushes his hand away and instead places her hand with the joint on the side of his face, angling it down to hers. We all quiet down with our own side conversations to watch her thumb drag his lip down to tell him to open his mouth, and then she opens hers. Their bottom lips just barely brushing against each other's, Celeste slowly exhales the smoke right into his mouth, her eyes briefly fluttering shut.</p><p>And then she places the joint in his hand and settles back down with her head leaning back on his arm, a slightly triumphant look on her face when she makes eye contact with me for a brief moment before turning her head to grin at one of the girls.</p><p>Graham, a dumbfounded look on his face, instantly starts grinning, a low chuckle erupting form his chest before he takes a short sip and passes it on. That's the cue for everyone else to chime in with their thoughts—Warrington and Adrian wolf whistle and jeer at Graham. Pandora, the other sixth year girl on the other side of Blaise, scoffs softly with a flip of her blonde hair. Celeste notices, but all she does is smirk.</p><p>Bletchley, who Graham passes the joint to, messes with his hair with an excited look in his dark eyes. He turns to Daphne with a small smirk, and the green-eyes girl grins back as if she already knows that Miles Bletchley is about to shotgun her.</p><p>"I might be gay, but shotgunning will never not be hot," Pansy deadpans from beside me before plucking my abandoned Firewhiskey from my hand and promptly finishing it off.</p><p>"I never want to see my cousin do that again," Blaise recoils on the other side of me, a shriveled look on his face as he scowls to himself and clutches his beer bottle close to his chest.</p><p>"Agreed," I mutter without thinking, twisting the rings on my left hand. I don't want to ever see her do that again. I rather she just do it to me.</p><p>She's infuriating. Somehow, she takes nothing seriously, and yet my father had the audacity to call her a model Pureblood only days before school began. If only he could see her now.</p><p>If only I could get her out of my fucking head. It's like every little thing she does is designed specifically to irk me—every small quirk of her brow, twitch of her lips, curl of her lashes, or coil of her hair. I find myself wanting to put my hands all over her, whether that's to throw her onto my bed or simply throw her <em>out the window</em>.</p><p>I can tell it's not just me that's drawn to her either. Maybe it's not to the same extent I am, but I've noticed all the boys in the room—spare Blaise, of course—glancing over to her every once in a while. Even the boys occupied with other girls. Adrian might be talking with Millicent about a band they both like, but every time he says something remotely funny that makes Millicent laugh, he glances over to see if Celeste has heard. She hasn't, she never does. She's busy talking rather casually with Graham, sharing that bottle of beer while his hand over her shoulder plays carefully with one of her curls. Sometimes Warrington on the other side of her will glance over while Tracey examines his palms (she thinks she can read them, I think she's spent too much time in Divination). It's the same with all the boys.</p><p>She doesn't look at any of them though. Whoever it is she's talking to, she gives them her entire attention.</p><p>Unless she's glancing and smirking at me.</p><p>"Hi, Draco," Pandora Pinescrew giggles from next to Blaise, leaning forward to see me. Her blonde hair falls into her green eyes, and her pink lips are spread wide in a grin.</p><p>I smile lazily at her. The Alihotsy finally kicked in a couple minutes ago. It wasn't very strong at first, but I've been feeling it more and more. I didn't take as many puffs as the others, so I'm not laughing or <em>giggling </em>nearly as much as the shrieking Pansy next to me or Crabbe and Goyle as they dig into a box of chocolates they've found, but it's enough that I can't seem to pry this slight smile off my face.</p><p>I kind of like it. The colors are a lot brighter, even though the sun has finished setting a while back and only the green glow of the lake illuminates the dorm room (everyone was too lazy to turn the lights on even though it really only takes the flick of a wand). Right now, Pandora looks like she's glowing. Her hair looks nearly as white as mine, and her green eyes are akin to that of a snake's. Suddenly, she's crawling over Blaise's lap, making him laugh as he pushes her off. She falls onto her side, but then she's grinning and pushing herself up to come closer to me. She swings one of her legs over both of mine, straddling me effectively.</p><p>"Hi," she says, pushing her hair out of her face.</p><p>"Hi."</p><p>"You smell good," she says, pressing her hands against my chest and leaning in to bury her face in my neck, inhaling deeply and loudly. "Mm. Like...I don't know. It's sweet. Cologne and something sweet."</p><p>"Thank you," I say my smile never wavering as I look over Pandora's shoulder.</p><p>Graham's leaning down towards Celeste, his hand cupping the side of her face to pull it up to hers. They're making out rather heavily and nastily, right in front of the rest of us—though Pansy and Verona are doing just the same, as are Tracey and Warrington. This irritates me more than the other two couples, though—but for some reason my smile only grows into a slight smirk. Celeste's hands are in his black curls, pulling at them and pulling him down. His hair isn't as curly as hers. Her hair always looks good, but it's <em>wild</em> and coily, a head of snakes. His isn't as nice. And his hand travels down from her face to her bare thigh. She's wearing a short, tight skirt, all long brown legs and soft skin.</p><p>"What do I smell like?"</p><p>"Huh?" I ask. Pandora then leans back and away from my neck, affectively blocking my view of Celeste. Celeste and Graham. "Oh. Like sugar quills, I think."</p><p>"I'm gonna kiss you."</p><p>I don't say anything back, just keeping smiling/smirking like an idiot while she leans in and rather sloppily presses her lips to mine. Right as she does, Celeste and Graham pull away to breathe for a moment. Celeste's stony but somehow warm brown eyes snap to mine instantly, the smirk on her face splitting into a grin when she sees Pandora on my lap. Graham leans in to press kisses to her neck while she sits there breathlessly, watching me while Pandora kisses me.</p><p>And then I close my eyes and start kissing Pandora back. My hands move on their own—up her thighs, gripping her hips, and then moving down to grab her ass and squeeze. Her hands pull at my hair while her uncoordinated lips move against mine. Maybe it's because she's high, or maybe it's because <em>I'm </em>high, or maybe it's because I can feel Celeste staring at us, but I can't keep kissing her without wanting to recoil away. So I pull my lips away from hers and move to kiss down her neck, but she's faster.</p><p>Her lips go to my throat, and I let her. I'm tired, and it's nice having to do nothing but stare while a pretty girl leaves small marks under my jaw. The room is cloudy and foggy, and the joint is still being passed around (as well as a box of bonbons). And Celeste is still watching me.</p><p>Her eyes occasionally flutter shut as Graham sucks on her neck and whispers things I can't hear in her ear. She giggles occasionally, a quiet, soft noise that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Her eyes are heavy when they aren't closed, looking distractedly at me. At one point, her fat grey cat curls up on her lap, but she just pushes it away with another quiet laugh.</p><p>"Draco? Did you hear me?"</p><p>"Huh?" I snap my eyes to where Pandora is looking at me, away from my neck. When did she stop kissing my neck? I glance at Blaise. He's asleep, head thrown back to rest on the mattress of the bed, mouth tipped open to let out soft snores. "What'd you say?"</p><p>"I asked if you wanna get out of here," she giggles, her long fingernail dragging down my jawline. "Your dorm, maybe?"</p><p>My eyes catch on Celeste again. She's watching me keenly, smirk growing wider and wider. And then she closes her eyes and turns her head to capture Graham's lips in another kiss, letting him lean in towards her for a moment before swiftly moving to sit on top of him much like Pandora is with me. Her back now turned towards me, I watch as Graham carelessly pulls her curls and she slaps his hand away before looking back at Pandora, my face grinning inexplicably.</p><p>"Sure."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: if draco smelled u in his amortentia, what would he smell?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. HATE IN THE AIR</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>ayo we got a bit of mature content except draco has a fragile masculinity and he SUCKS</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WC: 4977</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>October 5th, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There are bodies all over my dorm.</p><p>That sounds more morbid than it is. It's two in the morning, and most of our guests have taken it upon themselves to fall asleep right here. Pansy shares the bed with Blaise and Verona (who <em>is</em> into girls, Pansy excitedly pulled me away to tell me, but <em>not</em> looking for a relationship). Tracey and Warrington and sprawled out on their own with Adrian Pucey curled up at the door. Crabbe and Goyle are both on Daphne's bed, so Daphne and and Miles Bletchley are crammed into the balcony, slumped over with bottles of beer in their hands.</p><p>I'm sharing my bed with Graham. I don't mind, honestly, except I can't seem to fall asleep even now at two in the morning. The room is still a little foggy, and the air still smells slightly of Alihotsy leaves, so occasionally I'll find a tired smile slipping onto my face.</p><p>Graham's arm is draped over my stomach, his face in my shoulder, and one of his legs crossing over mine. He has absolutely no shame in taking up all the space in the world, even in this small double bed, leaving me teetering at the edge of the mattress about to fall and break my skull open on my nightstand. He smells like musky cologne and children's toothpaste, which isn't so <em>terrible</em> a smell, but it's so horridly strong.</p><p>He's a nice kisser, though.</p><p>He tried to finger at one point when we landed in bed, but I just gave him a sarcastic smile, pushed his hand away, and threw the covers over myself. I'm not one to easily oppose to sex with just about anyone, but I have <em>class</em>. I'm not about to let a boy who smells like toothpaste just <em>try</em> to finger me in a room with ten other people.</p><p>I exhale softly, laying here on my back watching the green glow from the lake warp and dance on the ceiling. Cheeky meows from the foot of the bed before hopping up and climbing distastefully over Graham's leg and arm to get to me. I smile softly when the fat grey cat sits itself down on my chest, head buried in my neck.</p><p>—</p><p>It's three in the morning.</p><p>Cheeky has wandered off to curl up next to Adrian Pucey, leaving me alone with a constantly squirming and thrashing Graham. He's dead asleep—literally shoving him or grumbling in his ear wont wake him up. He just keeps tossing and turning, throwing odd limbs over my body and pushing me further and further over the edge of the bed.</p><p>When his hand nearly goes down my throat, Ive finally had enough.</p><p>Muttering curses under my breath, I haul his legs off of my hips and back onto his own side of the bed (which is most of the bed) before sitting up and burying my face in my palms. I groan softly, rubbing my eyes with my fingers. My body aches as I get up, and when I stretch out my back, my muscles groan with me.</p><p>Quickly I pull out my trunk to grab a change of clothes. I never bothered to change before going to bed, leaving me in my black jeans and green top, so I grab my largest shirt and comfiest shorts and take them to the bathroom to change.</p><p>When I open the bathroom door, grab my wand, and head to the dorm door to leave, Pansy stirs. I wince as she turns her head and opens her mouth without opening her eyes to say—</p><p>"Where are you going?"</p><p>Her voice is tired and croaky.</p><p>"Just for a walk, Panz," I say quietly. She hums in response before rolling her head back to rest on Blaise's shoulder, black hair falling in her eyes. I choke back a laugh before tapping my wand on the door handle to unlock it and disappearing out into the hall.</p><p>Out in the common room, I stick my wand into the waistband of my shorts. It's dark in here except for the glow of the lake. The green lamps that hang from chains have been turned off, but I can still hear the chains creaking and swaying as if there's something up there to move them at all. The fireplace, however, is ablaze as usual, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.</p><p>I walk over to lean against the side of one of the carved sofas, wrapping my arms around myself and wishing I hadn't taken my bra off before coming out here. My eyes are tired and heavy, and I can practically feel the bags underneath them as if they're bruises, like I've been punched. It's just a little cold out here, just like it always is in the dungeons, but the golden glow from the fire keeps me warm.</p><p>"What are you doing? Go back to bed before I report you for breaking curfew."</p><p>I freeze momentarily when I hear that familiar icy noise, mildly confused. And then a smirk finds its way onto my face when I realize. Does he know it's me?</p><p>"Didn't think you'd be such a stickler for rules," I say coolly, my smirk showing through my voice as I sigh softly and bring a hand up to toss my hair out of my face. I frown slightly as I do so—Graham broke half my curls, so it's all frizzy. "But," I continue, "then again, you do have a stick up your ass, so I'm not that surprised."</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>"The one and only." I turn around and step to lean against the back of the sofa, feeling the warm glow of the fire against my back. Draco stands near the end of the common room at the door to the boys' hall. The fire doesn't quite reach that far, but combined with the lake, there's enough light for me to pick out his white blond locks and icy grey eyes.</p><p>"What are you doing out here?" he asks as he steps forward a bit. I don't miss the venom lacing his voice nor the wand he holds at his side, reminding me of my own in my waistband.</p><p>"I'm just here to get some air," I say lightly, gripping the edge of the sofa as I tilt my head at him and offer a winning smile.</p><p>"Oh? Is there no air in your own dorm?" he scoffs as he walks forward to stop a few feet in front of me, the firelight now casting an eerie light on half his face. His eyes are so light, a mix of grey and blue, but they look golden and on fire from the glow behind me.</p><p>"Well, it's not exactly <em>clean</em>," I say sarcastically. "You were there. You'd know why."</p><p>His eyes drop to my lips. I can't help it when one side curves up a bit.</p><p>"Your lipstick is smudged."</p><p>"Is it?" I ask innocently, bringing a hand up to wipe around the edges with the side of my thumb. My own eyes drop to his lips, making a low laugh erupt from my throat. "So is <em>yours</em>, Dray. I didn't think you'd be the kind of guy to go for hot pink, but you do you."</p><p>He scowls slightly before bringing his arm up to wipe at his mouth with the sleeve of his green Quidditch sweatshirt, effectively wiping away the punk lipstick residue left by, Im assuming, Pandora.</p><p>"Your hair's all messed up too," he points out, taking a step closer. He's hardly a foot away from me, towering well over me. I'm not short at 5'7, but I'm short next to him. He has to be at least 6'0 or 6'1, and with the way he's standing so rigid and straight while I'm leaning back against the sofa, I'm forced to crane my neck up to look at him.</p><p>My hand goes up to lightly fluff my hair. I bite my lip and force myself not to roll my eyes as I remember how Graham tried to grab the back of my head but missed, ending up pawing through my curls and brushing them out.</p><p>"You can blame your captain for that," I say smoothly, eyeing Draco's blond locks. They're all messed up when they're typically neat. It looks almost fluffy. "And I'm assuming I can blame Pandora for <em>that?</em>"</p><p>His hand goes up unconsciously to flatten his hair while his biting, frosty eyes take me in. I let them. I revel in the way they take up and down my body, lingering on my thighs where the edge of my shirt touches them and covers my shorts, the way my breasts hang in my shirt very clearly without a bra, my lips when I bite the inside gently, my cheek when I teasingly poke my tongue at from the inside.</p><p>He then stretches his arms and his back out, eyes fluttering shut and his face briefly serene. When his arms go back to his sides and his eyes open, he looks relatively relaxed. His eyes are a little darker, his fingers are twisting his rings, and then he's taking one last step forward to close what minimal space there is between us.</p><p>I ignore the way my pulse leaps and takes of running when he leans in, I ignore the way my eyebrows rise up jerkily, the way my breath hitches a bit—but <em>he</em> doesn't. He notices it, and it makes a dark but amused smirk paint its way into his lips. His hands are on either side of me, tightly gripping the carved wood of the top of the sofa. He's lowered himself to be closer to eye level with me, and his gaze is so intense. His face is hardened and as statuesque as ever, but the smirk on his lips—it's not <em>cruel</em> like it usually is, but it's amused and teasing and makes me swallow hard. But like any other Pureblood child, I've mastered the art of controlling my face. My face is made of stone too—except it's forever unbothered but amused rather than full of distaste and nonchalance.</p><p>He's inches away from me. I can smell him. Masculine but not overpowering cologne, the kind that makes you want to lean in to get a better whiff, and something sweet. Almost like a Muggle candy I once tried in America...like green apple flavored Jolly Ranchers. A little less saccharine and cloy, though, and a little more sour. It's just a hint of it, though. Maybe I'm just imagining it. Maybe the Alihotsy is still in my system.</p><p>I really like Jolly Ranchers. I've always taken a particular liking to the green apple ones.</p><p>"Can I help you, Dray?" I ask softly, raising a challenging eyebrow at him.</p><p>He sucks in a sharp breath before shaking his head a little. "Why do you call me that?"</p><p>"I did it at first because I like nicknames," I say, glancing him up and down, my eyes resting for a moment on his grey sweats and the white strings that dangle from the waistband, "but I <em>keep </em>calling you that because it pisses you off."</p><p>When I look back up, he's still smirking. I mirror his expression.</p><p>"You like pissing people off, sweetheart?" he asks with a cock of his head, sarcasm dripping off his voice through and through. I suppress a shiver at "sweetheart," but I can't help the way it stirs something at the pit of my stomach.</p><p>"Sometimes," I say lightly, shifting to sit on the top of the sofa rather than leaning against it. It gives me a little more height, but it also gives Draco space to move in closer—by grabbing my knees to push them apart so he can stand between them. Not that I mind. "It makes me feel powerful knowing that I have the ability to get a...rise out of someone."</p><p>His eyebrows twitch as his smirk only grows. His eyes are so hardened and dark, and he smells so intoxicating as he grabs onto the wood on either side of me once more, effectively trapping me. Not that I mind.</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"Mhm." I rake my eyes up and down once more, breath hitching obviously when I see the clear bulge in his grey sweats. A soft chuckle leaves my lips. "Pun unintended."</p><p>He laughs dryly, pupils dilating right before me. And then one of his hands let go of the sofa only to grab the side of my leg, pressing it up against his hip while he somehow leans in even closer. He leans in near my ear, lips brushing against it and breath so warm, I can't help but let my eyes flutter shut.</p><p>"Tell me, Celeste," he whispers in a low, husky voice that has me gripping the sofa hard and digging my nails into the wood to keep me from falling over backwards. He sucks in a soft breath, lips brushing down the side of my jaw while his other hand comes up to brush his fingertips on the other side of my jaw. His teeth then gently scrape over my earlobe, and I gasp so loudly that my entire face would flame up with humiliation if I wasn't black. "How powerful do you feel right now?" he finally finishes.</p><p>When he pulls his face out of my neck, my eyes are still closed. I don't want to open them and see the smug smile on his lips, amused gleam in his eyes, but I force them open anyway. He's smirking at me triumphantly, but there's a darker and hungrier look in his eyes.</p><p>"Hmm?" he presses, a mockingly innocent look on his face as he leans in again.</p><p>I lean back so I can still see his face, nearly falling over. I instantly grab him by his sweatshirt to keep myself from toppling onto the sofa, and his smirk only grows at this. He doesn't lean back to give me space. He stays like this, lips inches from mine, giving me no choice but to grab him if I don't want to fall. His hands go to my thighs, cold especially with his biting rings that arouse goosebumps all over my skin. He slowly drags them up and under my shirt to hold my hips from over my shorts.</p><p>So then I tightly squeeze my thighs on either side of his hips, lock my ankles near his tailbone, and I push my heels into his back to press him closer to me. His eyes widen as he startled and is caught off guard, a triumphant smirk lighting up my own face. Draco glances down to where his covered erection presses against my shorts, right where I can feel myself getting wetter as each second passes.</p><p>The feeling makes me jittery, makes my skin burn and lips part with shallow breaths, but I don't dare look away from him.</p><p>And then he grabs my jaw with one cold, pale hand, and he presses his lips against mine with an aggressive kiss.</p><p>My arms instantly wrap around his neck, and my hands bury themselves in his white locks, tugging on them and scraping my nails against the back of his neck. He makes a guttural groaning noise against my mouth that has my stomach flipping, hands harsh and aggressive as they squeeze my jaw to angle my head up for him and wrap around my back to press me closer. His lips are soft and surprisingly warm considering how cold his fingers are, and his tongue moves rough against mine while his fingers dig into my skin.</p><p>He's rough with the way he makes out with me. I can practically feel the way my lips will be swollen tomorrow, and I shiver every time he latches his teeth around my lower lip and drags it away.</p><p>And then his hand on my jaw buried itself in my hair. I pull away to breathily whisper—</p><p>"I'll slap you if you break my curls."</p><p>He chuckles darkly before harshly yanking in my hair, making me throw my head back with a strangled gasp. His feverish lips are then at my throat, kissing me right over my pulse. He then pulls away to trace his fingers in an odd pattern over my neck, making me frown until I realize what exactly he's looking at.</p><p>"Did Graham leave you these?" he asks in a raspy voice, his breath hot against my neck.</p><p>I laugh softly in response. "Maybe he did."</p><p>"They're not very impressive," he says with a slight buck of his hips, making me clamp my lips together to muffle the ground that comes out form the way his erection grinds against me.</p><p>He's not wrong. Graham left a few rather small bruises around my neck, nothing that'll last longer than a day.</p><p>"Think you can do better?" I laugh smoothly, tilting my head back to give him a mischievous look. "I'd like to see you tr—oh, <em>mon Dieu </em>[my God]," I interrupt myself with a moan as he pulls my head back again to latch his lips to one of the little bruises on my neck.</p><p>"<em>Je ne savais pas que tu parlais Français </em>[I didn't know that you speak French]," he mumbles against my neck before sucking in a sweet little spot beneath my jaw that as me tugging harshly on his hair and pushing my heels into his back.</p><p>I shudder and laugh breathily when Draco responds back to me in French, the sweet language rolling off of his tongue smoothly in his husky tone, so low and making my skin tingle and come to life. "It's my first language," I manage to get out.</p><p>His hands go to my hips to pick me up off the sofa, his face picking out of my neck to look at me as I lower my head to do the same. And then he's back to kissing my lips with that same intensity and dominance all while walking us around the sofa until we're in front of it.</p><p>I tear my lips away to say, "Put me down."</p><p>He gives me an inquisitive look but does just that. His hands stay on my hips, though, pulling me in flush with this body. My hands roam up and down his front before slipping under his sweatshirt to truly appreciate his abs, feeling every inch and crevice of his hardened skin, gently scraping my nails against it every so often just so I can feel him tighten his grip on my ass or bite down on my lip when we kiss.</p><p>And then, with my palms flat on his chest, I push him with as much force as possible so that he falls back onto the sofa. He gasps softly, but before he registers what's going on, I'm already on my knees and pushing his legs apart to kneel comfortably between them.</p><p>The startled look on Draco's face melts back into dark amusement, silver eyes dilating to black, parted lips turning up into a smirk, statuesque features illuminated by the fire behind me. His posture is nonchalant, both arms up and resting at the top of the sofa, a slight slouch in his back, and his legs lazily spread on either side of me.</p><p>"<em>Tu t'impatientes, chérie </em>[Getting impatient, sweetheart]?"</p><p>"<em>Peut-être </em>[Maybe]."</p><p>I make quick work out of pushing his sweatshirt up to grab him by the waistband of his sweats, slipping my fingers behind the waistband of his briefs as well. Draco doesn't take his eyes off of mine nor I off of his as I teasingly run my fingers back and forth across his waistband, watching him grow increasingly impatient and frustrated. That smirk on his face struggles to linger until it turns into narrowed brows and clenched jaws. His foot taps beside me, arms tensed like it takes everything in his power not to grab me and force his cock down my throat in half a second.</p><p>Smirking at him, I tug at the front of his sweats and briefs as low as I can, eyebrows rising when his erection comes right out and nearly hits his stomach. He hisses slightly before relaxing a bit, one of his arms coming down from the sofa to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear before clumsily bunching my hair up like a low ponytail.</p><p>When I finally look down at his erection, my breath hitches slightly. The dungeons are usually so cold, but I'm starting to feel warm—and it's not because of the fireplace. There's no denying that he's big, maybe bigger than I've ever had, but that doesn't discourage me. If anything, it's encouraging.</p><p>So I lean forward, both my hands forming fists around him at his base. He groans slightly, hand tightening in my hair as I pump my top hand up and down slowly, watching his face intently. The smirk in my face only grows as I make sure not to miss even the smallest twitch on his face, the smallest sign of pleasure as he shoves his knuckles in his mouth to act as a muffle. It doesn't work so well.</p><p>Then I stick my tongue out just enough to teasingly lick over his tip, hearing him curse and pull at my hair as I do so. My eyes flutter shut right when we hear the sound of a door slamming open.</p><p>Draco freezes instantly. I snap my head up to look at him with wide eyes, my hands still on his erection, my mouth tasting like his precum.</p><p>We hear a few footsteps and then a voice. The noise is coming from the side of the boys' dorms, facing the fireplace.</p><p>"Draco?"</p><p>Draco's eyes widen, still stuck on me, when we both recognize the voice. I slowly regain my sense of motion, giving him a small smirk before leaning back in to continue teasing him with my tongue. He gives me a warning look, his hand pulling my head away before reaching up to tousle his hair.</p><p>I just lean back in, this time wrapping my lips around him and placing pressure as I start sucking. He gasps in response, Pandora taking another few steps closer.</p><p>"Draco, is that you? That looks like you."</p><p>"Yeah," he says in a low, croaky voice, dangerously dark eyes glaring at me as he brings his hand down to grab my jaw tightly.</p><p>I rip it out of his grip, though, grinning at him devilishly as I sit up a little more (the sofa covers me, anyway) and bring his hand lower and press it to my neck. His eyebrows loosen as he catches the hint, wrapping his fingers tightly around my throat while I resume sucking him off. His hand tenses and tightens as soon as I do that, and he can't seem to help but throw his head back a little and bite down hard on his lip.</p><p>"What are you doing out here?"</p><p>"I just—" He cuts himself off and shoves his knuckles into his mouth to stifle a groan when I take a few inches more of him into my mouth, making sure to keep eye contact with him as I bob up and down on his length and meet my mouth halfway with my hands. "I, uh, just wanted a bit of air, is all."</p><p>"Oh," Pandora says, silence ensuing spare for the crackling of the fire behind me.</p><p>Draco's giving me a glare like I'm gonna regret this. I hope I do.</p><p>"Can I sit with you?"</p><p>He nearly chokes, then saying in a gruff and deliciously deep voice, "Kinda wanna be alone right now, Pinescrew. Can I help you? Or are we done here?"</p><p>"Oh—well, you're out of toilet-paper in the bathroom, so—"</p><p>"Under the sink."</p><p>"Oh. Okay."</p><p>She clearly stays standing there for a few moments more. Draco has a strained express on his face, his fingers squeezing so hard around my throat it takes all my effort not to choke on his dick.</p><p>"Goodnight," she says finally before retreating back into the boys' hall with a slam of the door.</p><p>Draco is moving instantly. His hand goes back up to my hair, carelessly tangling his fingers and getting the tightest grip possible, and then he's suddenly thrusting up into my mouth. I choke at first, feeling my pulse jump as I grip the waistband of his sweatpants for dear life while his hips do all the work for me, making me take all of him in and out of my mouth, hitting the back of my throat while he curses and groans and grunts above me.</p><p>"You filthy fucking—<em>shit—</em>fucking <em>slut</em>," he barely gets out in a raspy and breath voice, twisting my hair and making me whimper slightly as he pounds into my throat. "<em>Fuck you</em>."</p><p>I'd grin if his dick wasn't in my mouth.</p><p>It doesn't take long until he lets out a long groan, throws his head back, and thrusts up sloppily as he cums in my mouth. I manage to pull back in time to let it all shoot out onto my tongue, making sure he's looking at me with his heavy eyes when I swallow it down and pump him a couple times to make sure it <em>all</em> gets out and into my mouth.</p><p>And then his hand in my hair tightens and he pulls me away from him, making me land on the floor on my side. I sit up quickly, resting on my elbows as I roll my eyes tiredly.</p><p>There's an angry expression on his face as he gets up and pulls his sweatpants and underwear back up, a fine sheen of sweat on his pale forehead sparking slightly from orange glow in front of him. I'm a little breathless in my position on the floor directly below him, my hair a fucking mess from the hell its been out through by both him and Graham.</p><p>I give him a shaky grin.</p><p>"This is never happening again," he says simply, patting his pockets and letting out a soft sigh when he feels his wand in there. His eyes snap to me, cold and bitter, silver and intense, and his jaw clenches.</p><p>"Oh?" I let out with a soft pant, my eyes gleaming at him teasingly. "<em>I</em> wasn't even thinking about the possibility of this happening again. Consider me flattered."</p><p>"Didn't you hear me?" he snaps, crouching down beside me to grab my jaw with a rough, cold hand. I gasp softly when he does so, but then smirk at him triumphantly even as his metal rings bite my flesh and singe my skin from his frozen they are. "It's <em>not</em> happening again."</p><p>"I couldn't care less," I respond honestly, giving him a quick wink. "Have a nice night, Dray. Hope you sleep like a baby. I suggest getting that stick out of your ass first, though. Feels like heaven when it's finally out."</p><p>"Shut the fuck up," he sneers, fingertips digging into my jaw as he turns my head so he can see me better. I let him. "You're an insufferable little bitch."</p><p>I laugh, letting the insult slide this time—though <em>bitch</em> may be one of my least favorite things to be called, especially by a <em>boy</em>. "And you're too easy."</p><p>He quirks a brow at me. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"To rile up," I clarify, wrapping my hand around his wrist to tear his hand off of my jaw. "You're so easy to make mad. You should work on that."</p><p>Draco clenches his jaw. "Yeah? Well you're just <em>easy</em>."</p><p>"Excuse <em>me?</em>" I scoff, the smile slipping off my face and turning into a rigid line.</p><p>My eyes go hard and he notices, but he doesn't react like most people do. The thing about the Zabini's is they're typically most known for their expressive eyes. Whether their eyes are expressing amusement, joy, distaste, whatever it is, the minute they go hard with anger, it's a signal to run. There's a tale the older women in our family like to tell. It's mythology, really, but they like to say that the women of this family carry a special power.</p><p>They can turn men to stone with one look.</p><p>Draco's eyebrows don't lift with the realization that he's messed up, he doesn't go rigid while his mind goes in overdrive contemplating fight or flight. He just smirks at me. Cruelly.</p><p>"You heard me. You're too easy. First Graham, then me, all in one night."</p><p>As if he didn't fuck Pandora hours ago. I didn't even fuck Graham.</p><p>"Except Graham isn't your first at Hogwarts, isn't he? Don't think I haven't heard about all your <em>escapades</em>," he sneers, the iconic look of Malfoy disgust and distaste in his eyes as he scans me.</p><p>As if I haven't heard of <em>his</em>.</p><p>I glare at him, clenching my own jaw as I push myself off the floor to stand. He does the same, watching me with and nonchalance still distaste as I brush my shirt and straighten it, my hands instantly flying up to fix my hair. I turn my chin up at him while my blood rushes in my veins and makes my hands momentarily form fists. But then I relax them, remember who I am, and bring back that mask of unbothered amusement.</p><p>"You're just <em>easy</em>, Zabini. Nothing more, honestly. You act like you're the shit, like you're better than everyone. You're nothing."</p><p>He gives me a dry laugh before turning to head back towards his dorm, while I, watching while my lips stay painted in a smirk and eyes grow harder and harder into stone, swear silently to do my best to make Draco Malfoy's life a living hell.</p><p>If there's one thing I can't stand, it's slut-shaming paired with double-standards.</p><p>And being underestimated. Doesn't typically end well.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: which harry potter character so you resonate most with??</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. PROJECTING AND CHICKENS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>this is just a filler tbh</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ive realized that the first straight up 15-20 chapters really suck &lt;3 i promise there's a real plot somewhere</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
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    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
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    <em>October 9th, 1995</em>
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</p><p> </p><p>"Morning," Blaise whistles when I sit down beside him. "You look... well-rested."</p><p>I shoot him a glare, knowing very well how sarcastic he's being. He only gives me a cheeky grin back before reaching across the table for the syrup, proceeding to drown his waffles.</p><p>I hardly slept last night. A stupid first year forgot about the second step and fell into the damn pit. The worst part is, he was sneaking around after curfew, which mean I finally got back to my dorm after my nightly rounds, did my homework, slept for maybe an hour or two, and then woke up to a stupid twelve year old boy screaming in pain at about two in the morning.</p><p>I was <em>so</em> tempted to just fall back asleep and pretend I never heard, but then his screaming got so loud that Miles burst into my room and threatened to hex me if I didn't do something about it. He easily could've woken Graham, one of the seventh year prefects, but something tells me he's rather face <em>my</em> tired wrath than our captain's.</p><p>So I had to haul the stupid kid out of the hole only to find out he broke his wrist and twisted his ankle. Because I was the only Prefect up, Snape made me stay with him in the medical ward and give a firsthand account of how I found him when his angry parents came in at four in the morning to hear how their precious little boy got hurt.</p><p>It was seven when I fell back asleep. It's currently 8:28.</p><p>"I fucking hate first years," I mutter under my breath, reaching over to serve myself some scrambled eggs while my stomach grumbles loudly. I'm <em>beyond</em> starving. It was rather uncomfortable when the boy's parents were interrogating me on how this happened and my stomach kept making noises while I spoke.</p><p>"Do you, now?" Pansy asks teasingly as she pops down across from me, an irritating look in her brown eyes. "Couldn't tell."</p><p>"And <em>where</em> the <em>fuck </em>were <em>you?</em>" I snap instantly, waving the serving spoon in her direction so aggressively that a piece of scrambled egg goes flying and lands in her plate.</p><p>She smirks at me with amusement before reaching over to pluck the spoon from my hand and serve herself some. "Asleep," she says simply. "I just went back to sleep."</p><p>"That's not fair! How the bloody hell did they make <em>you</em> Prefect over... I don't fucking know....Tracey!" I spit, blurring the first name I can think of when I spot the pink-haired girl in question out of the corner of my eye.</p><p>"Cry about it."</p><p>"Why's Malfoy crying?" Theodore Nott asks as he sits down on the other side of me, grinning with those rabbit teeth of his. His whole appearance is rather stringy and weedy and rabbity. He's tall, somehow even taller than me, and thin, and his front two teeth stick out just as much as his pointy ears do.</p><p>I scoff. "I'm <em>not</em> crying, thank you very much."</p><p>"It's because of his daddy issues," Blaise supplies casually right as Celeste sits down next to Pansy and across from Blaise.</p><p>"Fuck off," I snap, slapping him over the back of his neck, but my eyes stay on Celeste. He just snickers.</p><p>I watch as Celeste's eyes snap up in interest, first eyeing her cousin as she tilts her head in curiosity, and then flitting over to me. I scowl slightly at her, straightening my back when she smirks ever so slightly.</p><p>"Good morning," she rings out in an awake voice, still watching me carefully with that perpetually amused expression of hers. "Why are we talking about daddy issues?"</p><p>"Because Malfoy here—okay, <em>ow</em>, fuck, I'm <em>sorry</em>, Merlin's b—<em>stop hitting me!"</em></p><p>Celeste laughs softly, making me look at her again as I drop my hand from Blaise's shoulder to straighten up my sleeves and adjust the collar of my shirt. She grins slightly before looking away from me and out to the breakfast. I watch her honey brown eyes land on the fruit bowl and look there myself.</p><p>There's one apple left.</p><p>When my eyes flick back up, she's watching me carefully. Giving her an odd look, I reach forward towards the fruit bowl. She glances down as I do so, widens her eyes, and lunges forward quicker than I do to grab the last green apple while it's centimeters away from my fingertips.</p><p>I stay like that for a moment, stretched out towards the center of the table with my hand hovering over the bowl, and my face blank as I stare at Celeste. She keeps her eyes on me, grinning slowly as she brings <em>my</em> apple up to her lips and takes a great bite out of it, a drop of the sweet juice dripping down her lip. She gracefully dabs at it with a napkin before giving me a wink and turning to respond to something Pansy has said to her.</p><p>Seething silently, I aggressively close my hand around an orange instead, glancing to my right to see if Blaise has noticed. He, however, is busy wrangling his Herbology essay away from Goyle.</p><p>So right as I turn to snap at Celeste, an owl flutters down and lands right in my plate. I stare blankly at this light grey bird that hoots softly and stares right into my soul with its orange eyes before dropping a letter into my lap and flying away, bits of scrambled eggs falling from its talons and onto the heads of some unsuspecting students.</p><p>Pushing away my plate with a look of distaste (and while ignoring Blaise's, Celeste's, and Pansy's muffled laughter), I pick the the letter off my lap and turn it over to see it has come from my father.</p><p>My pulse picks up instantly while I sit there and just stare for a moment at the Malfoy seal on the letter. The wax is dark green, and Father has even gone the extra measure to put a gold leaf over it before pressing the stamp. I then carefully pry at it until it pops off, opening the envelope up for me.</p><p>"Who's it from?" Pansy asks curiously.</p><p>Blaise leans over for a second before laughing lowly. "Daddy Malfoy himself."</p><p>"Shut it, Zabini," I murmur, furrowing my eyebrows slightly as I slip the letter onto the envelope and toss the envelope onto the table.</p><p>
  <em>Draco,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your mother and I have been meaning to write to you sooner, but things have been hectic here at the manor. Quite a few of our old friends seem to have resurfaced and shown interest in reconnecting. There's only so much I can say over a letter, but I think you're old enough now that perhaps next time I see you, I'll explain what exactly happened at the end of last year and what this means for our family.</em>
</p><p>My eyebrows rise slightly at this. I know already—or rather, inferred—that the Dark Lord is back. I figured it must be obvious. I asked Mother near the beginning of the summer, and she confirmed it and told Father I'd asked. He wasn't mad. He seemed proud I was, in his words, "showing interest." But he still hasn't told me what happened or what is to happen.</p><p>I find it kind of funny that Potter <em>actually </em>isn't lying, but even his little Gryffindor friends don't believe him.</p><p>I glance up around the table. Do my friends even know?</p><p>
  <em>How has Hogwarts been? I expect you to write back saying you're receiving top marks in all your classes. I've been talking to Corinne and Alaric Zabini lately, and they tell me that in all of the schools Celeste has attended, shes always been the very top of her year. I expect you to make sure it isn't the same at Hogwarts. It's bad enough that you let that Mudblood Granger surpass you.</em>
</p><p>I look up across the table to glare over my letter at Celeste. For once, she isn't looking at me with that stupid knowing look of hers. She's happily munching on <em>my</em> apple while listening intently to a rather animated story Daphne is telling. I clench my jaw.</p><p>And then my eyes move of their own accord all the way across the Great Hall to land on stupid fucking Granger. Stupid Granger with the pretty eyes, know-it-all attitude, who looked <em>damn</em> good in that dress last year at the Yule Ball, who somehow is doing better than me in nearly all our classes, who's friends with that idiot Potter and traitor Weasel, and who looks really good this morning. And she's in a huddle with her two stupid friends, whispering conspicuously about no doubt their next idiotic adventure that'll get half the school nearly killed.</p><p>I hate her.</p><p>
  <em>Stay out of trouble. Don't disappoint me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lucius Malfoy</em>
</p><p>In all the letters he's ever sent me, I've noticed he never signs his name as "Father."</p><p>—</p><p>It's nearing the end of the day. My last class, Divination, was a little over an hour ago, and right now, it's my turn to patrol the halls for a little bit.</p><p>I have to admit, being Prefect is <em>rather</em> nice. There's the bathrooms dedicated specifically for us, and though they're communal, they're still very nice. We really only use them as <em>pools</em>, though, rather than actual bathrooms. Blaise has been begging Pansy and I to let him and the others in to get drunk while swimming in color-changing bubbles. I keep saying no, because what if the Head Boy or Head Girl walk in? But then I remember that I'm a fucking Malfoy. So fucking what?</p><p>So there's that and the other amenities—being able to leave class early or arrive late because I was <em>patrolling the halls</em> and being a <em>good Prefect</em> making sure that nobody is <em>causing any trouble</em>. And I get to take away points when I ever I damn want to for whatever damn reason—a stupid first year walking too slow in the hallway? Five points off Ravenclaw. A fourth year looking at me the wrong way? Ten points off Hufflepuff. Granger being in my vicinity? Well, I can't take points off of other Prefects.</p><p>But I'd <em>love</em> to take points off of her for both being a Mudblood and occupying my mind to such an extent that it's just <em>irritating</em>.</p><p>But right now I'm strolling the abnormally empty hallways. Usually, there actually <em>is</em> something for me to do. Every once in a while, I'll happen upon someone doing magic in the corridors or just something stupid in general, and that's when I get to take <em>tons</em> of points off (it's pretty fun). But right now, the lack of trouble is almost suspicious.</p><p>There's hardly anyone in these halls. Most of the students I've been passing are Slytherins who give me a quick nod of their head or a friendly smile or even a "hey" or something. But Ravenclaws? Hufflepuffs? Gryffindors? I've seen maybe a handful in the past hour. Where are they if they aren't being annoying?</p><p>And then my eyes snap on a sixth year ahead. A Gryffindor. My eyes narrow on him as I watch him turn the corner casually, his hands tucked into the pockets of his robes, his head swiveling side to side as if looking to see if anyone is watching.</p><p><em>I'm </em>watching.</p><p>I follow behind—partially out of curiosity, partially out of boredom. Whatever it is, I find myself walking as quietly and close to the wall as possible, keeping my eyes focused on the back of his brown hair, waiting to see what he does, when suddenly I'm tripping over a great grey mound of <em>fur</em>.</p><p>I nearly fall over and break my face on the floor (which would be an utter <em>tragedy</em>, because in this world filled with uglies, every beautiful face lost is worth mourning), but I manage to catch myself against the wall. I glance down, scowling when I see a fat grey cat staring up at me with massive yellow eyes. It's tail swishes slightly in the air, but otherwise it's completely still, freaking me out a bit.</p><p>"Scram!" I snap at it—it's sitting on <em>top</em> of my foot.</p><p>"Hey," laughs an all too familiar voice, making my back go stiff as it comes up from behind me. "Don't talk to Cheeky like that."</p><p>I scowl in confusion as Celeste steps up in front of me and crouches down to pick up her passive cat with ease, holding it like a baby and smiling down at its ugky face while her curls fall over her eyes.</p><p>"What the <em>fuck</em> did you just call it?" I laugh dryly, leaning my shoulder against the wall as I cross my arms. "<em>Chicken?</em>"</p><p>And then Celeste looks up at me with the most <em>lethal</em> expression I've ever seen on her face since I've met her. It catches me off guard, because I've never seen her wearing anything other than amused smirks, cheeky grins, and occasionally small frowns. But <em>this</em> is cold rage. Her honey brown eyes have given way to hard stone, glaring at me with so kuch intensity it's almost funny. Her lips are turned down in a deep scowl as she cradles <em>Chicken</em> protectively to her chest.</p><p>"<em>His</em> name is <em>Cheeky</em>," she snaps, giving me a short sniff and a disgusted once over before lifting her fat cat up in the air to rub her nose against his. "And he's a handsome boy—aren't you, Cheeks?"</p><p>I can't help the short laugh that leaves my lips as I shake my head incredulously. She gives me side eye but ignores me otherwise.</p><p>And then I remember.</p><p>"Fuck!" I snap, straightening up and pushing past Celeste and her fat cat to stride further down the hallway, but there's no use. That Gryffindor is long gone, <em>wherever </em>it is that he's gone. "Damnit... you and your stupid chicken..."</p><p>"For a Prefect, you're not exactly a model student," she scoffs from behind me. "It's not <em>my</em> fault that <em>your</em> sorry ass tripped over a cat. Maybe watch where you're going next time."</p><p>"Oh, fuck off. Put Chicken on a leash or I might just take ten points off of—"</p><p>"Off of <em>Slytherin?</em>" she challenges, coming up from behind me to stand next to me so close that our shoulders nearly touch. I refuse to look at her, but I can feel her bore holes into the side of my head with an angry sort of amusement. "Your own house?"</p><p>"I can give you detention," I point out coolly, smirking to myself as I push the sleeves of my shirt up and cross my arms, still craning my neck to see if <em>maybe</em> that boy is just beyond the hall, or maybe he's coming back this way.</p><p>Celeste snorts humorlessly. Her gaze shifts off of me and to the hallway, peering to see what exactly I'm looking. "Please. Detention for what? For pointing out that you're barely capable of walking?"</p><p>"For being a rude little girl, perhaps."</p><p>"Don't call me a little girl," she says coolly. I feel the cat's tail rest on my arm, so I glance down at it and flick it off without barely moving a muscle. "And don't do <em>that</em>. Now, what the hell are you looking for? Because I see nothing. It's quite boring."</p><p>"So then leave," I say flatly, squinting slightly as if concentrating really hard will make that boy reappear. But then I just sigh and lean back against the wall, rubbing my temples and letting my eyes fall shut. I think boredom is driving me crazy.</p><p>"Mm... no. It's either bother you or bother Blaise, and Blaise is <em>studying,</em> so he's even more of a bore," she sighs softly.</p><p>"So why can't you bother Pansy? Or, you know, any of your other friends?"</p><p>"Well, Pansy has locked us all out of the dorm because she's busy having a threesome with Verona, the sixth year, and some Ravenclaw girl," Celeste says calmly, making my eyes shoot open to look at her just picking at her nails with a bored look on her face. Her cat? Nowhere to be seen. "Daphne's hanging out with that one guy—he's on the team. What's his name? I don't even know, they all look the same to me. And Millicent is a spec<em>tacular</em> bore, really, she should get an award for it, and Tracey—"</p><p>"Celeste," I sigh roughly, dropping my hand from my face to tilt my head at her and give her the sharpest glare I can muster, "I <em>don't</em> give a fuck. Why don't you follow your cat's lead and fuck off, hm, darling?"</p><p>Celeste grins at this, dropping her own hands and picking her head up so her brown eyes, once more warm, twinkle at me. "See? This is why I love bothering you. You just react so <em>easily.</em>"</p><p>I scowl at her. "Really close to giving you that detention."</p><p>"Do it," she says simply, taking the smallest step closer to me. I don't have anywhere to go—I'm already pressed against the wall—so I just quirk an eyebrow and tilt my head down at her while she tilts her head up. I'm so much taller than her, but it never seems to really phase her. "You'll be stuck in a room with me, <em>alone</em>, for an hour. Or is that what you want, hm?" Her lips, painted that shade of dark berries, turn up slowly into a crooked but intoxicating smirk.</p><p>When it comes to being <em>so </em>irritating but <em>so </em>alluring, Celeste Zabini gives Hermione Granger a run for her money.</p><p>"I don't plan on going to hell early," I say dryly, lifting a hand up to tuck a lock of her thick curls behind her ears, "so maybe not detention." Why'd I just do that? It's as though my body reacts to her without permission, my hand moving if its own accord, my fingers lingering near the bottom of her jaw before I force myself to pull away, my eyes skimming her face repeatedly.</p><p>Celeste pouts mockingly. "What a shame."</p><p>"What?" I laugh dryly, leaning forward a little before kicking off the wall to stand up straight, officially reducing the space between us to mere inches. My neck hurts from how much I have to crane it down. "Don't tell me the rude little girl <em>wants</em> to spend an hour alone with me."</p><p>"<em>God,</em>" she laughs right back, squinting at me slightly and shaking her head, "the daddy issues in you really <em>is</em> the stick up your ass, isn't it? Is that why you act like you're superior to everyone?" she asks in a mockingly pitiful voice, giving me big eyes and another pout. "Need a hug, baby boy?"</p><p>I scoff at her, opening my mouth ready to angrily retort, but she's already talking again.</p><p>"Sounds like to me you want <em>more</em> of what I gave you that night," she murmurs, the mocking quality in her voice suddenly lost and replaced with that smooth, low, seductive air that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "Sounds like you want more of <em>me</em>, but you're too full of yourself to admit it."</p><p>I find myself smirking at her slowly. And then I take a step closer to her, chuckling darkly when it forces her to take a step back. The smirk on her face doesn't subside though, not even when I slowly back her up all the way across the empty hallway until it's <em>her</em> that's pressed up against a wall with me looking over her. I rest one palm flat against the wall right next to her head and bend down a little until our eyes line up. My other hand reaches forward to carefully grab one of her curls, letting my thumb just barely rub against her cheek as I pick it up and play with it. I don't miss the way Celeste's lips part at that and her breaths grow just a little heavier.</p><p>My pulse pounds in my neck, my wrists, and my blood rushes so fast, I'm afraid my veins my burst.</p><p>"It sounds like to me," I seethe quietly, glaring at her with all the intensity I can muster before leaning in to finish the rest in a whisper right next to her ear, "like you're projecting on me, <em>sweetheart</em>. You want me so bad?" I chuckle lowly, hearing her shiver just slightly. I think I might collapse—she smells so good up close, like blackberries. It's sweet, but it has a bitter hint to it. It's dark, and it's perfect on her. "Just admit it. I won't bite..." And that's when I lean in closer so my lips brush against her earlobe, close enough that my tongue grazes her skin when I say, "...unless you want me to."</p><p>Maybe it's a good thing these hallways are so empty tonight.</p><p>I move back so I'm looking at her face again. Her expression is practically unreadable. Her plump lips are clamped together in a thin line. Her eyebrows are furrowed ever so slightly, but then they relax a little when I let go of that lock of hair. Her eyes have a faint shine over them, glancing between mine at a frantic pace, as if she's trying to read me right back. But I know she can't. I let my anger show sometimes, but that's only when I want to. I'm a Malfoy. I've mastered the ice mask of distaste, judgement, and superiority. What shows in my face, I <em>allow</em> it to show, even in my worst moments of anger. So I know she can't read me.</p><p>But I'm struggling to read her too.</p><p>So I try something to see if her mask, made of stone rather than ice, crumbles or shifts just a bit. I bring my hand back up to her face, curling my fingers underneath her chin and resting my thumb on her lower lip. She slowly lifts an eyebrow at this, her hands resting calmly at her sides. And then I drag her lip down as I lean in close so that the tips of our noses nearly touch, my eyes set firmly on hers as I smirk softly.</p><p>But she gives me nothing.</p><p>So I lean in closer, letting go of her lip only to carefully latch my teeth on it. I feel her tense slightly, but then she's relaxing just as quickly, even as I nibble on her soft lip and drag my teeth over it before letting go and stare at it for a moment. Nothing. She gives me nothing. Not even clamping her lips together nervously, not even licking her lower lip.</p><p>I pull back slightly, nearly ready to accept defeat, but when I look up, her eyes are closed. My smirk comes back to my face, even though she opens her eyes almost instantly and smirks right back as if unfazed.</p><p>Silly girl. Doesn't she know that even the most intricate and expensive masquerade masks don't cover the eyes?</p><p>But then she catches me by surprise when she places her hands on my stomach and slowly brings them up to my chest to rest on my shoulders before looping her fingers together behind my neck. I furrow my brows at her ever so slightly while she smirks back calmly, tilting her head a little so that her black curls fall back into her deep brown face.</p><p>"You wanna kiss me?" she asks in a soft but sultry voice, eyes all dark and heavy. She makes sure I'm look carefully at her before dragging the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. "Because you're acting like you want to kiss me."</p><p>I lean in with a dark chuckle, letting my lips brush against hers. "Projecting," I reiterate, letting my tongue run over her lower lip while her fingers snake up the back of my head to pull gently at the hair near my neck. She's wearing flavored lip gloss. Berries.</p><p>"Oh, Draco," she sighs, but it isn't a sigh of pleasure, a moan. It's a sigh like... she knows a joke that she won't let me in on.</p><p>So I pull my head away to look at her, seeing that faint but amused smile on her lips, the glimmer in her heavy eyes, and the way she's shaking her head ever so slightly.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>She leans in, pushing off the wall and going way up on her toes—and pushing down on my shoulders to make me bend for her—to whisper in a sickly sweet, innocent voice, "I thought what happened in the common room wasn't going to happen again, Dray."</p><p>And then she pulls away from me, ducks under my arm, and struts off down the hall while her soft chuckles echo off the walls.</p><p>"I hate you."</p><p>I see her shrug, and right as she turns the corner, she glances back to say, a smile on her lips, "Okay."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what would you name your pet cat?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. YOU SMELL INTOXICATING</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>just a little run-in yktv</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>November 1st, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"I'll <em>never</em> forget the time Ferret Boy here got a <em>scratch</em> from a Hippogriff, and his ego got so wounded, he faked a broken bone. <em>And</em> he didn't even manage to get Hagrid fired," Pansy snorts as I sit down beside her at the table.</p><p>I widen my eyes in curiosity, unable to help the amused smile that spreads over my face as I look across the table to Draco Malfoy himself. His elbows are propped on the table, forehead resting in his palms with his eyes closed as he very clearly looks as though he's trying to calm down. His hair is ruffled like he's been tugging at it too much.</p><p>"You seem to have a <em>lot</em> of stupid stories," I remark as I pile my plate with dinner, my stomach rumbling embarrassingly loud. Luckily, the Great Hall is always loud enough to cover the noise. "Why do they all have to do with animals, though? And who's Hagrid?"</p><p>"Shut up," Draco snaps, dropping his hands and rolling his eyes as he grabs his fork and jabs it into a piece of meat, though he doesn't bring it up to his mouth to eat it. "You're al bloody <em>arse</em>holes, you know that?"</p><p>"And yet you love us," Pansy sings with her signature shrieking laugh as she pours herself some nettle juice. My eyes flash back to Draco, seeing him roll his eyes. I don't miss the way the corner of his lips flicks up just slightly, almost fondly.</p><p>"Hagrid was the old Care of Magical Creatures professor," Blaise says from next to Draco, his hand over his mouth as he chews on a great load of food. "Big guy. H—"</p><p>"An <em>oaf</em>," Draco corrects with a small scoff. "Y'know, Father was talking to the Minister earlier. They're really cracking down on standardizing the curriculum and standards of this school, the Ministry. So, you know, wherever Hagrid is," he says with a small and dry smirk, as if he knows exactly where this <em>Hagrid</em> figure is, "if he ever comes back, I doubt they'll let the idiot back in."</p><p>"Huh," Blaise says with a thoughtful look on his face, frowning slightly as he glances up and over his shoulder at where all the professors sit before shrugging and looking back down to his food. "Grubbly-Plank is nice, anyway."</p><p>I look up as well, my eyes landing on the High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge. The Ministry really is having its way with Hogwarts then—<em>good</em>.</p><p>I'm silent for a moment, scraping my fork absentmindedly around my plate as I look around at the faces at our table. "It sounds like to me," I say lowly, looking down at my food while I feel Blaise, Pansy, Draco, and a few other faces look at me, "<em>you're </em>still upset about that...was it a Hippogriff incident, Panz?"</p><p>"I was fourteen," Draco scowls.</p><p>"And you act like you still are."</p><p>"Oi," Graham's voice catches my attention. I turn my head to look further down the table where the seventh-year sits, flashing him the sweetest smile I can. He opens his mouth to speak, but then he gets seemingly distracted and gives me a half smile back. I can't deny, he's handsome. His hair is all dark and thick, his eyebrows are angled and his black eyes so hooded. He's tall, probably around 6'0, and rather well built.</p><p>"Yes, Graham?" I ask innocently, hearing Draco scoff. He's does a lot of scoffing, it seems.</p><p>"Don't mess with my Seeker," he says in a jokingly threatening voice, pointing his knife at me before cutting himself a piece of his food. "You can do whatever any other time, but we have a game tomorrow and I need him to get a good nights sleep."</p><p>I widen my eyes in faux shock. "Oh? Now what could I ever possibly do that'll ruin your sleep?" I ask teasingly, my eyes batting at Draco now as I lower my voice so he can here. "Try not to think about me tonight, Dray. I'd <em>hate</em> to be the reason you stay up."</p><p>Blaise chokes on his food, seemingly having overheard my words. I bite back a laugh as I look over to him, seeing him coughing in his arm while his eyes that give me an incredulous look water slightly.</p><p>"Water, little cuz?" I ask, my voice trembling as I try not to laugh as well, pushing my glass towards him.</p><p>—</p><p>"Are you done? I want to go to bed," I sigh in annoyance.</p><p>"Maybe if you wouldn't keep distracting me every five seconds with your stupid little voice, I'd be done by now," Blaise snaps from his spot sitting at the edge of the bed, my essay and his essay side by side as he glances through them, occasionally scribbling things on his own.</p><p>"Well <em>maybe</em> if you paid attention, you could write your own essay without stealing mine," I snap back, scowling and crossing my arms as I lean against one of the posts of his four-poster bed, glancing up when Crabbe and Goyle walk inside shoulder to shoulder. They give me short waves, so I force a small smile and wave back.</p><p>"Oh, fuck off," he groans, scribbling furiously. "You're my <em>cousin</em>, Celeste, <em>family</em>. Shouldn't you be, I don't know, happy to help? I mean, y—fuck."</p><p>The sound of tearing paper makes my body go rigid. "Blaise..." I seethe quietly, slowly turning my head to see his body frozen, hand holding a quill hovering over his paper. His ripped paper.</p><p>"I have to start over."</p><p>"I'm gonna kill you."</p><p>"You can kill me after I'm done," he says, shooting me a nervous smile before vanishing his parchment and summoning a blank one. "I love you, Celeste," he tries, a slight wince on his face.</p><p>"Still gonna kill you," I huff, pinching the bridge of my nose before pushing off the post and walking towards the bathroom. "Is anyone in the bathroom? I need to wash my face with cold water before I strangle you," I grumble, hand on the knob.</p><p>"Nott is showering," he says distractedly, tongue poking out the corner of his lips as he scribbled furiously.</p><p>"Whatever. Door's unlocked, his fault if he gets scared," I mutter, wrenching the door open, stepping inside.</p><p>I make sure not to glance at the shower as I walk in, because if it's anything like the one in my dorm, it's a clouded glass door—and clouded glass doors do a <em>shit</em> job hiding a person's body. I cringe slightly when I slam the door shut behind me. I guess Nott is a fan of long, hot showers, because the bathroom is filled with steam that clouds up the mirrors and clings to my skin.</p><p>"Great," I huff, pulling the sleeve of my shirt down over my palm to rub at the mirror, only for it to slowly cloud back up. "Now my hair's gonna get all frizzy..."</p><p>Feeling myself already starting to sweat from how hot it is in here, I push my sleeves up and pick out a hair tie from my wrist, my hands going up to grab my thick curls. As I bunch them together at the top of my head, the hair tie snaps and breaks, rubber hitting my skin before it falls uselessly like an ugly worm down to the floor.</p><p>"Fuck!" I huff, my forearms going down to rest on the sink as I duck my head and force myself to inhale, feeling frustration starting to build up. Muttering under my breath, I straighten back up and grab my spare hair tie, being more careful this time as I tie my hair up in a loose pony tail.</p><p>With the O.W.L.s approaching at the end of the year; all our professors seem to think that they're the only ones giving buttloads of homework. The truth is, they're all assigning hours of pouring over textbooks and writing till our fingers might fall off. You'd think being the new student would earn you some slack, but instead I find myself cooped up in my room half the time, neck hurting from being bent over Transfiguration notes. My grades have been great so far, but if I go easy for even a second, I'm sure they'll start to slip. I can't afford that.</p><p>It's the first day of November today (or rather, the first night of November tonight), and October was <em>hell</em>. It was essays upon essays, tests upon tests. Even <em>Divination </em>has me carrying around a dream journal—as <em>if</em> I'm getting enough sleep. Make up works wonders, but that's only if I'm awake enough in the morning to put it on. So I'm walking around looking like a zombie—purple bags under my eyes, hair typically a mess. Though, I mean, Pansy told me I still look hot, and she's pretty blunt, so I'm not too worried on that front.</p><p>I just wish I had a way to get rid of my frustration. Graham is a good distraction, but most of the time, it ends with him coming and then falling asleep on top of me. At least he manages to last more than fifteen minutes, even if I have to wrangle my way out form under him to finish off in the bathroom. I <em>do</em> mess around with other guys, but Graham is so much easier to reach. He's practically right there, always up for a go.</p><p>But I still find myself growing more and more tense every day. Honestly, fuck school.</p><p>Sighing, I turn the tap on and splash some cold water into my face. It's extra cold from the hot shower Nott is taking behind the warped shower door, making me shiver slightly. I turn the tap off and clear the mirror to pat my face dry right as the shower turns off.</p><p>"Don't come out just yet," I warn, my face now dry. I lean in and fix my eyebrows so they arch nicely, frowning when I see a stray hair. I pinch my fingers around it to pluck it out as I add, "I'm, uh, washing my face, or whatever..." in a soft mutter.</p><p>Nott doesn't respond. It's just the sound of water dripping as I examine myself closely as best as the foggy mirror will allow me.</p><p>Satisfied, I pull away and call out, "Alright, I'm leaving! Lock the door next ti—" I cut myself off when the glass door swings open, making me freeze and stare at my reflection in shock. "...time...Um, I'm still here, if you couldn't tell."</p><p>He doesn't say anything, but I can sense him moving. He grabs a white towel off from the metal rack right next to me, and I catch sight of his muscular forearm. My breath hitches slightly, because instantly I realize that Blaise was wrong. This isn't Nott. This isn't Nott at all.</p><p>I assume Draco wraps his towel around his waist, still silent. My eyes remain frozen on the mirror, and though it's clouded, I can still vaguely see my reflection. So when I see his white blond hair behind me, I bite down on my lip.</p><p>And then suddenly he's pressing up from behind me, his body so warm and dewey. My mouth drops open as I suck in a sharp breath, the counter a little harsh on my hipbones—but I couldn't care less, because my shirt is so thin that I can feel his muscular stomach and chest against his back. <em>Merlin</em>, his body is warm. Feverish even.</p><p>His strong arms reach around me, brushing purposefully against my forearms. His face comes in next to the right side of mine, hot lips brushing against my ear.</p><p>"Celeste," he murmurs almost threateningly, his voice so raspy and low it takes all my energy not to shiver. And then he suddenly pushes his hips right against me, making me gasp so loudly that I'd be blushing if I wasn't black. He chuckles darkly in response, hands resting on my hips. His fingers find the hem of my shirt and smooth across my skin right above the waistband of my pants, burning the goosebumps on my waist.</p><p>"Evening, Draco," I finally speak, sighing in relief internally when my voice comes out cool, calm, collected, and with a hint of my signature amusement.</p><p>I turn my head to the right so I can look at his face, quirking an eyebrow when I see him. His blond hair is wet, looking a little darker. It's swept back from his hand running through it, but a couple wet strands fall over his forehead. His grey eyes are dark, ashy, as opposed to the silver they typically are. And they look at me with hunger. His lips are a little red, probably from his hot his shower was. I could kiss them if I shifted just an inch.</p><p>He smells good too. That Jolly Rancher green apple smell, whether that's his body wash or shampoo or conditioner, I don't know, but it's addicting and makes me tilt my head just slightly so I can get a better—but discreet—whiff. It's not too sugary the way the candy is. It's sweet, but it has that muted hint to it.</p><p>He laughs softly, sucking his lower lip into his mouth before saying huskily, "Evening to you too, darling."</p><p>"Can I help you?" I ask, raising my eyebrows, ignoring the way my pulse thunders in my neck and my ears grow warm. <em>Fuck</em>, he's just pressed so close against me, groin right at my tailbone.</p><p>Draco licks his lips, a small smirk spreading across his face. "You ask that as if <em>I've</em> intruded on <em>you</em> while <em>you</em> were showering," he whispers, leaning in close to my ear again to give it a slight flick with his tongue. I close my eyes, resisting the urge to groan out loud: <em>oh, God</em>.</p><p>"To be fair, I did warn you," I murmur, feeling his arm snake around my waist and pull my back further into his chest. I bite down on my lip, feeling completely swarmed by his intense warm, especially when his hot lips press a kiss to my ear. They lazily drag down to below my ear, nipping slightly before pressing another kiss.</p><p>"Hm. Fair enough," he whispers, his other hand coming up my body. It brushed up my torso, over my breasts, teasing the v-shaped neckline right over my cleavage, before wrapping around my neck. His grip is loose, but his hand is still so strong. He's not wearing his rings right now, but it still feels amazing when he presses back in my neck, forcing me to lean further against him. I struggle a little at first, but then I give in and just lean my head back onto his shoulder and keep my eyes closed.</p><p>"<em>Vous sentez une odeur enivrante, ma chérie</em> [You smell intoxicating, darling]," he groans into my ear. I can hear the smirk in his voice, but I let it slide, because <em>fuck</em> does he sound good in French. It makes my knees tremble.</p><p>"<em>Merci, Dray</em>."</p><p>"<em>Avez-vous le goût de cette trop bonne</em> [Do you taste this good too]?" he asks, letting go of my neck.</p><p>I pick my head up, opening my eyes and laughing smoothly while he unwraps his arm from me and grips the counter on either side of me. "<em>Vous m'embrassa avant. Vous me dites </em>[You've kissed me before. You tell me]."</p><p>Draco chuckles softly, moving his head out of my neck to rest his forehead against my shoulder. He then presses a kiss near the back of my neck before responding in a raspy, teasing voice, "<em>Je ne parle pas du goût de tes </em>lèvres, babygirl [I'm not talking about your <em>lips</em>, babygirl]."</p><p>My breath hitches.</p><p>His hand goes up to my hair, tugging at the flimsy hair tie so my curls fall loose. Draco pushes all my hair over one shoulder before tugging at my sleeve and pulling down my bra strap to reveal my other shoulder. Her leases a searing kiss there, moving his lips up and down the side of my neck before pausing to murmur against my skin—</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>"Hm?" I respond, my voice abnormally high.</p><p>He inhales deeply, fixing my sleeve and strap and pressing one last kiss to my neck before whispering, "Could you get out of my way? I need to brush my teeth before I sleep."</p><p>I freeze up, staring at my obscure reflection while dumbfounded. All of a sudden, his hips are no longer pinning me against the counter, and his presence isn't irresistible and hot, but muggy and unwanted. I hear him start to chuckle lowly behind me as I huff and turn around, finding myself barely centimeters away from him as I crane my neck up to look at him.</p><p>"You're an idiot," I say simply, turning my chin up at him.</p><p>"Oh, yeah?" he sneers, that stupid smirk on his lips simply <em>begging</em> to be slapped off.</p><p>"I hate you," I sigh, managing to wiggle my way out of his Malfoy scented prison and storm over to the door. When my hand touches the doorknob, his annoyingly husky voice repeats my own response from a <em>month</em> ago to me.</p><p>"<em>Okay</em>."</p><p>—</p><p>I've never been to a school where they take Quidditch more seriously than they do at Hogwarts.</p><p>The last few <em>weeks</em> have been all about today's match, Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Personally, I'm not too crazy about it, but the rest of the school is restless.</p><p>The Slytherin team seems insistent on making sure that the Gryffindor team <em>isn't </em>in one piece even before they all step up into the pitch, much to my amusement. I saw Alicia Spinnet, a Gryffindor Chaser, with a Hair-Thickening Charm (courtesy of Miles Bletchley, the Keeper who's obsessed with his <em>own</em> hair) running into the infirmary ward to get it reversed, her entire face thick with coarse black hair that shagged over her eyes and mouth. Even <em>I</em> saw Miles cast the charm (not that I said anything about it; I don't understand the hype behind all this, but I'd still like to see my team <em>win</em>, thank you very much) along with fourteen witness testimonials, though hook-nosed greasy-haired Professor Snape scoffed it off.</p><p>Professor McGonagall, the head of the Gryffindor house, seems just as into Quidditch as her students and bland old Snape himself. She's one of the professors that's been piling the most homework into us, and yet this past week has been quite Transfiguration-free.</p><p>It's kind of funny—I've been seeing the esteemed Harry Potter walking around with a <em>guard </em>detail. Those Weasley twins, the ones that have started selling those literally vomit-inducing candies around the school, have barely left his side this past week. It seems to embarrass the skinny boy who lived, but, honestly, I can't even blame them. Warrington tried hexing Potter <em>several</em> times. It would've been funny to see bats flying out of his nose.</p><p>It's Saturday morning, breakfast. Pansy and I have walked in together—<em>my </em>plan was to head straight for the Slytherin table and fill up on waffles, but she seems to have other ideas.</p><p>"Panz, what are you doing?" I scoff when she grabs my arm and makes a beeline for the Gryffindor table.</p><p>"I'm in the mood to irritate Scarface," she sings back, making me roll my eyes before smiling slightly.</p><p>She drags me all the way to the Gryffindor table near the middle where Harry Potter himself and the two sidekicks I've seen trailing behind him sit. If I'm<br/>not wrong, they're Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. The three are in my Care of Magical Creatures and Potions classes. I've never really had a conversation with any of them—not that I plan to. The looks I get from the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuff, even without any of them talking to me, probably because of my house and name combined, are enough to let me know that I don't really <em>need</em> to talk to them. They don't interest me.</p><p>"Hey, Potty," Pansy sneers when she stops right behind Potter. I see him freeze up for a moment before he turns around to look up at her, an expression of tired annoyance on his face. "<em>I</em> heard Warrington's sworn to knock you off your broom today. Scared?"</p><p>To my surprise, Harry grins. "Warrington's aim's so pathetic, I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me."</p><p>The red-haired freckled Weasley boy spits out some of his water trying not too laugh, resulting in the water coming out of his <em>nose</em>. Next to him, the bushy-haired Muggleborn girl, Hermione, cosmos her lips together to bite back a smile.</p><p>Pansy scowls, her face turning a little red. Honestly, I know her, she <em>also</em> doesn't give an honest crap about Quidditch—it's the Slytherin pride that keeps her going.</p><p>"Got a bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?" she scoffs, glancing the red-head up and down with a mean look in her brown eyes.</p><p>Ron Weasley instantly stops laughing. His face goes red as a scowl permeates his face, his fork jabbing harshly at his breakfast as he looks away.</p><p>I raise my eyebrows, glancing at Pansy. "Have you had your fun?" I ask with a laugh in my voice. "Can we go eat now?"</p><p>"Sure—let me just ask <em>Potty</em> what chocolates he prefer I send him when he breaks his arm—again!"</p><p>When I finally manage to drag her to our seats across the Great Hall, she's pink in the cheeks but holds her chin up in pride, throwing back an entire glass of water down in seconds. I roll my eyes slightly before sitting down next to her.</p><p>"He wasn't wrong, you know," I snicker in a low voice next to her ear. "Warrington really does have shit aim. He tried fingering me once—middle of October, I think—and couldn't even find my clit. I had to make up an excuse to leave—I couldn't take any longer of him practically <em>rubbing my asscrack</em>."</p><p>Pansy snorts in amusement, her instinct to instantly protect whichever Slytherin has been slandered gone. "This is why girls are better," she looks at me with pointed eyes before taking a great bite out of her bagel.</p><p>"Who said I don't get my fair share of girls?" I grin back, my voice a low murmur as we both break out into a fit of choked laughter, getting odd looks from Daphne, Tracey, and Millicent from across the table.</p><p>"What's so funny, you two?" Daphne asks, her eyebrows narrowed slightly.</p><p>"Oh, nothing," Pansy chokes out.</p><p>A flash of blond catches my attention and makes me sober up. I straighten my back a little and push my curls out of my face as my smiles slip away while I watch Draco Malfoy sit down a couple seats away with the rest of the Quidditch team. He looks awake and relatively chipper this morning, making me grind my teeth's lightly in irritation. After what he did last night, one thing has been made clear—as hell bent as I am to make his life as irritating and hard (literally or not) as possible, he's just as intent on making sure my attempts don't go without retaliation.</p><p>Fine. Just because he might instigated a battle doesn't mean he necessarily has to win it—and it <em>certainly </em>doesn't mean he has to win the war.</p><p>He grabs an apple from the center of the table, grinning at something Adrian Pucey has said. I watch carefully as he brings the apple up to his mouth, taking a great bite out of it. When he pulls his hand away, I can see the sweet juices of the fruit dribbling down his lips and a little onto his chin, shining slightly in the sunlight from the enchanted ceiling above.</p><p>My gut feels like it's twisting as it reminds me of what he asked me last night—</p><p>
  <em>Avez-vous le goût de cette trop bonne?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do you taste this good too?</em>
</p><p>And he wasn't talking about my lips.</p><p>When I force my eyes away from his lips and up to his silver eyes, he's already looking at me. His eyes darken in a flash, and a cruel smirk spreads across his lips.</p><p>And then he dabs the juice away and turns back to his friends, laughing loudly at something someone has said.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's your least favorite day of the week?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. BRUISES AND BADGES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>weasley is our king...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>draco is such a dick lmao idek why im writing a fanfic for him that's not postwar</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>DRACO MALFOY</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>November 2nd, 1995</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>November, as usual, is filled with hard frosts and biting air that nips at my cheekbones and the very tip of my nose. I can practically feel my eyes drying up from the harsh wind that's whipping my hair about, but the weather could <em>hardly </em>dampen my morale.</p><p>The team and I stand near the middle of the pitch, filled with excited and anxious energy that has my bones practically vibrating and heating me up. I glance up at the sky—a pearly white-grey color—and squint at the harsh white sun that flares back down to me.</p><p>And then I glance to my right at Montague who's adjusting the silver crown-shaped badge on his chest, making me grin slightly. He glances up at me and gives me a cheeky grin back.</p><p>"Nice touch, these badges," he says, shifting so that the sun reflects off of it and nearly blinds me.</p><p>"I got the entire House to wear 'em," I say smugly, though I'm scowling a bit internally as I glance up at the stands where the students are dressed in green and silver, knowing fully well that there's one specific girl in those crowds that <em>isn't</em> wearing it because, and I quote, <em>Silver doesn't look good on my skin.</em></p><p>"Think it'll throw the Weasel off?" Warrington guffaws from beside him, running a dragon-leather gloves hand through his hair. "The song?"</p><p>"<em>Think?</em>" I scoff, squinting as I see a small mass of red approaching from the other side of the pitch. "Did you see how pale he was this morning? It'll do the trick."</p><p>As the Gryffindor team stops before us, I let Potter catch my eye. He's wearing a slight scowl on my face, and it only deepens when I smirk at him and tap the crown badge on my chest—<em>just</em> in case he hasn't already seen it. He looks like he might hex me, but then Madame Hooch has our captains shake hands. It's hard not to snort as the Gryffindor captain, Angelina, steps up in front of Montague, who has to be at least three times the size of her and probably crushing her fingers.</p><p>And then, mounting our brooms, the whistle blows and the balls are released...</p><p>I set off on a wide lap of the pitch, feeling my muscles <em>relax</em> as the sharp and icy wind blows my Quidditch robes back and stings at my face. My eyes sweep this way and that, looking for just the slightest hint of gold as Bletchley swoops up to our goal hoops.</p><p>Angelina Johnson has the Quaffle. I listen to Lee Jordan—the Gryffindor with the <em>very</em> obvious bias in his commentating, though despite all the complaints from the other houses, McGonagall does nothing more than snap at him—while I look around for the snitch. <em>Fuck</em>, she's ducked Warrington, passed Montague, and—ah. There we go, hit with a blusher by Crabbe.</p><p>Didn't think he had it in him.</p><p>Adrenaline scourging my veins, I press myself closer to my broom to speed up, rushing past the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the stands as I approach the Slytherins.</p><p>It's then that I <em>finally</em> hear the singing over the howling wind, and I grin.</p><p>
  <em>Weasley cannot save a thing,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>He cannot block a single ring</em>
  <br/>
  <em>That's why Slytherins all sing:</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Weasley is our King.</em>
</p><p>I choke back a laugh, eyes still sweeping for the Snitch. Pansy and I worked together on this project, though she did most of the work. She's got a better flair for the dramatics, believe it or not.</p><p>Angelina shoots a Quaffle—Bletchley saves it. I give him a grin he can't see before looking around once more.</p><p>And my eyes land on something golden, but it isn't the Snitch.</p><p>My eyebrows lift in surprise when I see Celeste. Her black, curly curls are out and loose over her shoulders, thrashing slightly and blowing into her face from the wind. She's got a dark green scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, and she rubs her hands, wearing dragon hide gloves, together quickly, trying to generate friction. She looks somewhat bored, but when she drops her hands, that's when I see the bit of gold.</p><p>I groan—not sure whether it's of amusement or annoyance—when I see the crown badge bewitched to be gold instead of silver.</p><p>Of <em>course</em> she'd do that.</p><p>She's right, though. Gold <em>does</em> look better on her.</p><p>She then catches my eye, briefly surprised to see me looking at her. I glance to the side to see where Potter is, but it seems Potter hasn't spotted the snitch yet either, so I glance back at Celeste right in time to see her slipping her scarf off her neck, a mischievous smirk on her lips. I frown slightly in confusion when she starts unbuttoning her coat and then pulls it apart. The air must be cold and biting at her, but she seems fully intent on—</p><p>Oh. I blink blankly at what she's wearing. A lacy black tank top, the neckline so dangerously low. Her fingers, with her long nails painted black, trace the neckline, drag her thin straps off her shoulders and back over them. I glance up at her face, seeing her lip caught between her teeth and an amused glimmer in her eyes.</p><p>
  <em>Weasley was born in a bin,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>He always lets the Quaffle in,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Weasley will make sure we win,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Weasley is our King.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Weasley is our King,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Weasley is our King,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>He always lets the Quaffle in,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Weasley is our King.</em>
</p><p>And suddenly a great cheer comes from the Slytherins. I force myself to rip my eyes away from Celeste and turn to see just in time as Weasley fails miserably to keep Warrington from throwing the Quaffle into the central hoop.</p><p>10-0.</p><p>I then glance across the pitch to see Potter stationary, just staring off at his blood traitor friend. So I grin, glancing over my shoulder as the Slytherins sing our new anthem even louder before swooping into a dive and circling the pitch once more, seeking desperately for that little golden ball.</p><p>I murmur absentmindedly with the Slytherins. <em>Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King...</em> I don't miss the furious look on Potter's face as he passes by me, making my grin only grow. I snort when I glance at the Slytherins and see Pansy with her back to the pitch <em>conducting</em> our entire house.</p><p>She's <em>so</em> extra.</p><p>It's why we're friends.</p><p>And then Potter dives.</p><p>I dive in only seconds later, the wind melting the grin off my face as I press myself as close to my broom as I can, finally spotting that glint of gold that has set him off. I come in close to his left, clawing for the Snitch when—</p><p>I nearly fall off my broom when a Quaffle skims<br/>over the top of my head and hits Potter in the back, tossing him down to the ground. I pull back instantly, furrowing my eyebrows first in confusion and then in fury when I see his knuckles, white from the cold since he's too stupid to put on gloves, clutched tightly around the Snitch. He stands up, glasses crooked while the idiot Gryffindors scream their approval.</p><p>The rest of the Gryffindor team swoops down and swarms him instantly while I pant off to the side, my broomstick next to me. I throw my head back and close my eyes as I let the sun warm my wind-bitten face, cursing under my breath. I was <em>so</em> close.</p><p>When I open my eyes, I see Madame Hooch flying at top speed towards Crabbe who still hovers in the air with the rest of my team. I scoff—he must have been the idiot that nearly knocked my head off my shoulders.</p><p>"It was that <em>thug</em>, Crabbe," I hear Angelina spit angrily, making me look back over at all the Gryffindor players. I scowl slightly—Crabbe's an idiot, but I won't be having a <em>Gryffindor</em> saying that. The audacity—have they seen themselves? "He whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you'd got the Snitch—but we won, Harry, we won!"</p><p>I can't help but snort. Potter instantly whips around to look at me, so I open my mouth and say, "Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?" Throughout the duration of the game, the stupid red-head managed to let <em>four Quaffles</em> through the hoops. "I've <em>never</em> seen a worse Keeper...but then he <em>was</em> born in a bin<em>...</em>Did you like my lyrics, Potter?"</p><p>Potter scowls at me before turning back around. I grin spitefully at his back, my eyes flashing over his shoulder where I see the Weasel King himself trudging on back to the changing rooms.</p><p>"We wanted to write another couple of verses!" I spit, taking a few steps closer as I switch my broom from hand to hand, my blood rushing dangerously fast through my veins. "But we couldn't find rhymes for <em>fat</em> and <em>ugly—</em>we wanted to sing about his mother, you see—and we couldn't fit in <em>useless loser </em>either—for his father, you know."</p><p>The Weasley twins freeze up when they hear me. I can't help the low chuckle that pushes past my lips, the sneer on my face, the glare in my eyes.</p><p>I can't wait to get another letter from Father scolding me for letting Potter and his band of Weasels beat me.</p><p>"Leave it," I hear Angelina mutter.</p><p>"But you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?" I sigh, glancing at the end of my broomstick as I rub my thumb over the top. "Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see <em>how</em> you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay."</p><p>The twins instantly leap at me. I don't flinch for a second, but I laugh open when Potter grabs one twin and the three Gryffindor Chasers hold onto the other, their freckles faces burning just as red as their hair.</p><p>"Or, maybe," I hum, glancing over my shoulder when I hear some soft thuds to see Goyle and Pucey have both landed behind me, "you can remember what <em>your</em> mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you—"</p><p>In an instant, Potter and the twins are charging at me. I raise my eyebrows in surprise for a moment, but then my hand is moving on its own whipping my wand out of the pocket of my robes and brandishing it in a flourish as I shout out an <em>Impedimenta!</em> not a second after Potter's fist collides with my stomach.</p><p>—</p><p>Ultimately, even though Slytherin lost and there's a big bruise forming next to my ribs, Gryffindor didn't really win.</p><p>"He got <em>lines!"</em> Graham laughs across from me at the dinner table. "Crabbe got <em>lines</em> for an illegal Bludger, and the twins and <em>Potter</em> get banned from Quidditch for life! It's a win for me, boys."</p><p>I force a small smile.</p><p>My stomach aches slightly when I shift forward to grab my water. Potters skinny and shorter than me, but I have to admit, he has a decent arm on him. It doesn't matter now, though, not now that Umbridge intervened on their punishment and banned them. A dark smirk crosses my lips as I take a small sip of my water. I <em>almost</em> regretted provoking them, when for a brief moment I thought they might kill me, but I've been in dueling club for so long, that Impediment Jinx was second nature. Naturally, <em>I</em> didn't get in trouble. Snape made sure of that, and Umbridge seems to have it out for Potter. It only makes sense: she's the Ministry's and the Minister's lapdog, and Harry and Dumbledore seem to be their greatest threat. It's laughable, honestly, the amount of attacks in the <em>Daily Prophet </em>on the two, <em>especially</em> when I know the truth.</p><p>But as much as it all—<em>all</em> of it, the entire circumstances, from Potter's banning to Umbridge perpetually being on our side to the entire world being against Potter—is worth celebration, I can't seem to choke any food down tonight. It hurts when I breathe.</p><p>The world doesn't believe Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. They don't believe them when they say the Dark Lord is back. I heard Umbridge gave Potter lines for an entire week when he exploded in her class, yelling that she's lying and he's back.</p><p>I didn't look at him that entire week.</p><p>It's good. This is all good. He's back, but nobody believes it. And that's good. He needs time. It's good.</p><p>And Father said I'm old enough, finally, to be let in on all the information. I've been getting tired of being treated like a little boy anyway.</p><p>My fingers go to the crown badge still on my chest. I carefully take it off and set it down on the dinner table before getting up. All eyes flash to me, so I give my teammates a grin and say, "I'm exhausted. Same thing as always tomorrow? Firewhiskey in the dorms?"</p><p>"Yeah, man," Graham nods. "Night."</p><p>It's as I'm walking out of the Great Hall that the family owl, Argent, swoops down and perches on my shoulder, claws digging just slightly into my skin. He pecks the top of my head affectionately before sticking one of his legs out to show me the letter tied around his ankle.</p><p>"This late?" I question to myself as I untie the letter. He hops down onto my arm, black eyes stark against his grey feathers, looking at me expectantly. "Go bother Goyle for his food."</p><p>Instantly, he takes off, one of his wings ruffling my hair as he flies off to the Slytherin table. I shake my head with a slight smile, fixing my hair as I keep walking out the Great Hall, my eyes fixed on the letter.</p><p>It's from Father. Again.</p><p>I shove it into the pocket of my robes, deciding Im in no mood to read what I already know will be written in there. How could you let Potter catch the Snitch first? And you got into a fight? Did you at least win it? No? At least tell me your grades are up. Oh? You got a what on that last Astronomy exam? No, I don't care if it was ten marks above average.</p><p>It really doesn't matter if I open it and read it or not, if I even send a response—I don't think he even reads those.</p><p>I open the door to the Slytherin dungeons, feeling my hands shaking slightly at my sides as I slam the door behind me and descend down those damp, musty, and crumbling steps illuminated only by the shitty green lanterns, feeling rage start to seep out of my veins and take form as billowing white clouds that unfurl from my mouth every breath I exhale. That's how cold it gets even in November down in the dungeons, though the common room usually has a Warming Charm on it.</p><p>Jumping over the second step, I mutter, "Venenum."</p><p>Instantly, the wall shifts, the snakes in the stones slithering about as it slides to the left and reveals the opening to the common room. I walk in, nodding at some sixth years who call my name. It's like, hand in hand with anger, the exhaustion hits me all at once. Everything goes red and bleary, my footsteps feel twice as heavy, and all I want is to collapse in bed and never wake up until the next weekend.</p><p>But when I walk into the boys' hall, I see the last person I want to see at my door.</p><p>Celeste Zabini, in all her curly-haired glory, has her hand propped against the doorframe while the other furiously rattles a key into the doorknob. There's a great scowl on her face as she tries to unlock the door, a low stream of curses spilling out of her lips. I smirk, closing the door behind me as quietly as possible as I walk down the hall and stop to stand right behind her. She somehow had managed not to notice me, muttering obscene profanities under her breath. Celeste gives up on getting the door unlocked and instead kicks it. She crosses her arms, backing up <em>probably</em> to lean against the wall, but instead she ends up bumping her back against my chest.</p><p>Celeste startles and turns around instantly, a murderous look in her eyes as she whips her wand out of nowhere and holds it up. I stifle a laugh, instead looking down at her with amusement. I bring a hand up, wrapping it gently around her wrist. She struggles at first, but then she lets me pull her hand down and wand away from my chin.</p><p>"You're jumpy," I note, flicking my eyes up and down.</p><p>She rolls her eyes, the battle-ready expression on her face melting away into mild boredom. "Yeah, well, maybe if you didn't come up behind me like a creep, I wouldn't have nearly blasted your head off."</p><p>I laugh lowly at this. "I'm pretty sure I can block anything you send my way. Anyway, you're the real creep, trying to break into my fucking <em>dorm</em>."</p><p>Celeste gives me an incredulous look. "I wasn't <em>breaking into it</em>," she scoffs, turning back around on her heel so her black curls nearly whip me in the face. "Blaise gave me a spare key. Little idiot still has my essay in there," she grumbles, fiddling with the key again, "and—<em>fuck!"</em> she sighs out of exasperation, resting her forearms against the door and burying her face in her palms. "And I can't even get it open. I mean <em>obviously</em> the key is faulty, but I m—what—what are you doing..?"</p><p>She picks her head out of her hands when she feels me come up from behind her, my arm slinking around her waist to find the doorknob. I laugh softly in her ear—I've never seen her like this. She's typically all calm and collected, but now she's a rambling mess that can't even turn a key properly.</p><p>I find the key, jiggling a little before turning it, hearing the lock click. Celeste sighs softly, standing there in front of me for a moment before grabbing my hand and turning the doorknob to push the door open, strutting inside without a word.</p><p>"No 'thank you?'" I question with a dry smile, walking into the empty dorm right behind her at a slower pace.</p><p>"I'm too tired for your stupid games right now," she huffs softly as she walks over to Blaise's bedside, pulling open his drawers and rummaging through them with a small frown on her face.</p><p>"Oh, really?" I ask, biting back a grin as I lazily make my way to my bed and lay down, arms crossed under my head and one knee bent. "You seemed <em>more</em> than eager to play out on the stands. What was that little act, hm, darling? You must've been <em>cold</em> stripping like that."</p><p>I don't miss the way her lips twitch at my words, like she wants to grin or smirk just remembering that. "Did I distract you?"</p><p>"Of course not. Nothing there to distract me."</p><p>"Oh, really?" she mocks me, glancing up from Blaise's trunk that she's hauled onto his bed to scourge through. There's an amused smirk on her face now, her shoulders considerably relaxed. "Is that way you stopped flying to stare? Because there was nothing to be distracted by?"</p><p>"I was looking at your crown badge," I lie, smirking slightly as I close my eyes and ignore the way my ribs ache when I breathe. Fucking <em>Potter</em>.</p><p>"Mm. Don't worry. 'Cleavage' can be hard to pronounce."</p><p>I snort, hearing her laughing softly as well. We're both quiet for a moment as she continues rummaging through Blaise's belongings and I find myself starting to drift off—but I'm still in my clothes. I groan softly, bringing my hand to my face to rub my eyes before rolling over and forcing myself to sit up. I can feel Celeste's eyes on the back of my head as I use my wand to open my dresser and pull out my sweatpants, and a smirk finds its way to my face.</p><p>While she's in here, I might as well continue our little game.</p><p>So I get up, turning around to face Celeste. She gives me a mildly inquisitive look before sitting down on Blaise's bed to sort through some papers. Biting back a smirk, I slip off my robes and toss them to the foot of my bed. My hands then go to the hem of my sweater to pull it up over my head. Celeste gives me a distracted glance before sighing softly to herself.</p><p>I fiddle with my tie, loosening it and dropping it with my sweater. When my hands start to unbutton my shirt, however, that's when I catch her attention. She looks up from the mess of parchment to rest her eyes on mine. Her brown eyes are big, dark, and bright, and her curls are a little tousled from being out in the wind. She looks at me blankly before dropping her eyes down to my hands, watching as I slowly unbutton my shirt one by one, revealing more and more of my chest. It's when I unbutton the last one that her eyes instantly snap back up to mine. For a second she looks a little confused, but then her lips spread into that familiar smirk.</p><p>"What're you doing?" she asks with a soft, teasing laugh, tilting her head as her missing essay goes abandoned.</p><p>"Changing," I say with a simple shrug, my hands dropping to my belt.</p><p>Her eyes follow. She leans back slightly before standing up as well, her hands going to take her own robes off and toss them aside before she sits back down. I raise my eyebrows at her while I undo my belt and carefully pull it out of the belt loops, taking her in. She's still wearing that lacy black top, the one that shows off her smooth dark skin perfectly and has loose straps that fall down her shoulders if she moves too quickly. She's wearing a skirt underneath it, underdressed entirely for the bitingly cold weather. But somehow, the dorm has gotten several degrees warmer in the last five minutes.</p><p>"What are <em>you</em> doing?" I muse as I unbutton my pants and take them off carefully, tossing those onto my bed before slipping my shirt off my shoulders. I wince softly when my bruise shifts, lifting my hand up nearly my stomach to press my cold rings to my skin.</p><p>"It's warm in here," she says simply, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees so her tank top falls a little and let's me see the shadow of her cleavage. "Isn't it?"</p><p>I give her a look as I grab my sweatpants. "You're staring at me," I note, hiding a smug smirk as I step into the sweatpants and quickly tie the white strings low on my hips so she can see a hint of the band on my briefs.</p><p>"I know," she says simply, a hint of laughter in her voice. "That bruise—is it from when Potter <em>beat you up?</em>"</p><p>My movements freeze. I look up at her slowly, a scowl slipping onto my face as I slowly rub my rings against it again. "He didn't <em>beat me up</em>," I scoff, my scowl deepening when I see a smirk finding its way into her face.</p><p>"No? Well he did get a good punch in, I see."</p><p>"<em>Luck</em>," I snap, grabbing my wand and flicking it at my clothes to vanish them into my laundry. "I'd have torn him to pieces if I wanted to <em>fight </em>him, but I'm above foolish <em>skirmishes</em> with that scrawny little shit."</p><p>"Really?" Celeste asks in a teasing voice, standing up from Blaise's bed and slowly making her way around mine. I watch her warily, turning as she comes up from behind until she stops right in front of me, my calves pressing against my bed frame. "<em>I</em> think you were scared of him beating him up. He did, y'know, end up beating you in the match. It's a shame he caught the Snitch before you."</p><p>I suck my lower lip between my teeth while I glare down at her. She laughs shortly before letting her eyes roam over my chest, her eyebrows rising a little at what she sees.</p><p>"Again," I murmur, taking a deep breath that makes my chest heave a little, "<em>luck</em>."</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"What, you don't believe me?"</p><p>"What I <em>don't </em>believe is that scrawny, sad, orphan little Potter beat <em>you</em>," she says, a challenging look in her eyes as her pointer finger presses slightly against my chest. "A Malfoy. Interesting, isn't it?"</p><p>"Get out of my dorm, Zabini," I huff, scowling down at her while my hands itch to close around her throat.</p><p>"Why?" she asks innocently, tongue dragging over her lip as she snakes her hand up my chest, my shoulder, and loops it around my neck to tug on the hair near the bottom of my head. I stifle a soft groan, but she notices the expression on my face and raises her eyebrows. Her other hand slips under mine to presses lightly against my bruise, grinning when I wince, and then slide up my chest to join her other hand behind my neck. "Did I make you...mad, Dray?"</p><p>"Don't call me that," I seethe quietly.</p><p>She takes a sad expression, taking a step closer to me. That smell, the bittersweet blackberries, greets my nose, makes me breathe in slowly so I can savor it while her plump lips hold my gaze fast. They pout slightly before flirting back up into a smirk.</p><p>"So I <em>have</em> made you mad. I like seeing you mad."</p><p>"Why's that?" I cant help but ask. It happens every time—I hate her games, but I can't help but play in them. So I slip my hands onto my hips, squeezing them tightly and pulling her closer to me. She gasps in surprise before laughing softly.</p><p>"I think I'll keep that to myself," she murmurs, glancing down at my chest before sighing and pushing her palms against them. "But right now, I need to find my essay and make something up<br/>for my <em>dream diary</em>," she rolls her eyes, pulling away from me.</p><p>"Sleep well, Dray. I wonder if you'll see me in <em>your</em> dreams."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what do you think a first date with draco would be like?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. I DON'T BEG</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>ahh, this chapter is a bit iconic, isn't it? where the game truly begins</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>reading these old chapters, esp the sexual ones, really makes me cringe. why do you read this &lt;3 why do i write this &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>November 10th, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Did you even sleep last night?"</p><p>I sigh softly from where I'm sitting on my bed, a microfiber towel wrapped around my wet hair as I paw through my trunk for cute clothes, wearing only a towel around my body.</p><p>"Hardly," I murmur, furrowing my eyebrows as I pull out a sweater and hold it out in front of me to see if I'm in the mood to wear it. "I slept at three."</p><p>"Girl—literally <em>why?"</em> Pansy laughs shortly from her bed right across from mine. I glance up at her to see her in her underwear shimmying a pair of ripped mom jeans up her hips and buttoning them up. "It's the weekend, you know."</p><p>"Yeah, I know," I sigh again before folding the sweater back up and shoving it into my trunk. I grab another sweater—a simple black turtleneck, skintight and a staple. I shrug before tossing it into my bed and moving on to find something to wear with it. "Won't you get cold in ripped jeans?"</p><p>"Probably," she shrugs, slipping a striped shirt over her head and a thick black cardigan over that. "Why were you up 'til three, anyway?"</p><p>"Homework," I respond flatly, grabbing a tight plaid skirt—black and brown, one of my favorites—and setting that down with my sweater. It's a simple, basic outfit, but I'm too tired to put my mental energy into anything better. "Homework and studying. I didn't want to leave it all for Sunday night."</p><p>"Hey, way to call me out," Pansy says sourly, walking over to me now fully dressed and peering over my shoulder to see what I'm planning on wearing. "Now, won't <em>you</em> get cold in a skirt?"</p><p>"Obviously," I scoff, a smile slipping onto my face. "But how else am I supposed to show off my legs? Besides, it's a good excuse to wear knee-high socks. Guys simply <em>can't</em> resist knee-high socks."</p><p>"Fair enough," she shrugs, turning back around to clean her bed up while I drop my towel—my underwear already on, thank you, and after checking to make sure the door is closed—and start slipping my clothes on. "All this thought <em>just</em> to impress Graham Montague, Cel?" she teases, shoving all the clothes she tried on messily into her trunk. "He's a simple man, babe. All you have to do is wear an ugly shade of red lipstick and flash some boob."</p><p>I cough on my spit, a grin ripping across my face as I tuck my sweater into my skirt, reaching underneath it to make sure I don't get any of those annoying folds because of how formfitting both articles of clothing are. I laugh in a weak voice as I wrap my favorite beige scarf around my neck and slip my dragon hide gloves on. "Why don't you worry about impressing <em>girls</em>, Panz?" I tease, shooting her a bright smile.</p><p>"Oh, hush. I spent all of third and fourth year convincing myself I like guys, okay? I was once on the Dark Side trying to seduce..." She pretends to gag, "...<em>men</em>. So I know what I'm doing when I say just show him a little titty and put on too much perfume."</p><p>I roll my eyes as I jam my feet into a pair of leather boots that fit me last year but are apparently too small this year. "Oh, hush. Anyway, I'm not trying to impress <em>Graham</em>."</p><p>"So then who <em>are</em> you trying to impress?"</p><p>I look up at her with slightly wide eyes as I slip my winter coat on, instantly feeling all too warm to be indoors. "Huh?"</p><p>"You said you're not trying to impress <em>Graham</em>," she says with a slight smirk, walking over to me while twirling her wand in her hand before shoving it away. "So who <em>are</em> you trying to impress?"</p><p>"Oh," I roll my eyes as I turn towards my mirror to quickly put on some makeup. Pansy gives me a pointed look through the reflection as she watches me work concealer under my eyes, my bags getting heavier and heavier with each day. "Nobody," I shrug, blending it out carefully.</p><p>I huff, realizing there isn't much time left, and grab my wand to mutter a makeup charm that Tracey taught me a while back. It's helpful, though it only does very basic makeup. When I look back at my reflection, I'm wearing pink lipstick, which makes me recoil, though everything else looks fine.</p><p>"Really?" she asks with a look of disbelief, walking up to stand next to me in front of the mirror and slinging her arm around my shoulders while I wipe away the pink lipstick and replace it with my usual dark berry.</p><p>I laugh shortly, giving her a bored look as I set the lipstick down to pick up my mascara. I tilt my head down slightly as I carefully run it over my lashes, saying, "Oh, Panz. I don't chase after boys and try to impress them."</p><p>"Is that so?" she asks with a grin.</p><p>"Mhm," I say brightly, standing up straight to admire myself. "<em>They</em> chase after me. And <em>they</em> should be the ones trying to impress <em>me</em>."</p><p>—</p><p>I was wondering what Hogsmeade is when my parents signed that letter over the summer.</p><p>Turns out, it's a little village not too far from Hogwarts. We all walked down a hill and around what Pansy called the Shrieking Shack before reaching a village that can only be described as a living, breathing Christmas card—little cottages and shops line either side of the cobblestone streets with lights strung up everywhere and colorful signs glaring me in the face.</p><p>Pansy's dragged me into a pub called The Three Broomsticks. As soon as I step into the pub, a great wave of warmth surrounds me, shooting off the biting cold that has me losing sense in the tip of my nose and unable to move my eyebrows much. It's crowded in there—very clearly a popular attraction for students from <em>all</em> the Houses—and loud with the noise of music in the background and chattering of groups of friends.</p><p>Pansy grabs my hand and pulls me along, saying, "I see the others!"</p><p>I nearly trip over someone else's feet as I'm forced to practically sprint to keep up with her. We stop at a table near the back of the pub where I push my hair out of my face to see Blaise, Daphne, Draco, and Tracey sitting together, each sipping on some drinks.</p><p>"Oi, Malfoy," Pansy laughs, "move it! You don't need an entire half of the booth to yourself, fatass!"</p><p>"Have you seen his ass?" Blaise supplies across the booth, taking a great sip of a fizzy drink. "It's <em>grown</em> over the summer!"</p><p>"Hey!" Draco snaps while I bury my knuckles in my mouth to keep from laughing, my face growing warm as my body practically defrosts. "Quit talking about my ass before I beat yours."</p><p>"Ooh, very scary," Pansy rolls her eyes as she glances over her shoulder to look at someone.</p><p>"All I'm hearing is that <em>Daddy Draco</em> is into spanking," Blaise says dryly, his grin only growing even when Draco reaches across the table to pull him in by a tight grip on his scarf in order to slap the side of his head. "<em>And</em> choking!"</p><p>"I'm gonna kill you two," Draco groans while Daphne and Tracey laugh quietly.</p><p>"Yeah, yeah," Pansy waves him off before turning to me. "I see Verona over there," she says with bright and excited brown eyes. "I'm gonna say hi and come back! I'll go get you a Butterbeer, babe."</p><p>She leans in and kisses a wet smack on my cheek before bounding away towards the sixth year girl. I half-scowl half-grin, wiping her spit off my cheek with the sleeve of my coat. I then turn to the booth, seeing the only empty space next to <em>Daddy Draco</em> himself. He isn't looking at me, though, busy in conversation with Blaise.</p><p>A smirk on my face, I pull my gloves off and shove them into my pockets before taking my coat off and draping it over my arm. I then quietly slide into the booth, sliding in all the way towards the window until my thigh touches Draco. I place my folded coat down next to me, feeling him tense up and turn to look at me while I look across the table at Tracey, giving her a friendly smile.</p><p>"It's so cold out," I murmur, rubbing my palms together as I look around with big eyes</p><p>"We were thinking of going to Honeydukes after this," Daphne says from across the table, her bright green eyes wide as she takes a sip of her cherry syrup and soda with ice and an umbrella, shivering as it goes down—<em>why</em> she'd get such a cold drink with this weather eludes me. "It's a sweet shop! They have the <em>best</em> toffees."</p><p>I grin, leaning back against the booth so my shoulder brushes against Draco's. Again, he tenses for half a second before relaxing. He even leans slightly against me—not a lot, but just enough that I wonder if he meant to or not.</p><p>Blaise huffs aggressively across the table, making me give him an amused look.</p><p>"Now whats got <em>your</em> panties in a twist, little cuz?" I tease, a grin splitting my face when he shoots me a nasty glare.</p><p>"We're <em>only</em> a month apart, <em>Cellie</em>," he snaps, making <em>me</em> scowl at him now. My cousin huffs again before taking a big swing of his Butterbeer and opening his mouth to say, "It's this fourth year. Peach Flocks? You know her? She's the one that's always laughing really loud in the common r—"</p><p>"Brown hair?" I prompt, squinting at him slightly to act as though I'm simply focusing on my cousin while I sneakily slip my hand to the edge of my thigh where my fingers can discreetly brush against Draco's—so discreet, it could easily be a mistake. "Thin eyebrows? Oh, is she the one that's always wearing those ugly headbands? I can't believe her parents named her <em>Peach</em>."</p><p>"That's the one!" he points at me enthusiastically before slumping back against his seat.</p><p>"So, what?" I laugh, brushing my fingers against Draco's leg again. This time, his leg shifts a little in response—towards me. "You have a <em>crush</em>, Blaisey?"</p><p>"No," he snaps, giving me a glare while Daphne snorts in amusement. "Though I did...you know..."<br/>He trails off before abruptly dropping his head to hit the table, groaning in frustration.</p><p>Draco snorts from beside me, prompting me to finally look up at him. He's wearing a dark coat over his clothes, Slytherin scarf tucked into it. His cheeks and nose are a little red from the cold, making the rest of him look even paler. His hair is a bit windswept, and his eyes are as frosty as ever. He too turns his head to look at me, a lazy smirk finding its way into his face when he sees me already looking at him.</p><p>"Blaise here," he starts with a sigh, looking back at Blaise while his hand suddenly slips into my thigh right over knee, "<em>fucked</em> a fourth year."</p><p>"Oh," I say in a voice slightly higher than usually, quirking my eyebrows as I force myself to keep my legs relaxed while Draco Malfoy rubs his thumb over my knee. "I <em>see</em>. And this is an issue why?"</p><p>Draco slips his hand a little higher, fingers reaching the top of my socks. His hand stops in surprise, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him looking down to see me wearing a tight skirt with the knee-high socks, a strip of flesh showing in between. He squeezes my knee at this, making me bite down on the inside of my cheek. His rings are cold just like the wind outside, biting my skin and bringing goosebumps up all over my body.</p><p>Blaise says something in a muffled voice.</p><p>"What was that?" Tracey asks for me, frowning with a pair of black-framed glasses perched on her nose. "Couldn't hear you."</p><p>He repeats himself, still muffled, ending his words with an annoyed groan.</p><p>"Speak up, buddy," Daphne giggles, twirling her umbrella in her fingers.</p><p>Blaise picks his head up, a pattern on his cheek from the coaster he was pressed against. There's fury in his eyes as he exclaims, "She thinks we're dating!"</p><p>I snort humorously, reaching over to grab Draco's drink off the table. His gaze follows my hand as I bring his Butterbeer to my lips, looking up at him with big, mischievous eyes from over the rim as I take a sip of his bubbly drink. His jaw shifts at this before he smirks slightly, eyes darkening to an ashy shade.</p><p>"What the hell did you do to make her think that?" I ask, keeping my eyes on Draco for a moment more before turning to look at Blaise. "Oh, <em>Merlin</em>, dont tell me you made <em>love</em> to her?" I groan, jumping slightly when Draco gives me another unexpected squeeze of my knee.</p><p>His hand shifts up a few inches to the skin that's covered neither by my skirt nor my socks. He gently scrapes his nails against it before dragging his cool rings over the flesh. I can feel his eyes on the side of my face, but I just take another sip of his drink before setting it down on the table.</p><p>"<em>No,</em>" Blaise scowls, looking at me as though I've deeply offended him. "How <em>dare</em> you? I don't make love, <em>Cellie-dear</em>, I—hey!" He glares at me, rubbing his forehead like the drama queen he is while patting his lap to grab the coaster I just threw at him.</p><p>"Stop calling me that," I glare, picking up another coaster ready to throw it if I have to. "You're such a damn idi—<em>oh</em>."</p><p>All eyes flash to me. I just give them all bright smiles, gesturing for Blaise to go on. He starts talking again while I turn my head to direct a furious glare at Draco, who only gives me a look of faux confusion. I glance down where he pushed my skirt up while I was mid-sentence to get a better grip on more of my thigh.</p><p>"Did I catch you off guard, <em>chérie?"</em></p><p>His voice makes me startled slightly because it's so close to my ear and unexpected. It's warm, brushing against my skin and tickling me slightly as I try not to shiver. He pulls away from my ear with a proud smirk on his face while I fix my hair to cover my ear, trying my best not to look anything other than amused with Blaise's story.</p><p>"<em>As I was saying</em>," Blaise says huffily, a pretentious look on his face that makes me roll my eyes but smile fondly, "I don't <em>make love</em> to girls." He scoffs, propping his elbows up on top of the seat behind him as he leans back and smirks slightly. "I'm like...an <em>animal. </em>A wolf. Oh! A tiger. A damn <em>beast</em>. I'm not <em>gentle</em>, thank you very much, I'm—"</p><p>"You're going to be <em>dead</em>," I say in a low and threatening voice, my eyes narrowed as I lean forward slightly, "if you don't stop talking about how you <em>fuck girls</em> in front of me."</p><p>"Well—"</p><p>"I'll write to Auntie Colette if you don't stop," I say smugly, watching as his face drops. He then crosses his arms and sinks lower in his seat while Tracey giggles softly next to him.</p><p>Eventually we're joined by a few others. Pansy sits down next to me, leaving space between the two of us for us all to pile our coats and gloves and scarves. Conveniently, it also blocks her view of Draco's pale hand resting peacefully on my thigh.</p><p>"Here you go," she says cheerily, sliding my Butterbeer over to me.</p><p>"Thank y—<em>hey!"</em></p><p>I scowl when Draco grabs my Butterbeer and takes a great swig out of it, licking his lips when he slams the glass down. "You stole mine," he shrugs, making me roll my eyes and take his glass that I took before to myself. "It's only fair."</p><p>Next to Pansy sits Theodore Nott, deep in conversation with Tracey and Daphne about a hag he saw lurking in Zonko's. Pansy and Blaise lean across the table laughing loudly about some girl they <em>both</em> fucked (honestly, the two of them make <em>me</em> look like a virgin), leaving Draco and I sitting quietly in the corner of the booth.</p><p>"Hey, make space!"</p><p>Crabbe comes out of nowhere, pushing Nott to slide into the booth. Nott nearly falls over, leaning into Pansy who leans into me, forcing me to lean into Draco. I freeze up slightly at this, but force myself to relax as I inhale his familiar scent.</p><p>"There's no room, Crabbe," Draco says calmly, his voice booming over my ear as he picks up his (my?) Butterbeer to bring it near his lips without drinking from it.</p><p>"Well <em>make</em> some."</p><p>"Oi, Mr. Vincent Crabbe," Pansy drawls sarcastically, pressed against my arm, "there's no<em> damn space</em>. Go somewhere else if y—"</p><p>"Actually," Draco murmurs, making all eyes shoot to him, a coy hint in his voice, "I think we can make space."</p><p>I look up at him with confusion, seeing him already looking down at me. His lips look so soft and pink, a little wet from his saliva, and his blond hair falls into his eyelashes as he eyes me up. And then suddenly his arms are around my waist, ignoring the way I yelp slightly as he picks me up and sits me down on top of his lap.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Somehow, I'm the only person caught off guard. Blaise, my own cousin, gives us one short look before returning to his conversation with Pansy. Pansy gives me a casual smile before going back to talk to Blaise. Nott slides in to let Crabbe sit, and Daphne and Tracey hardly bat their eyes.</p><p>It's just me, sitting there stiffly on his lap, his arms wrapped around my waist and his chest touching my back every time he inhales. I don't dare move a muscle, not even when he chuckles darkly in my ear or slips a hand down my skirt again to rub the skin on my inner thigh.</p><p>But then I remember that I'm <em>Celeste Zabini</em>. Boys don't surprise me. I don't get caught off guard. I take everything in stride, accept whatever happens with grace. If someone surprises me, I surprise them back.</p><p>So, smirking slowly, I finally relax against him. His chest is warm, and now that he's shed his coat, I can feel the lines of his muscles on my back through his thin white shirt. His arms are strong and muscular too, one playing with the hem of my skirt, the other discreetly brushing against my inner thigh.</p><p>I turn my head over my shoulder to look up at him, but he's looking across the table at Blaise, pretending to listen in on the conversations. I say pretending because there's an all too smug smirk on his face, and I can't tell if I want to <em>slap</em> it off or <em>snog </em>it off. He's just so fucking tall that even when I'm sitting on him, his head is over mine, nearly tall enough that if he strains his neck, he could rest his chin on my head.</p><p>I can't help but laugh softly as he inches his hand up my thigh, just reflecting on how I got myself in this situation. He leans his head forward to look at the side of mine before taking one hand to tuck my hair behind my ear so he can lean in and whisper—</p><p>"What's so funny?"</p><p>His breath is hot as it fans across my neck.</p><p>"Nothing," I shrug, feeling his arm tighten around my waist as he slips his hand even further up, this time ghosting his fingertips over the edge of my panties by my leg. My breath hitches slightly, but before he can laugh at me, I murmur, "I just didn't think you'd be into PDA. Doesn't seem like your style."</p><p>He sighs softly, giving my thigh a sudden squeeze that has me biting down in my lip.</p><p>"You're right," he murmurs in a husky voice before leaning away from me and back against the booth. "I'm not usually a fan of it. I like to keep my private affairs..." His thumb brushes against my panties gently, making me gasp ever so slightly, "...<em>private</em>."</p><p>I try not to squirm as his thumb grazes me again. It's such a slight touch that I can't tell if I'm imagining it or not.</p><p>"But?" I prompt in a soft voice.</p><p>"But..." He inhales a sharp breath before laughing softly. "But I'm willing to bend my own rules to win a game."</p><p>"A game?" I ask with faux innocence, pretending that I'm trying to get more comfortable as I shift and wiggle slightly on his lap, hearing him grunt slightly.</p><p>"Yes, darling. The very game we're playing right now.</p><p>"Tell me, Dray," I say in a low voice practically like a purr, wiggling on his lap again so I can hear him groan softly, "how do we know when one of us has won this...<em>game?</em>"</p><p>I turn my head so I can see him over my shoulder. His eyes are dark and his lip is caught between his teeth. I smirk slightly, grinding down on top of him a little more, feeling something hard starting to form beneath me. But then he abruptly presses his fingers against my panties right over my clit—<em>hard.</em></p><p>I gasp loudly, covering by pretending to choke and cough when Blaise flashes me a concerned look. I give him a grin and even a <em>thumbs up</em>, so he smiles and continues complaining to Pansy about Peach Flocks.</p><p>Feeling my blood start to boil, I snap my head over my shoulder to glare at Draco. He smirks at me lazily before murmuring—</p><p>"We know when one of us breaks. When one of us <em>begs</em>."</p><p>"For what?" I ask innocently, feeling his fingers brush over my panties one more time before he slips his hand out of my skirt and fixes the hem, leaving my thighs feeling a bit cold.</p><p>He gives me a pointed look, eyes narrowing and going dark while his hand trails back down to my knee, playing with one of my socks.</p><p>"You know for what," he whispers, snapping the elastic band against my skin and smirking when I flinch slightly.</p><p>"Well that's unfair, isn't it?" I ask with my own sarcastic smirk. "You've already gotten something from me. What about me?" My mind goes back to that night a month ago—we were in the common room at three in the morning when he decided to insult me after I did him a...<em>favor</em>. So far, making his life a living hell has only been a mild success—I've only managed to piss him off from time to time, but living <em>hell</em> is yet to come. I haven't even begun thinking about the real guns I'd have to pull out for that.</p><p>"Are you asking me to eat you out to level the playing field?" he asks so bluntly it makes my lips part in surprise.</p><p>I smile at him sweetly. "Mm. No. I think I'd actually rather wait until <em>you're </em>begging me to <em>let</em> you eat me out. If I remember correctly, you're simply dying for a taste, aren't you?"</p><p>Draco shrugs, a hard glint in his eyes. He looks at me with both amusement and spite, and I mirror his expression. "Suit yourself. I, too, would like to wait until you're a moaning, writhing mess," he groans in my ear, making my eyes flutter shut and tongue poke out to slowly graze my lip, "getting yourself off on my thigh while I just watch, while you <em>beg</em> for me to touch you." He gently places his hands on my hips, easing me carefully so I'm sitting on one leg. And then he bounces it slightly, making my breath hitch as it causes friction right where I need it most. "I'll have you so wet, darling," he moans in a quiet but lewd voice, smart with the way he reaches around me for his drink so he isn't so obvious with his whispering, "all without doing nothing at all." The bouncing of his leg stops, and he shifts me back onto his lap. "Maybe I'll let you come on my thigh before I touch you...maybe I'll make you wait until you're close to tears before I even kiss you. How does that sound? Hm?"</p><p>I swallow thickly, finding my throat to be dry. When Draco laughs a low chuckle, his chest tumbled against my back. I force my eyes open, gazing at the rings on his hand that rests loosely around his Butterbeer on his table. And then I smile slowly.</p><p>"You should know, Malfoy," I murmur so only he can hear, mentally praising myself when my voice is steady and seductive, "<em>I don't beg</em>."</p><p>"Neither do I, little girl."</p><p>I scowl to myself, my hand forming a fist around the material of his pants. "We'll see."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>lmfao isn't it cute that all draco and celeste currently have to worry about is fucking sex</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. A GOOD MORNING</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>draco has an interesting dream, and celeste is late to calss</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you don't understand how hard im cringing. i know this writing is from like four months ago but it feels so JUVENILE</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>November 19th, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>She's on her knees, just like that time in the common room.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Except, this time, we're in an empty classroom. I'm not sure which one—maybe it's a the Potions classroom, maybe it's the Charms classroom—but it honestly doesn't matter. I'm leaning against the professor's desk, whoever the professor of this classroom even is, with my hands clutching the edge of it while she kneels in front of me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her curls are perfect, not a strand out of place, coiled snakes perched like a crown around her dark skin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her skin is always smooth, dark, and tempting. I always want to lick it, bite into it, leave marks on it, whether it's her neck or chest or thighs or stomach.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her dark eyes gleam up at me. I think they change color sometimes, or shades at least. Sometimes they're black, sometimes they're dark brown. Tonight, with the moonlight streaming through the window and landing on her face, they're dark brown and look at me with hunger.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And her lips. Painted that dark color, curving naturally at the ends into a permanently amused smile. Her lipstick is pristine. I can't wait to mess it up.</em>
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  <em>"Stand up," I order, my voice sounding like it's coming not from my own mouth but from above me, booming slightly. "Kiss me."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She stands immediately, her hands going to rest on my chest so she can lean against me freely. Ever the tease, she leans in to nibble on my ear. I move one of my hands off the desk to grab her ass, giving it a tight squeeze as a warning. All she does is moan breathily in my ear before giggling mischievously.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then she presses a kiss on my jaw. My cheekbone. The corner of my mouth. My throat. My ear. Anywhere but my lips.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You didn't say where to kiss you," she teases, bringing her face back in front of mine. Her eyes lock with my own, full of devilry and seduction. They look at me challengingly just like they always do. And then she leans in and slowly swipes her tongue over my bottom lip.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Kiss my lips, darling."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She hums softly, sliding her hands up and down my chest. Are the windows open? Or am I just imagining that mild breeze tousling her hair up. Her devious eyes look up at me through her lashes as she bites down on her lip before slipping her hands under the hem of my sweater and sliding it up my bare chest. She gently scratches her nails against my skin before leaning in and brushing her lips against mine.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Are you sure you want to kiss me?" she asks in a soft voice, slipping her arms still under my sweater around my back in a loose embrace. "Because once you do, there may be no going back."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She gently pulls my lower lip between my teeth, nibbling on it slightly before letting it go to whisper.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Am I someone you should cross paths with? Because I could break you. Do you fear me? Do I petrify you?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She then tilts her head, a faint smile on her lips.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Because I could turn you into stone."</em>
</p><p>My eyes snap open.</p><p>—</p><p>"That big oaf is back half a month, and he's already assigning us an <em>essay</em> on fucking <em>Kneazles</em>," I hear Nott scoff as I sit down in Potions in my seat by the back of the class.</p><p>I roll my eyes—luckily, I managed to grab a spare moment yesterday and finish that essay up. Hagrid came back earlier this month, to my surprise. I really thought that the Ministry is upping its standards.</p><p>The chatter in the classroom dies down as Professor Snape walks in, his black robes swishing behind me. As usual, he wears that pinched, sour expression on his face, even when he turns to face us and looks down at us in disdain over his hooked nose. Next to me sharing the table sits one of the Gryffindors, a girl whose name I can never remember—Flower? Rose? Marigold?</p><p>Snape begins talking in his nasally, droning voice, describing the potion we'll be brewing today, Strengthening Solution, and how he hopes that we aren't complete and utter disappointments. It's right as he's flicking his wand to display instructions on the board that someone creeps into the front door.</p><p>Without even looking to see who it is, Snape calls out in a loud voice, "Ms. Zabini, you are <em>late!"</em></p><p>My eyes snap to the door to see Celeste frozen in her step, her face casual but eyes slightly wide. It takes her a second, but then she simply clears her throat and keeps walking, saying, "My apologies, Professor," in a silky voice.</p><p>"<em>Not</em> so fast," he scoffs right when she's about to walk up to her seat, making her wince slightly before swiveling on her step to face. "May I know what exactly takes precedence over this class that you had to show up <em>late?"</em></p><p>Snape never gives out detentions to Slytherins, <em>ever</em>, unless they break one specific rule.</p><p>Coming to class on time.</p><p>She stands up straight, flicking a curl over her shoulder before laughing softly, as if conversing with a good friend. "Oh, I had to help a first year to the hospital wing—someone jinxed him with overgrown toenails. Poor thing could hardly walk."</p><p>There's some muffled laughter around the room. I roll my eyes, biting down on the inside of my cheek as I try <em>not</em> to dwell on the dream I had last night. It probably meant nothing—I've been so sleep deprived lately that my dreams have been getting crazier and crazier. Naturally, I won't be writing it down in my dream journal. Maybe I'll make up something about showing up to class naked—that seems a little less humiliating.</p><p>"Oh?" Snape asks questioningly.</p><p>"That's right, sir," Celeste nods, a bright hint in her voice.</p><p>I can only see her back, but I glance her up and down anyway. Her hair is usually down and flowing, but today it's held up in a bun with only her wand holding it intact, a couple loose locks and strands touching her shoulders. She looks slightly disheveled, shirt a little untucked in the back, skirt a little askew, and her knee high socks—<em>fuck</em> does she look good in knee high socks—are uneven, one an inch or two higher than the other.</p><p>Either she woke up late or decided to have a quickie at 8:30 A.M. I wouldn't put either past her.</p><p>"And <em>where</em> is your robe?" he pries, holding his wand between both hands as he peers down at her.</p><p>"In my bag, sir."</p><p>"Put it on. And meet me for detention at 8:00 today. Now go sit down."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"Sit <em>down</em>, Ms. Zabini," he says firmly, giving her a sharp glare before sitting down behind his desk to flip through a book, making a point out of not looking at her.</p><p>Celeste huffs before turning on her heel and striding up to her seat behind me. She's wearing a scowl that makes me smirk, though she doesn't seem to notice me as she practically flies past my row to slam her bag down on her table and sit next to Pansy.</p><p>"I thought <em>Snapey</em> likes Slytherins, Panz," I hear her mutter sourly while I bite back a smirk and get up.</p><p>"I'll get the ingredients," the Gryffindor next to me chirps before bounding down to the table at the front of the room.</p><p>"He does," I hear Pansy respond, very clearly trying her hardest not to laugh at Celeste, "but he's a stickler for attendance."</p><p>"Why must everyone at this school have a stick up their ass?" Celeste sighs softly.</p><p>"<em>I</em> don't."</p><p>"You're special."</p><p>"What got you so late, anyway? You were up before me. I didn't see you at breakfast though," I hear Pansy mumble.</p><p>I realize I've been standing still for too long, so I reach into my bag to pull out my cauldron, squinting at the blackboard for the instructions. The Gryffindor is back soon, this time with a tray of all the ingredients. I quickly recognize the vial of salamander blood and the powdered Griffin claw.</p><p>"Having a nice morning so far?" the Gryffindor chirps as she uncorks the vial and pours the blood into my cauldron, the sound of chatting students starting to fill up the room.</p><p>I shoot the Gryffindor an odd look. What's her name? I know her first name is a flower of sorts, and I think her last name is Green or something like that.</p><p>"Why are you talking to me?" I deadpan unblinkingly.</p><p>Flower Green flushes pink before shrugging to herself. She looks down at the cauldron and lets her hair fall into her face. I hear a snort behind me, but I don't have to turn to know who it is.</p><p>"I was late," I hear Celeste sigh, "because Graham caught me right as I was leaving the common room. He was...he needed help."</p><p>"<em>Oh?</em>" Pansy laughs. "I'm guessing he <em>didn't</em> have overgrown toenails and <em>didn't </em>need help getting to the hospital wing."</p><p>"Nope," Celeste sings back. "Can you get the ingredients? I'd rather not get another detention from Snape for, I don't know, grabbing the shit in the wrong order."</p><p>Double Potions passes by as slowly as it typically does. Potions is definitely one of my best subjects, and perhaps a subject I'm most interested in, but the <em>class</em> is simply abysmal. It's rather monotonous, actual—walk in, listen to Snape for about five minutes, brew a potion, leave. Sometimes there's a little entertainment in the form of the Gryffindors getting hassled by him. Those days tend to be better.</p><p>"Potter," I hear Snape sneer to my left, making me look up instantly.</p><p>My eyes first land on Granger brewing a potion (that's <em>perfect</em>, of course) next to one of the Patil twins—I can never remember which one is in Gryffindor and which one is in Ravenclaw. My eyes linger on Granger for a moment, taking in her crease less white shirt, skirt that's probably a modest three inches longer than it has to be, and crisp red tie around her neck. Her sleeves are pushed up a little, and her wild brown hair is up in a high ponytail.</p><p>And then I drag my eyes over in front of her where Scarface and the Weasel sit, gaping up at Snape with what can only be a mix of fear and disdain in their eyes.</p><p>"And <em>Weasley</em>," Snape sneers, his mouth cuddling as he glances between the two. "<em>What</em> are we supposed to be brewing here today?"</p><p>I glance down at their shared cauldron, snorting when I see violent green sparks and thick black smog rising out of it.</p><p>"Strengthening Solution, <em>sir</em>," Potter responds dryly, his green eyes bored behind his glasses and his jaw shifting like he's holding back a sarcastic remark. "You've written it right on the board, Professor, in case you forget again."</p><p>Ah, there it is.</p><p>I laugh dryly—it's not even like Snape has to look for a reason to give them detention. Potter <em>gives</em> him reasons.</p><p>"Would you like to increase the one week detention I've already given you to a <em>month?"</em> Snape sneers, his beady eyes growing harder.</p><p>"No. <em>Sir</em>."</p><p>Snape scoffs before pulling his wand out. He glances down at the cauldron once more and shakes his head before swishing his wand at it. Instantly, the contents disappear, leaving Weasley a sputtering mess and Potter with a dropped jaw.</p><p>"You two can write me an essay each on <em>why</em> ginger should <em>never</em> be mixed into a potion before Knarl blood. Rest of the class—no homework."</p><p>"Nice one, Potter," I mutter with a smirk as Snape moves one from those two, earning a nasty glare that just makes me grin. Shaking my head, I turn my head back to my own cauldron to see how Flower Green has been fairing with the Griffin Claw. Instantly, I choke on my spit. "What the <em>fuck</em> did you do?!"</p><p>She looks at me with alarmed eyes. "What?"</p><p>I grab the bowl of Griffin Claw to find it empty. Groaning, I slam it back down to the table and stare at my cauldron in horror and disgust. While the potion now should be bubbling and a simple shade of purple, it's pitch black and starting to burn through my cauldron.</p><p>"Did you dump all the Claw powder...<em>all at once?"</em> I seethe quietly, leaning forward and resting a hand on the table to balance myself for I fear I might just collapse from the putrid smell. I turn my head slowly to give the idiot Gryffindor next to me the harshest glare I can manage, seeing her looking at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, her skin pale and cheeks flushed.</p><p>She nervously pats at her frizzy brown hair, stuttering and sputtering. "Well—I—"</p><p>"<em>Did you?</em>"</p><p>"Yes! Yes, but—"</p><p>"Move out of the way," I snarl, quickly moving to stand in front of the cauldron while she steps to the side and watches me with her lips still moving to murmur frantic words I can't hear, her arms useless and limp at her sides. "Maybe if you Gryffindors weren't so bloody <em>thick</em> in the skull, you'd be able to read the directions! It very clearly says to add the powder a tablespoon at a time with intervals of thirty seconds, two minutes, fourteen seconds, and seven minutes! But no," I huff, adding a pomegranate seed at a time to see if it makes it any better, "you idiots can't see past two feet."</p><p>"<em>Someone's</em> cranky today."</p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>, Celeste."</p><p>—</p><p>I adjust my tie so it isn't crooked before raising my fist to the door to Snape's office. It's a little ways down below the rest of the school—not nearly as deep as the Slytherin dungeons, but deep enough that there's that familiar dingy smell. I knock three times, waiting silently for—</p><p>"Come in."</p><p>I swing the door open and let it shut quietly behind me. Snape's office is big, three of the walls lined with shelves upon shelves upon <em>shelves </em>of all sorts of things that remind me of Borgin and Burkes and the other Dark Arts shops in Knockturn Alley. There's books, odd objects, rare potion ingredients, and a big dusty globe off to the side that moves on its own, rattling slightly every time it spins this way or that.</p><p>"You sent for me, Professor?" I say, standing up a little straighter and bringing my hand up to straighten the Prefect badge on my chest.</p><p>"Yes," he says from behind his desk where he is writing furiously on a piece of parchment. "I didn't want to take points off of Slytherin today for that girl's mistake," he says in a cool voice. He leans back to look at his letter before dropping his quill in his ink and rolling it up. He finally looks at me, an odd look on his face. "And I didn't want to take points off of <em>your</em> daily grade for a mistake that wasn't yours. You nearly corrected it, too."</p><p>"Thank you," I nod, biting back a smug grin as I walk a few more paces inside.</p><p>"But...well, I can't exactly do nothing. I've never been opposed to favoritism," he says as he ties a string around the parchment and stands up to walk over to where a barn owl is perched atop a precarious stack of books, "but getting complaints can be tiresome."</p><p>"Oh," I furrow my eyebrows in confusion as I watch him tie the string around the owl's foot as well.</p><p>"The girl, Lavender Brown—" So <em>that's </em>the bloody idiot's name, "—complained that she got a detention but you didn't, so to satiate her and McGonagall, I said I'll punish you as well." He then leans down to murmur something to the owl, and I think I need to get my ears checked, because I hear, "To London, for <em>Snuffles</em>."</p><p>And then the door behind me swings open for the owl to soar through and disappear. It slams shut once more, making some of the objects on the walls rattle.</p><p>"Oh," I say with a huff, shaking my head. "Detention, then?"</p><p>"No, actually," he says, cleaning his desk up now. "I have somewhere to be tonight—so your <em>punishment</em> is simply to take over my detention duties for tonight. It shouldn't be too awful—there's only one student who'll be cleaning all my cauldrons—" he gestures to the tall wall of cauldrons with a flourish of his hand, "—without magic. You'll simply watch. You can bring any work or studies you have, in fact, but be back here in fifteen minutes."</p><p>"Oh," I say, making a face like <em>not bad</em> while I start backing up to the door. "That's not terrible—I'll go grab my things from my dorm and be back soon, Professor."</p><p>"Hurry along, then."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. ABSOLUTELY NOT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>all im gonna say is this chapter is super indicative of my desire to write a professor malfoy x professor oc book<br/>(maybe that will be my next venture? who knows, i sure dont)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>November 19th, 1995</em>
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</p><p> </p><p>"Have <em>fun</em>," Pansy giggles as we reach Snape's office door.</p><p>I glance over my shoulder to shoot her a nasty glare, and under the dim green light, I see her flash me a cheeky grin.</p><p>"Fuck you," I mutter.</p><p>"I wouldn't mind, to be honest," she chirps before I hear her turn around and start back up the steps. "You better get in there! Who says you won't get another detention if you're late to <em>this</em> one?"</p><p>"Yeah, yeah," I murmur, grabbing the doorknob and twisting it open right as Pansy disappears up into the hallway.</p><p>When I step into Snape's office, I'm just struck by how <em>cluttered</em> it is. The walls climb high well beyond I can reach, covered completely with shelves that hold books, cauldrons, ingredients, and other miscellaneous objects. It's otherwise small, though, maybe ten feet across, with the desk taking up much of the space.</p><p>"Professor?" I call out, stepping inside and looking around. There's an ajar closet door revealing a pantry filled with even more ingredients and clutter. "Hello?"</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>I snap my head to the left, my jaw dropping when I see Draco standing next to a globe that spins this way and that on its own. He's dressed in his school uniform, though his tie hangs loosely, and his shirt is unbuttoned a bit with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He brings a hand up and tousled his immaculate hair, the expression on his face just as surprised as I am.</p><p>His eyebrows are furrowed slightly, lips parted while his tongue pokes out slightly. His silver eyes narrow at me before his eyebrows slowly rise in what can only be realization. And then a low laugh leaves his lips.</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>," he says, taking a step closer to me while his fingers play with his tie. "Hello, Celeste."</p><p>"What are you doing here?" I ask with a frown, crossing my arms under my chest as I dart my eyes around to see if Snape is hiding around somewhere. "Where's Snape? I want to get this detention over with."</p><p>"Actually," he chuckles softly, turning around and walking suavely towards Snape desk where he plops down with a sigh, "<em>I'll</em> be monitoring your detention tonight." He gives me a triumphant smile, resting his elbows on the armrests and pressing his fingertips together while he swings his feet up to sit on by minimal empty space there is on the top of the desk.</p><p>If it could, my jaw would drop to my feet.</p><p>I snap it shut though, turning my chin up at him. "Absolutely not."</p><p>"I'm afraid it's a decision up to neither of us," he sighs dramatically, an <em>evil</em> glint in his eyes. "So why don't we just embrace it? Come here, darling."</p><p>Ignoring the little nickname, I scoff and smirk at him sarcastically. "Again—absolutely <em>not</em>."</p><p>"Oh, c'mon," he laughs, the asshat very clearly having <em>far</em> too much fun with this. His eyes glint at me mischievously as he wets his lower lip, momentarily distracting me. "You were already seven minutes late, don't make me report you for not listening either. You know, technically, I <em>am </em>your superior," he says, his voice suddenly dropping an octave as the smirk on his face goes from mischievous to dark, making my stomach twist and heart flutter against my ribcage. "I'm a Prefect <em>and </em>holding your detention, which means you should really listen to me, <em>chérie</em>."</p><p>I clench my jaw at him, doing my best to ignore the churning in my gut as he rubs his finger over his lower lip, watching me carefully. And then I inhale deep and exhale slowly, letting the scowl melt off my face and be replaced with a slight smile.</p><p>"Tell me what I'm supposed to do, and we can both go to our dorms as soon as possible," I say sweetly, clasping my hands together.</p><p>"Come here first," he says simply, a challenging look in his eyes.</p><p>It's hard to resist the urge to argue, but I manage to just smirk and stalk forward the short distance until I'm standing on the opposite side of the desk to him, tilting my head. He gives me a pointed look, gesturing to his side of the desk. Again, I resist the urge to huff and roll my eyes and instead walk around the desk to lean against the other side, inches away from him.</p><p>Draco swings his feet off the table to sit up properly, the smug look on his face worth a good punch or two.</p><p>"So," he says, resting his cheek on his fist to look up at me casually, "I'll be needing your wand."</p><p>I scowl. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Your <em>wand</em>, Ms. Zabini."</p><p>"No—"</p><p>"It's not really up to you, is it?" he interrupts in a cool voice, the tip of his tongue dragging over his lip.</p><p>"That's not fair."</p><p>"Maybe not. Your wand, please."</p><p>I give him a hard look, crossing my arms. "You have absolutely no way of making me," I say simply, a smirk slowly finding my face while I discreetly shift my fingers around over my robe. My wand is safely tucked into my bra where I'll be keeping it. "So—"</p><p>"Is that a challenge?" he interrupts me, slowly getting up out of the chair to stand in front of me, making me lean back further against the desk. My pulse quickens slightly when he leans in close, hands pressing against the desk on either side of me while his face comes in so close to mine that I can feel his breath fanning against my cheek. His eyes have darkened considerably, boring holes into mine.</p><p>"No," I say carefully, making sure not to let my face show anything other than confidence as I turn my chin up, "I'm just saying that I won't be giving you my wand. So give it up."</p><p>"I guess I'll have to find it then," he says in a low, husky voice, making me still. His teeth latch around his lower lip as he laughs lowly at me, glancing me up and down before taking his hands and moving them to my robes. I startle slightly, glaring when he smirks, when he rubs them up and down my sides, pressing his fingers into me. "Not in your pockets..."</p><p>"What are you doing?" I ask in a cold, quiet voice, proud of myself when it doesn't shake.</p><p>"Finding your wand, of course," he rasps, hands going up to the button holding my robes together, right over my chest. He knows exactly what he's doing when he brushes his knuckles against my breasts, pretending to struggle to get it undone.</p><p>What I hate the most about this is the fact that I could easily get him to stop by asking him to stop, but I don't want to.</p><p>He manages to get my robes off, slipping it down my shoulders. His arm wraps around me to pull me off the desk so he can pull it out from behind me, fold it neatly, and set it down on the chair. I <em>know</em> that he felt my wand in the side of my bra when he brought his arm back to him, but he isn't really looking for my wand right now. Of course he isn't.</p><p>"You know," he says in a low voice, his hands going to my hips to push me back to sit on the desk, "this could go a lot faster if you just give it to me..."</p><p>I notice the double meaning in his words and laugh softly. "One of us will give up," I murmur, "and it won't be me."</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>His hands go to my knees, and instantly I spread them apart. He smirks at this but keeps his cheeky comment to himself. Draco's cold hands glide all the way down from my knees to my ankles, admiring the black knee high socks I wear today.</p><p>"Is it in your socks?" he rasps, squeezing my calves almost like a massage. I bite back a groan, flexing the muscles in my leg in response. He takes his time, fingers playing with the bands around my knees, rings brushing against my thighs. "Mm. I guess not."</p><p>One of his hands slips up my thigh and under my skirt. My breath hitches slightly, making his eyes fly up to mine.</p><p>"Something wrong, Celeste?" he whispers in a soft voice, leaning in once more while his other hand supports him on the desk right next to me. His lips ghost against my jawline while his fingers crawl further up my thigh, feeling around the inside before moving on to my other thigh. "Everything alright?"</p><p>His rings are cold against me, making my thighs tense up, but his touch is so gentle and hardly there that I manage to relax my legs again. But then he's suddenly grabbing my thigh tightly, pressing his heel against the muscle and dragging it from my knee up, making me gasp softly. My hands fly up to his shoulders, nails digging in through the material of his shirt, while his lips find his way to my ear. I suppose he's figured it out by now—whispering in my ear, nibbling on my ear, kissing me by my ear, it's what gets me weak.</p><p>"Remember when you were on your knees?" he whispers in a deep voice, a little scratchy. His voice and breath are hot against my ear, making me tighten my grip on his shoulders. "I remember vividly."</p><p>His hand presses on the muscles in my thigh again, making me exhale breathily. It then creeps up higher, tracing the line of my panties where it meets my leg. His thumb slips under it, grazing my hip.</p><p>"You should've seen the way you looked up at me," he groans in my ear, making my eyes widen momentarily before I close them and force myself to calm down. "Your eyes were so big and...<em>eager</em>, as if nothing gets you off better than the thought of letting me fuck your pretty little lips."</p><p>I try to close my legs, squeeze my thighs together, but with Draco standing between them, I just end up locking my knees on either side of his hips. He chuckles darkly in response.</p><p>His other hand comes up to where my shirt is tucked into my skirt, carefully pulling it out. He then slips his hand under my shirt, splaying his fingers and silver rings flat against my stomach. I gasp at how cold it feels, moving my arms so that my elbows rest on his shoulders and hands can slowly bury their fingers in his soft blond locks. I tug on them, making him hiss softly.</p><p>His hand under my shirt goes higher, fully cupping one of my breasts over my bra. He gives it a tight squeeze, and I'm ashamed of the way I arch my back into his touch.</p><p>"You were a bad girl that night, weren't you?" he whispers, tracing the trim of my bra with his fingers. "Sucking me while someone was not ten meters away...you like the thrill, Celeste? You like knowing you could get caught?" His teeth scrape against my ear, and a soft moan leaves my lips. He chuckles darkly at this, making rage start to boil in my blood, so I open my mouth to retort.</p><p>"<em>You</em> are hardly a thrill, Malfoy," I say in a cold voice while his hand drops back under my bra. It pauses there.</p><p>"Oh?" he challenges. And then his hand pushes under my bra to cup my breast again, his cold rings searing into my nipple. I press my mouth against his shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut and willing myself not to make any embarrassing noises. "I'm not?" His hand in my thigh moves again, his thumb brushing lightly over my panties. He presses against them slightly, forcing me to bite down on his shoulder while my hands pull at his hair.</p><p>I shake my head, all while squirming right there in front of him with his hands touching me.</p><p>He chuckles again, swiping the tip of his tongue over the edge of my ear before pushing his mouth against it to growl in the most guttural, erotic voice ever, "Then why are you soaked <em>through</em> your underwear, darling?"</p><p>"Oh, fuck," I whisper, feeling him press his fingers harshly against my panties. He rolls his knuckles over and over against me, making that tension build in my chest and swirling start in my stomach while I bite down as hard as I can on my lip.</p><p>He takes his hand out of my bra and snakes it around my back to toy with my clasp. "Can I take this off?"</p><p>I think hard for a moment—would saying "yes" be too needy? "If you want to," I say after a moment, a smug hint in my voice.</p><p>"Irritating little..." he mutters. "<em>You</em> want me to. You're fucking wet for me. Who did that to you if not me?" he whispers, his hand quickly unclasping my bra. His hand goes back to the front of my body, nearly pushing me into my back as he gropes at my chest. "<em>Montague?</em>"</p><p>"Are you jealous of him?" I pant.</p><p>"No, absolutely not," he laughs softly, still grinding his hand against me. "Maybe he's fucking you on the regular—which, good for him, and I guess good for you too—but there's a key difference between me and him."</p><p>"What's that?" I ask breathily.</p><p>"He's a pastime for you. You pick him up when you're bored and you drop him aside when you're bored <em>of him</em>. But me? You <em>want </em>me. You <em>need</em> me."</p><p>I laugh slightly, tilting my head so I can drag my teeth over his ear lobe. My lips then plant a few soft kisses near his jaw before I whisper, "I don't want anyone or need anyone. Especially not some <em>boy</em>."</p><p>"That's a lie, and you know it," he rasps, completely unbothered. "You <em>know </em>you're craving me—thats why you're playing this game, and that's why you won't give in easily. You know that as soon as you do, you'll get sucked in."</p><p>I bite down on the inside of my cheek, glaring at the side of his face. "You know me, hm?"</p><p>"Celeste," he groans in my ear, pinching a nipple between his fingers to make me whimper softly. "<em>Je peux être votre nouvelle dépendance</em> [I can be your new addiction]," his voice says huskily, the desire that drips off of it furling its tendrils to lick around my body and draw me into its charm, "<em>si vous demandez gentiment</em> [if you ask nicely]."</p><p>"<em>Vous ne me connaissez pas du tout si vous pensez que parler sale suffit à me faire mendier</em> [You don't know me at all if you think talking dirty is enough to make me beg]," I whisper in his ear, then throwing my head back as he presses harder against me. "<em>Je ne suis pas facile, contrairement à ce que vous pensez</em> [I'm not easy, contrary to what you think]."</p><p>"<em>Je ne m'attends pas à ce que se soit facile</em> [I don't expect this to be easy]."</p><p>
  <em>Really? Then why'd you call me easy after I gave you what was probably the best blowjob you'll ever get?</em>
</p><p>"<em>Eh bien, vous l'avez appris </em>maintenant<em>, n'est-ce pas </em>[Well, you've learned that <em>now</em>, haven't you]?" I say sourly, pulling away from him so I can shoot him a sharp glare. My hand goes down to wrap around his wrist and pull his hand away from between my legs. He's stronger than me, he could easily resist, but he lets me move his hand. He lets me move the hand in my shirt too.</p><p>"Don't look at me like that," he says hoarsely, weakly, his eyes dilating as he licks his lips hungrily, watching me carefully while I pant softly and shoot daggers at him.</p><p>"And why not?"</p><p>"Well, it makes me want to fuck you until you're crying."</p><p>I quirk my eyebrows at him while his hands rub up and down my thighs.</p><p>"If you ask nicely, I might just let you," I say mockingly, a sneer pressing across my face.</p><p>Draco pouts at me just as mockingly, bringing his hand up to cup the side of my face so that he can rub my lip with his thumb. "Now, Celeste, don't start giving me cheek. I have the authority to tell Snape to give you another detention."</p><p>"You're a bit of a pretentious prat, aren't you?"</p><p>"Yet you still want me this badly," he says without faltering, a smirk prying at his lips.</p><p>"I don't," I say calmly, my eyes still harsh as I suck my cheeks in slightly before relaxing them. I wet my lips with my tongue. "You're just another way for me to pass time, Dray. That's all that games are."</p><p>"Maybe," he shrugs, smirk only growing. "At the end of the day, that's all you are to me too. That's how I know you want me."</p><p>My eyebrows rise as a laugh pushes out of my lips. "Oh? Are you telling me that <em>Draco Malfoy</em> wants me?"</p><p>He doesn't blush, he doesn't stutter. His eyes grow heavy as he leans in so his lips nearly brush against mine, voice so raspy as he murmurs, "Of course I want you. I want you a crying, squirming, begging mess underneath me. I want you stripped of your superiority complex, your high horse, down on your knees and telling me to use you like a plaything."</p><p>"Oh I'm <em>far</em> too stubborn for any of that," I scoff.</p><p>"We'll see," he muses. He then hesitated slightly before saying, "But I have a theory. As much as I want you, I think you want me more—and that's why, stubborn or not, you'll end up exactly how I picture you."</p><p>"Hey, Draco?" I whisper softly, my eyes growing big.</p><p>He tilts his head. "Yes?"</p><p>"Can you tell me what the <em>fuck</em> I'm supposed to be doing so I can do it and get the <em>fuck</em> out of here?"</p><p>Draco's eyes instantly go cold. He holds his hand out. "Wand."</p><p>Rolling my eyes and huffing softly, I reach into my shirt to grab my wand that slipped slightly since Draco unclasped my bra. I hold it tightly, extending it out to Draco who grabs onto it and pulls. When I don't let go, he gives me a threatening look, so I roll my eyes yet again and let go.</p><p>I watch him tuck it into the waistband of his pants before sighing softly and slipping down from the desk to stand on the floor, pressing me close against Draco's body. I don't bother moving away from him, not even when his icy eyes turn to watch me curiously. Instead, I stand there, letting my breasts brush against his chest while I reach back and clasp my bra again. I then tuck my shirt back into my skirt, cringing slightly at the feeling of my wet panties.</p><p>"So?" I ask as I hike my skirt up and tuck my thumbs under the sides of my underwear, quickly pulling it down over my legs and shoes. "What's my task?"</p><p>Draco gapes at me slightly, watching as I straighten back up with my lacy black underwear dangling from my hand. I look at him impatiently, biting back the triumphant grin that wants to take over my face.</p><p>He then gestures to one of the walls, making me turn my head to see. The entire wall is filled with cauldrons upon cauldrons, fifty at the very least. "You've got to clean all those—by hand."</p><p>My jaw drops, ready to complain. But then, straightening up in a dignified manner, I turn back to Draco and flash him the sweetest smile I can manage. "Yes, sir," I drawl out in a low voice, watching as his face twitches with all sorts of emotions at once. And then I shove my underwear into his chest, him instinctively grabbing it. "Hold onto this for me? Thanks!"</p><p>And then I stride over to the wall, well aware of the shocked eyes on my back.</p><p>—</p><p>It's been at <em>least </em>an hour, and I'm not done yet.</p><p>I can't even sit down anywhere to take a break because I don't have underwear—and I'm <em>not</em> about to put on a pair of undies damp with my own damn arousal—and don't want to sit anywhere in this dingy little office unless I want to get a UTI from powdered hermit crab shell or something like that.</p><p>"Fuck," I sigh, drying the cauldron in my hands off before walking back to the wall and going up on my toes to place it back onto its shelf.</p><p>I then step away from the wall, tilting my head up to see that I'm only about three-fourths of the way through. I groan loudly, my hands moving to loosen my tie and tip it off my neck, tossing it down to the floor in frustration.</p><p>"Can you hurry up?" Draco's annoying little voice huffs annoyingly. "I'd rather be doing my homework in my own dorm than in Snape's office."</p><p>I scoff, turning around to glare at him. "Yeah, well, if your sorry ass got up to help, maybe we'd already be out of here."</p><p>Draco quirks an eyebrow, his eyes on the History of Magic textbook in his lap. His feet are propped up on the table as he lounges lazily, using his wand to flip pages when he has a perfectly functional hand attached to his arm.</p><p>"Why should <em>I</em> do that? Thats <em>your</em> punishment, not mine."</p><p>"Then shut the fuck up and don't complain about it taking forever," I sneer before turning back around to reach for the next cauldron on the next shelf. I go up on my toes, but my fingers barely scrape it.</p><p>"You shouldn't talk to your superiors that way," he muses, a hint of a laugh in his voice.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>, sir, <em>sorry,</em> sir," I snap sarcastically, walking over to where a stool sits. When I grab it, though, it <em>literally </em>snaps at me. I shriek in fright, dropping it and jumping away as quickly as I can, staring in horror as it snaps its jaws shut, its thrashing arms (the three legs of the stool) instantly going straight. "<em>Fuck!</em>"</p><p>I glance over to see Draco peering at me over his textbook in amusement. "Did it hurt your feelings?" he asks with a mocking pout.</p><p>"Oh, fuck off. It tried to eat me."</p><p>"Yeah, right. Quit looking for excuses and just clean the damn cauldrons."</p><p>I give him a glare, but he's already back to reading his textbooks—which I would be doing right now if stupid fucking Snape and his oily hooked nose got laid and consequently <em>laid off </em>on his students. I glance at the stool once more, giving it an even more threatening glare before looking around the tiny office for anything else that might help me. Without my wand, I can't <em>accio</em> the cauldrons to my side. If I had my wand, I'd be done by now.</p><p>So what do I do? I sure as hell am not about to ask Draco for help.</p><p>I turn back to the cauldrons. Maybe if I jump, I can reach them—oh. Not unless I want to flash Draco my entire bare ass. To be honest, I couldn't care less if he sees, but it's his cheeky comments that'll set me off.</p><p>I glance over my shoulder. He seems busy. Surely he won't notice.</p><p>So I turn back to the wall, extend my arms out, and leap. As I fall back to the ground, my hands graze the cauldron, but I don't manage to grab it. Gritting my teeth, I try for another jump, but still to no avail. Right when I'm about to jump a third time, Draco's voice interrupts me.</p><p>"Celeste, as nice ass your ass looks, you can just ask for help if you really need it."</p><p>The amusement in his voice is enough to turn a saint into a killer.</p><p>"Didn't I already ask?" I snap, my hands instinctively going to smooth the back of my skirt down while I glare furiously up at the cauldrons, as if sheer willpower will transport them down to where I can reach them. "Didn't you say you're above it?"</p><p>"Actually, you didn't ask," I hear him sigh followed by the sound of him getting up and out of Snape's chair. I don't turn my head to look at him even when he comes up from behind to stand next to me. "You snapped at me like an entitled little brat."</p><p>"Yeah, well..."</p><p>"Y'know, <em>Cellie</em>," Draco says calmly, making me instantly snap my head to the left to give him a furious look, though he just smirks while looking up at the cauldrons, "you're usually more...dignified and...composed. I've never seen you <em>this</em> snappy. Bratty, sure, but I've never had the pleasure of seeing you so riled up."</p><p>"Frustration will do that to you," I grumble. "And <em>don't </em>call me 'Cellie,' or I won't hesitate to murder you in your sleep."</p><p>"Frustration?" he questions smugly, crossing his arms. The muscles in his forearms and biceps bulge slightly, but I force myself to look away before he catches me and has one more thing to inflate his oversized ego. "What's for you so frustrated. The cauldrons?" he asks mockingly.</p><p>"Obviously," I scoff.</p><p>"Are you sure?" he asks, and then suddenly he's gently turning me to face him. I look at him with alarm as he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, dragging his rings over my skin. "Or it something else that has you so frustrated? Some<em>one?"</em></p><p>"Oh, please," I roll my eyes, though I don't find myself ripping his hand away from my face even when he cups my cheek. "Don't flatter yourself."</p><p>"Just admit it," he coos softly. His actions and words are all so soft, drifting up into the air and billowing our until they fade away much like Alihotsy smoke. They're gentle, careful on my skin as they ease goosebumps up, but one look at his eyes, and it all turns hard. His eyes are icy, silver, scratching into my own and clawing at my skin—stripping me bare, naked, and vulnerable, all disgusted by maybe a light dusting of frost, a tempting pillow of snow. He's a Slytherin through and through, a snake through and through. "Admit you want me, and I'll help you. We can both go to bed by ten."</p><p>"I don't want you," I say coldly.</p><p>He smiles slowly. "Fine," his voice is hardly a murmur, but it pierces my throat and leaves it to dry out. It's resounding yet so quiet. "Let's have it your way, then. I have much work to do—I have no problem staying up 'til midnight."</p><p>"Fine."</p><p>"...Or you can get over yourself and just say that you need me."</p><p>"Absolutely <em>not</em>."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: if u were a witch or a wizard, what job would u want as an adult? </p><p>personally, i'd want to study the biology of magical folk (what makes their DNA different from muggles, whether magic can even be physically found in DNA and is differentiable, if there's a DNA related or biological explanation for squibs, whether gene therapy could be used to give Squibs magic, what exacrky makes a Squib a Squib—a genetic defect or a lack of innate ability? like a soul thing? energy? bc squibs can still see dementors implying that there's a biologically and inheritable factor involved, whereas muggles simply cannot)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. I HATE YOU, DANCE WITH ME</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>its daphne greengrass's seventeenth bday! lolz</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>DRACO MALFOY</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>November 30th, 1995</em> </strong>
</p><p><br/>The common room is swarming with people when I step out of the boys' hall and into it.</p><p>It's all Pansy's work—she goes all out when it comes to birthdays, even the birthdays that aren't hers. There's a net of lights above the ceiling hanging from the green lanterns. There's balloons drifting around as well, the kind that one by one randomly combust into an explosion of sparkles and glitter any time someone in the room says "happy birthday!" There's a whole table specifically for food and another entire table specifically for drinks—firewhiskey, beer, the works. The theme, naturally, is green, so as green as the common room already typically is, its thats much more.</p><p>"Where's Daphne?" I shout over the music when I see Blaise leaning against a wall with a joint in his head, deep in conversation with Tracey.</p><p>He looks over at me almost in slow-motion, the rims of his eyes a little red from the Alihotsy. He then shakes his head and shrugs before offering the joint to me.</p><p>"Thanks," I say, taking a spot against the wall with him while I bring the joint up to my lips.</p><p>"Pansy really has no chill," he chuckles, snatching the joint back from me before I even have a chance to exhale. "She tried to make me put on a party hat."</p><p>"If she even comes near me with a party hat, I'll hex her."</p><p>He chuckles, and we stand there in comfortable silence for a few moments. Pansy and Blaise have been my best friends since before we even began at Hogwarts—Blaise's mother was always out finding husbands (who'd mysteriously die months after marriage, leaving her with a fortune). Pansy's parents weren't around much either—they were constantly honeymooning, even years after their marriage, so they spent all their time in Bali and Fiji and Thailand. She has a sister, though Poppy Parkinson was in Hogwarts while Pansy was younger, and therefore never around. She and Blaise spent most of their childhood at the Malfoy Manor.</p><p>So silence is nothing new between us—sometimes, it's comforting.</p><p>"I see Daphne," Blaise says suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts.</p><p>I glance at him and follow his gaze, seeing Daphne, dressed better than anyone else in the room in a silky black dress. She's swarmed by people dancing to the loud music, a bright grin on her face while Pansy stands nearby to make sure not a second passes where Daphne isn't grinning.</p><p>"I'm gonna go wish her," I say, absentmindedly patting Blaise's shoulder while he turns and continues talking with Tracey.</p><p>As soon as I step away from the wall, I'm consumed by a mass of dancing, sweating, jumping bodies that scream the lyrics to a Hobgoblins song that must be new since I don't know all the words. Someone at some point presses a drink into my hand, so I shrug and hold onto it while I twist and turn to make myself through the crowd, recognizing some students as young as third years.</p><p>"Daph!" I shout over the music when I'm within a few feet. She doesn't hear me, so when I get closer, I tap her shoulders.</p><p>Daphne turns around and widens her eyes up at me as she grins. "Hey, Draco!"</p><p>"Happy sev—oh," I blink blankly when the drunk girl clumsily wraps her arms around my neck and forces me down into a surprisingly strong hug, her drink sloshing in her hand and nearly spilling into my hair. I stand stiffly, wondering what the fuck to do while she hugs me up in her toes forcing me to nearly bend in half. I give her a pat on the back, but that isn't enough.</p><p>"Hug me, idiot!"</p><p>I clear my throat awkwardly, trying not to glare at Pansy who smirks at me while I loosely wrap my arms around Daphne. Daphne instantly pulls away, though not without sloppily smacking me on my cheek. She turns around, giggling and hiccuping softly, and then smacks Pansy on the forehead before bounding after Miles Bletchley to pounce onto his back and take him by surprise.</p><p>"Wow," Pansy drawls, coming up to me and taking a sip out of her drink, "that wasn't the most uncomfortable hug in the world at all."</p><p>"Oh, shut up," I scowl, though I can't help it when It turns into a grin as she starts shriek-laughing. "Merlin, Panz, haven't you got the most obnoxious laugh in the world?"</p><p>"Oh, fuck off," she laughs lowly, glaring at me over her drink. She then crumples it up in her hand, looks at it blankly for a few seconds, and then drops it onto the floor with a shrug. Then all of a sudden she's grabbing my hands and dancing up against me, a wild look in her eyes. "Dance, you awkward fuck!"</p><p>"I'm not awkward," I snap at her, moving her hands up to my neck. "I'll have you know that girls think I'm smooth."</p><p>"Straight girls," she corrects me, making me roll my eyes fondly, "and straight girls have bad taste. At least you can dance, though—it's the only reason I'm not embarrassed to be friends with you."</p><p>"Shut it," I chuckle, feeling bodies press up against us from all sides as the music changes to something even more upbeat.</p><p>"Are you going home?" she asks. "For the holidays?"</p><p>I nod as someone tries to wedge their way between us, instantly scowling at whoever it is. Pansy does the work, though, jabbing a sharp elbow into his back to make him yelp and leap away.</p><p>"I am," I laugh as she rolls her eyes at me in disgust, then yelping when someone bumps into her from behind and makes her nearly topple over on top of me. "Can't miss Poppy's engagement party, can I?"</p><p>Pansy grimaces at these words, but she doesn't stop dancing. She's energetic when she dances—jumping constantly and grabbing me to make me match her energy, though I prefer softer movements. She looks crazy, though, making me grin at how her short dark brown hair flops much like the ears of a dog and her bangs fly around.</p><p>"It's some French guy," she pants softly, a loud cheer then rising from the crowd for whatever fucking reason. "They've met three times. I've met him once. Damien Volant."</p><p>"Pureblood?"</p><p>"Obviously," Pansy scoffs. She suddenly stops dancing, glancing off with a blank expression to the side before sighing and saying, "I'm gonna get another drink and steal my joint back from Blaise."</p><p>I watch her stumble out of the crowd toward the table of drinks, about to follow after to get myself a drink as well—that very cup that was shoved into my hand got snatched away, oddly enough—when a short, small frame bumps into my back.</p><p>I turn around, glaring and seeing a curly-haired girl laughing loudly at something someone else has said. She then turns around, a drink up to her mouth, her eyes resting on my chest where my black silk shirt has been unbuttoned a little. She then slowly glides her big, bright eyes up until they meet mine before pulling her cup away from her mouth and flashing that infuriatingly sleek smile.</p><p>"What's with the sour face, Dray?"</p><p>"Nothing," I mutter, glancing over her head where I can see Blaise still leaning against the wall, high out of his mind, joint still in fact between his fingers and looking incredibly tempting right now (the joint, not Blaise). "Can you get out of my way? I—"</p><p>"Stay," Celeste sighs as she starts dancing again, holding her drink up above her head while her other hand starts ruffling her curls up. "Why don't you dance with me?" There's a devious look in her dark eyes. They're heavy, eyebrows lifted slightly in a flirtatious manner while her plump, plum-colored lips smirk at me.</p><p>"Dance with you?" I scoff, lifting an incredulous eyebrow at her. "Please. I'd rather...spend the day with Granger than spend another minute of my life in this sweaty, smelly, ass-crack of a—"</p><p>"Oh, my goodness," Celeste sighs softly, rolling her eyes as she interrupts me and catches me off guard. "Just...shut up. No talking. I hate you more and more every time you open your mouth." I look at her with disbelief. "Just dance with me, idiot."</p><p>"No—"</p><p>"What did I say about talking?"</p><p>And then she's grabbing my hands, holding her cup by clamping her lips around the edge of the rim, and pulling me closer to her before placing my hands on her waist. Her hand then grabs her cup again before she wraps her arms around my neck and begins dancing to the beat of the music, her movements fluid and practically magnetic—because I'm stiff at first, trying to pull away so I can go get either a drink or a hit, but then I find myself moving my hips against hers in perfect rhythm.</p><p>There isn't a second where either of isn't moving. It's like she's turned to liquid—molten gold, pulsating and rippling without trying, just hands against my chest undoing a button while she grins cheekily, or hands in my hair tugging my head back while bodies press in from all sides. I push my sleeves up while she dances up against me, her eyes nearly closed as she unconsciously brings her drink up to her lips.</p><p>She then suddenly snaps her eyes open, leaning up and tugging at my shirt to make me lean down. I comply, shivering slightly when she lurches forward because of someone who pushes her and her lips press against my ear.</p><p>"Don't tell me you're scared to touch me now," she laughs in my ear before leaning back and finishing off her drink.</p><p>"I'm not," I lean back in to say in her ear with an eye roll.</p><p>"Then why haven't your hands moved from my hips?"</p><p>She pulls away to give me a devious smirk, and then suddenly her hands are on mine again. She takes one and moves it up and down her side while she brings the other one behind her to her back and down low to cup her ass. And the. she's pressing herself up against me again, eyes nearly closed as she sways her hips and dances like water to the music. She's wearing a tank top and a skirt, her skin slightly flushed, my nostrils filled with the smell of bitter berries.</p><p>I watch her for a couple seconds, finding myself a little awestruck at the way she just lets herself be immersed in only the music, the beat, and me, and then suddenly I'm moving all by myself too. She laughs softly in my ear when I pull her up against me aggressively—though the way the people all around us are constantly pushing around, it doesn't take much effort.</p><p>My eyes flash ahead to see Blaise and Pansy now standing near the entrance to the boys' hall. Pansy's mouth is open in what looks like one of her legendary shrieking laughs—the kind that earned witches their reputation for cackling among the Muggles—her hair all over her reddened face. She and Blaise are both looking at us, though rather than laughing like a damn hyena, Blaise is grimacing. He looks like he's just caught his grandparents in bed, or maybe walked upon Professor Snape doing it with his mother. I can't help but laugh at the look on his face.</p><p>"What's so funny?" Celeste asks as she starts to bring her arms loosely up in the air, her lips ghosting over my jaw for a moment.</p><p>"Your cousin—look."</p><p>I turn her around, and all the while, she doesn't even stop dancing. Not even as she squints to find Blaise, no, she just starts grinding back against me, making me choke back a laugh.</p><p>—</p><p>"Remember when Daph showed up to class with that Ravenclaw's tie?" Pansy snorts as she passes the joint off to Warrington.</p><p>The party died down a while ago, and now it's just a couple of us sitting around the fireplace sharing a joint and a few bottles of Firewhiskey. Nearly our entire year—Daphne herself, Pansy, Tracey, Millicent, Celeste, Blaise, Nott, and myself are still out here, though Crabbe and Goyle both turned in a while ago. Some of the other students stuck around too, including Graham—who Celeste sits on—and Miles, his arm slung around Daphne's shoulders.</p><p>Daphne giggles, her face turning a little red. "Not my finest moment."</p><p>"When was this?" Celeste asks as Graham wraps his arms around her and nuzzles his face in her neck. She cringes slightly, pushing his arms away from her.</p><p>"Third year!" Pansy exclaims.</p><p>Celeste's jaw drops. "Third year?" she confirms, eyes alight with amused shock. "Damn. When I was a third year, I thought kissing was scandalous."</p><p>"Really?" I can't help but ask, the mouth of a Firewhiskey bottle inches from my lips.</p><p>Her eyes dart to me. "Yeah, actually."</p><p>"First kiss stories? Is this happening? Are we doing this now?" Pansy asks, looking around with wide eyes. "Yes? No? Whatever, I'm going first. It was second year," she sighs, leaning her head back to rest on an arm chair. "Enyo Bachev. He's a sixth year at Durmstrang now, but he was over one winter because our parents are friends or whatever."</p><p>"How was he?" Tracey giggles softly.</p><p>I smirk, knowing fully well how this story goes. My eyes slide back over to Celeste to see her pushing at Graham's arms again—he seems insistent on cuddling while she looks completely done with him. It's when he says something in her ear that she just rolls her eyes and gets out of his lap, ignoring the way he pouts while she walks away to find a spot to sit in. Next to me, Blaise instantly makes room for her to sit.</p><p>Between us.</p><p>"Oh, boy," Pansy groans, rubbing her eyes. "Okay, well, it was after dinner. He, like, cornered me to ask me where the bathroom was, so I led him. And then he pulled me inside? I was like, 'What are you doing?' I mean we were in a fucking bathroom. And he kissed me. Tasted like chicken. And then, turns out he didn't lock the door, because then his mom walked in and—you can figure out the rest."</p><p>"Oh, no," Celeste groans as she sits down between Blaise and me, muffled by the laughter and similar groans of disdain around the room. She leans into me slightly as she adjusts herself. "Panz..."</p><p>"They never came back to visit after that," Pansy grimaces before taking a great big swig of Firewhiskey.</p><p>"I think I have a worse story!" Miles pipes up, but I find myself tuning him out when someone passes the joint to me.</p><p>I roll it in my fingers a little bit, watching the little whisper of smoke ebb off the end before carefully placing the filter between my lips. I turn my head just slightly before I inhale to see Celeste watching me carefully, her dark eyes, framed by long lashes, are on my lips, slowly growing darker and darker by the millisecond. Her lips part slowly as she watches me intently, giving me an idea that I first saw her do not too long ago.</p><p>As I take a deep drag in and pull my hand away, I suddenly grab her jaw and pull her face towards me. Her lips part a bit more in surprise, her eyes wide and bright as they glance between mine quickly. Her hand instinctively comes up to wrap loosely around my wrist. I can hear some of our company quiet down a little as they watch me lean in in front of everyone to let my lip graze hers before exhaling the smoke gently into her mouth. I close my eyes right as she does, hearing her breath hitch slightly. And then, so subtlety that I'm not sure if it even happened though I am sure there's no way that anyone caught it, she drags the tip of her tongue over my lower lip.</p><p>And then we pull away and somehow both casually settle back down as if nothing has happened while half the people surrounding us gape slightly. I smirk, taking another long drag of the Alihotsy before passing the joint off to her.</p><p>"Can you stop shotgunning people in front of me?" Blaise complains loudly, his dark eyes glaring at Celeste with disgust as his lips turn down in an almost comical frown. "Nasty."</p><p>"Blame him," Celeste laughs, casually gesturing to me as she leans back against the sofa behind us, her shoulder slumping against mine.</p><p>I just shrug casually and bring the Firewhiskey up near my face, mostly to hide the way that blood is rushing to all the wrong parts of my body. I can feel my cheeks start to turn a hint of pink while my heart thumps erratically and pulse beats harshly, the Alihotsy combined with shotgunning Celeste in front of all these people making my pants suddenly start to feel a tiny bit tighter.</p><p>Daphne starts launching into her very animated story of her first kiss, all attention soon on her as the people around me laugh every few seconds at her enthusiastic story telling. It's late at night, we've all been up for so long that we've managed to get somewhere between tipsy and drunk and then sober up just to get high on Alihotsy and have a few sips of Firewhiskey, and right now, it feels like the best possible feeling in the world.</p><p>Celeste's hand settles on my thigh at some point while she laughs with the other people. I force out a soft chuckle, though I have no idea what they're laughing at, because I'm busy watching her hand move. She slowly splays her fingers out, her thumb rubbing little circles on the outside of my thigh. She then curls her fingers up into a fist to drag her knuckles down the muscle of my leg, making me choke slightly. I hear her laugh softly next to me before bringing her hand back higher on my thigh.</p><p>It just sits there for a little while, even when the attention turns on Celeste for her first kiss story.</p><p>"It was actually on my fifteenth birthday," she says in a light voice, drawing a sarcastic aww from Pansy and a genuine aww from Daphne. I glance at her with mild surprise—she had her first kiss later than most of us. "Yeah, yeah—shut up. It's not that cute," she says with a short laugh and a roll of her eyes. "I was in France at that time, and my parents invited my entire year. So that's about a hundred kids and some stayed late at night. And there was this boy—"</p><p>"Was he cute?" Daphne asks eagerly.</p><p>Celeste rolls her eyes while I slip my hand behind her body to grade my thumb over the strip of flesh between her tank top and skirt, making her jolt slightly.</p><p>"Yeah, Celeste," I ask teasingly, a grin spreading over my lips. "Was he cute?"</p><p>She glares at me before turning back to look at Daphne. "He was, actually. Dark, long brown hair that was always messy. Dark eyes too, and tan skin. He—"</p><p>"Sounds like he's the opposite of Draco," murmurs humorously Miles next to a conked out Graham, resulting in a few chuckles around the common room.</p><p>"He was the opposite of Draco, actually," Celeste notes in a silky voice, turning her head to look at me with slightly squinting eyes and a smirk. "I guess that's why he was cute. Anyway—"</p><p>She's interrupted by a great chorus of laughter around the room, most notably Pansy who shrieks loudly before descending into a fit of cackles while I glare at them all and direct my scowl to Celeste, lightly pinching the skin on her back. She squeezes my thigh in response.</p><p>"As I was saying—he found be before he had to leave because he wanted to give me his present personally," Celeste says, sighing softly and her whole body relaxes, slumping down slightly. "It was this sweet little bracelet. Silver, had a little cute little charm—I've lost it since, though. But, anyway, he put it on my wrist, tucked my hair behind my ear, and kissed me. Simple as that."</p><p>"I thought you said that wasn't a cute story!" Daphne complains, though a bright grin lights up her face.</p><p>"It's n—"</p><p>"Oh, please," Tracey laughs for interrupt. "That's, like, any girl's dream first kiss story. Your first kiss was a cute French boy on your birthday. That's fucking adorable."</p><p>"It's sickeningly adorable," Pansy pipes up, seemingly holding back laughter.</p><p>"Whatever," Celeste huffs, rolling her eyes.</p><p>"It's always very surprising," Pansy adds with a snort. "You don't seem like the cute-French-boy-on-my-birthday-after-giving-me-an-expensive-bracelet first kiss kind of girl."</p><p>"No?" Celeste laughs softly.</p><p>"Nope," Miles speaks up. "You seem more like the in-a-shady-club-with-a-likely-felon first kiss kind of girl."</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>"Uh, no," Pansy says, giving Miles side-eye. "You're more like the with-my-professor-after-months-of-sexual-tension kind of girl."</p><p>"I'm sorry, what?!"</p><p>"Kidding!" Pansy cackles. "Sort of..."</p><p>"How rude," Celeste huffs, though there's a grin on her face. She glances at me, eyes dripping down to my lips for a moment before she asks, "What do you think? What kind of girl am I?"</p><p>I suck my cheeks in for a moment, my eyes drifting off for a moment as I think. "Maybe a...at-a-party-where-he-gets-dared-to-kiss-you-but-is-too-much-of-a-pussy-so-you-grab-him-by-the-collar kind of girl."</p><p>Celeste raises her eyebrows. "And here I was expecting an insult. Turns out, however," she then says in a humorously sour voice as she turns to playfully glare at Pansy, "you just know me better than fucking Pansy!"</p><p>Eventually, as the minutes pass, we slowly start getting up to go. Miles has to drag Graham, who just wont wake up, all the way back to their dorm. Warrington also left at one point, though not without kissing Tracey, who ran into her dorm instantly.</p><p>I start feeling the fatigue set in myself, so after five minutes of trying my hardest not to doze off right there, I finally get up with a sigh.</p><p>"I'm gonna turn in, you guys," I groan as I stretch my arms out. "Happy birthday, Daph—see you tomorrow morning."</p><p>And I'm halfway down the hall to my dorm when I hear the door swing open.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what embarrassing phase did u go thru? i thought being a bitch was quirky</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. TAKE IT FROM ME</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>just a little steamy moment btwn draco and cel</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>December 1st, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Draco turns around right as the door to the boys' hall swings shut behind me. He looks at me with mild confusion—eyebrow quirked, lips slightly parted, and his hand inches away from the door to his dorm.</p><p>"Celeste?" he questions, a slight frown on his face.</p><p>I smirk slightly as I stalk towards him, pull my hand away from behind my back to brandish his wand. "You left something kind of important out in the common room," I tease as I stop across from him, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hall.</p><p>He rolls his eyes with a slight huff, stepping towards me with his hand outreached. "I'm exhausted—thanks, Cel—" He frowns when I pull my hand away right as he reaches for his wand. "What are you doing?"</p><p>I bite back a grin. "Take it from me."</p><p>"Yeah, I'm fucking trying to," he rolls his eyes, making another fruitless swipe for his wand.</p><p>I tut softly, shaking my head with a devious look on my face while Draco dons one of confusion. And then I reach forward with my free hand—my own wand tucked safely in the waistband of my skirt—to grab him by his belt loop and pull him towards me. He stumbles slightly, catching himself by pressing his palms flat against the wall on either side of my head, his face inches from mine. He glares at me for a moment, lips flush and panting softly, and then he slowly smirks.</p><p>"Take it from me, Draco."</p><p>We both stand there, me leaning against the wall while Draco looms over me bent down to look at me. My neck is craned nearly all the way up, our lips inches away.</p><p>And then suddenly one of his hands is in my hair, tangling with my roots before clenching into a fist and tugging harshly on my curly locks. I gasp as he pull my head to the side a little and instantly latches his lips to my neck. I let out a breathy laugh, my eyes fluttering shut while my pulse jumps up exponentially in response to his feverish lips. They kiss down the side of my throat, nipping at my collarbones and licking stripes of hot spit. One of his hands goes down to my hips, gripping it tightly and pulling me flush against his body.</p><p>"Don't break my curls," I gasp out in warning, and in response, he drags his hand through my hair, effectively breaking at least half my curls. "Oh, <em>fuck</em> you."</p><p>He chuckles darkly in response, now both of his hands on my hips. His fingers are rough on me, sliding up and down my sides to slip under my tank top and feel my waist. His hands slip behind my back to grab my ass, cupping tightly and making me groan softly.</p><p>My own arms wrap around his neck while he kisses down my jawline, occasionally sucking on my skin or scraping his teeth against me. I switch his wand from my right hand to my left before sneaking my hand down a little, feeling at his muscles through his black shirt. The muscles in his biceps ripple as he moves his arms up and down to grope at my body, and the muscles in his torso are hard, defined, and flexed.</p><p>Draco's lips make their way up to right behind my ear. I inhale a sharp breath as his movements suddenly slow down. His hands, still rough and heavy, move slowly on my sides and back, slipping under my tank top to rake his nails at a painstaking pace all over my back. His lips press hot kisses behind my ear before his tongue hotly swirls under my earlobe. He sucks it in gently, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin.</p><p>I muffle a groan as my hand continues traveling downwards until I find his jeans. He's already semi-hard, making me laugh breathily as I slide my palm over his erection through his jeans and rub slightly. He bucks his hips into my touch, groaning hotly in my ear.</p><p>"<em>Qu'est-ce que tu me fais, Celeste</em> [What are you doing to me, Celeste]?" he moans softly as I squeeze his erection. His breath is hot on my skin, tickling me.</p><p>One of his hands slides up my arm, rubbing my skin as it slowly makes its way to my wrist. I quickly snap my hand away though, laughing lowly at his not-so-subtle attempt to get his wand back.</p><p>"Fuck," he snarls into my neck, shoving my hips up against the wall so abruptly it knocks all the air out of my lungs. "As soon as I get that back from you, <em>chérie</em>," he says in a low, threatening voice, darkened eyes piercing into mine with the most sultry kind of hate. He trails off before smirking darkly and chuckling, the noise making goosebumps appear on my skin. I'd whimper if I was a weaker woman. "I think I'll fuck you at wandpoint. You seem like the kind of girl who'd enjoy having her own wand shoved down her throat."</p><p>My eyes widen just fractionally, but he notices it. His hands are then under my thighs, grabbing my legs to wrap them around his hips. I instantly jump for him, my hands going back around his neck while he hurriedly pushes my skirt up my thighs to get as close to as he can to my body.</p><p>And then he's kissing down my chest, hot lips pressed against the neckline of my tank top while his hips cascade against mine. He rolls them continuously, low grunts muffling against my skin whenever I roll my hips back against his, his wand clutched tightly in my hand the entire time.</p><p>"I liked it when—<em>fuck</em>," I interrupt myself with a hiss when he suddenly thrusts his hips forward while biting slightly on my shoulder, my eyes falling shut entirely.</p><p>"Liked what?" he pants gruffly, pulling his bead out of my neck to look at me.</p><p>I'm lost on my words for a moment, wholly overwhelmed by the proximity of him and his lips. His face is mere inches from mine, close enough that his breath hits my cheek, close enough that I can see when his eyes dilate even the smallest increment, close enough that I can see just how swollen his pink lips are.</p><p>"When you shotgunned me," I say after several seconds of just staring at him, during which he adopted a very smug smirk that snapped me out of my dazed stupor.</p><p>"Would you want me to do that again?" he asks in a slow, condescending voice, almost as if he's talking to a stupid little child. Somehow, however, it enrages me <em>and</em> turns me on at the same time—it should definitely concern me how attracted I am to boys when they treat me like crap <em>and</em> when they treat me like I'm better than them. He smirks at me while his icy eyes bore holes into mine.</p><p>"Shut up," I roll my eyes, my hands going to the back of his head to pull him back in. He resists, though, his smirk only growing.</p><p>"Did you think it was <em>hot</em>, Celeste?" he asks mockingly, one of his hands moving up from my hips to trace my face with his finger. He drags my lower lip out, brushes my cheek, fingers my jawline until he reaches my chin where he wraps his fingers around it, forcing my head up to look at him.</p><p>"Shut up," I repeat myself with a huff, my hands digging into his hair and tugging at it, trying to pull him closer, but he seems like he wants to hear more from me.</p><p>"Language, Celeste," he tuts disapprovingly, shaking his head at me as his eyes grow heavy. The lust in them is practically tangible. "Be honest, darling, and maybe I'll treat you right—you think I'm <em>hot?</em> You wanna fuck me? Do you need me, Celeste? Do you get a little wet just thinking about my voice?" he asks in a soft voice, his hot breath all over my skin as he leans in and murmurs his words against my neck, my jaw, and in my ear. I can feel the smirk on his lips when I jolt at how his lips brush against my earlobe.</p><p>"No," I whisper in response, but it's not a very effective response when one second later I'm moaning in his ear at how he's resumed grinding his erection against my panties.</p><p>"Didn't I tell you to be honest?"</p><p>One of his hands is now on my thigh, rubbing it up and down before slipping under my bunched up skirt. He stops his thrusting so he can gently brush his hand over my panties, making me shiver softly. What's going on here? I walked into this hall telling myself I'll be in control—<em>I'm supposed to be in control</em>, and yet here he is slowly making me crumble under his intoxicating scent of sweet apples, cologne, and musk, his fingers rubbing circles over my clit that are barely even there but nevertheless making me moan, <em>moan</em>, like a fucking hooker, right in his ear for him to take in and feed to his ego.</p><p>"Admit it," he whispers while his fingers rub me, all of it just reminding me of detention not so long ago. "Admit you crave me. Admit how attracted you are to me. Admit how wet the thought of me makes you. How you touch yourself secretly and pretend it's me," he chuckles lowly, his fingers still rubbing their slow circles on me.</p><p>I lean in, eyes screwed shut, and bite down on his shoulder, my spit getting his silk shirt wet as I do whatever I can to stop myself from making all these noises that only fuel him.</p><p>"Tell me all about how you finger yourself," he groans languidly, briefly scraping his teeth against my ear, "and you moan <em>my</em> name out loud. Where do you touch yourself, hm, Celeste? Do you grab your hair the way I would?"</p><p>His hand snakes up from between my legs to grab my hair and pull it back, ripping me off his shoulder and knocking the back of my head against the wall. I gasp softly, my eyes heavy and flushed lip parted, wet from my own spit. My eyes nearly roll to the back of my head when his fingers are back against my panties, rougher and more purposeful than before, rendering me completely useless to anything besides moaning shamelessly and embarrassingly.</p><p>"Do you touch your breasts the way I would?"</p><p>I literally let out a <em>whine</em> of disappointment when his hand leaves my panties again, squeezing my eyes shut even tighter so that I don't have to see the smirk that without a doubt accompanies his smug chuckle.</p><p>But then his fingers are tracing the neckline of my tank top. And then they're grabbing my breasts one after the other, massaging them roughly and making my breaths come out as soft pants. I arch my back into his touch while my heels dig into his lower back, aching for his erection to connect with my core. He pinches my nipples through the fabric of my top and bra between his fingers. My breath hitches at this touch.</p><p>"Do you?" his voice is soft, lips hardly a centimeter away from my cheek. He then laughs dryly. "I <em>know</em> you do. But I also know that you can't get what you <em>really</em> want without me."</p><p>He leans in, pressing soft, open mouth kisses everywhere he can reach—my cheeks, my jaw, my neck, my throat, my collarbones, my chest, the very top of my breasts.</p><p>"You can't simulate the pleasure my mouth would give you, Celeste," he whispers softly before suddenly thrusting his hips back forward against me, driving a wild gasp out of my mouth. "You can't recreate the way I'd fuck you as ruthlessly as you want. You can't bite your skin until it breaks, scratch your back until you bleed, edge yourself until you cry, choke yourself until your eyes roll to the back of your head."</p><p>"Oh, my Godric," I whisper feebly.</p><p>"Just ask, Celeste..." he rasps against the pulse next to my throat. "<em>Demande-moi de te traiter aussi mal que tu le mérites, et je le ferai</em> [Ask me to treat you as badly as you deserve, and I will]."</p><p>For a moment, I'm ready to give in. For a moment, I'm prepared to drop down on my news and beg pathetically, do <em>anything</em>, even lick the bottoms of his shoes and let him spit on me like I'm trash at the side of the road—anything if it means he'll fuck me ruthlessly, bite my skin, scratch my back, edge me, make me cry, and choke me. I'm so ready to beg, to admit how badly I want it, to lose the game.</p><p>"Come on, little girl. Just <em>beg</em>."</p><p>My eyes snap open. "In your <em>dr—</em>"</p><p>"I think I'm in love with you."</p><p>My eyes widen. All my muscles first go tense, my body kicking into fight or flight, and then, all at once like a crashing waving of water, fatigue hits me. My muscles relax all on their own, my thighs loosening around his hips, my arms falling limp over his shoulders, my hand nearly dropping his wand. It's just dread settling into my very bones, dread taking up all my energy and leaving none for my bodily functions. I'd fall to the floor if he wasn't still holding me.</p><p>
  <em>That's one way to kill the mood.</em>
</p><p>And then he drops my body, grabs my wrist with one hand, and pulls his wand away with the other hand with ease.</p><p>I blink blankly, slumped up against the wall. When I open my eyes, his arms are crossed over his huffed our chest, he's standing tall and proud practically ten feet over me, and there's a smug look on his face as he chuckles at me.</p><p>I scowl, quickly realizing that his wand isn't in my hand. With a huff, the dread leaves my body and is replaced with irritation as I stand up straight and scurry to straighten my skirt up.</p><p>"I wasn't sure if that would work," he says with a grin, glancing at his wand before tucking it away into his pants.</p><p>My face would be crimson if that were possible, but it feels degrees warmer as I cross my own arms and glare at him. "You're stronger than me," I say simply.</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"You—"</p><p>"Can't wait to use that strength to pin you down."</p><p>"—could've..." I trail off, momentarily stunned. He sees the surprised look on my face and grins, but I just shake it off. "Whatever. You could've—"</p><p>"Alright there, <em>Cellie-dear</em>?"</p><p>"Don't call me that," I snap, giving him a great scowl. "I'm <em>trying </em>to say, you could've just—"</p><p>"You seem a bit flustered."</p><p>"Shut up!" I huff with an eye roll, glaring when he snickers stupidly. "Merlin, I mean—whatever, never mind. Goodnight, dickhead," I mutter as I turn and start walking back down the hall. "I sincerely hope you choke in your sl—"</p><p>"Aw, don't be like that, darling," Draco laugh, grabbing me by my wrist and tugging on it to force me to whip around to face him. I try to pull my wrist out of his grip, but it doesn't budge—all he does is stand there with his arm outstretched, hardly pulling on me or using any energy at all, but I can barely move. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, did I interrupt? Tell me what you were saying."</p><p>"Let me go," I scowl.</p><p>"Tell me."</p><p>I sigh out of exasperation. "I was saying—well, you're obviously stronger than me, s—"</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>I shoot Draco a harsh glare.</p><p>He chokes back a laugh. "Sorry. Go on."</p><p>I open my mouth, pausing to see if he'll interrupt again. When he doesn't, I <em>finally</em> say, "You could've pulled it away from me easily." I glance down at where his hand still wraps around my wrist, biting down on my lip.</p><p>"I know."</p><p>My eyes snap up to his.</p><p>He then grins slowly, a mischievous and bright look in his eyes. His fingers briefly tighten around my wrist before he lets it go, my hand dripping down to my side and my heart inexplicably speeding up, thumping inside my chest and making me feel on edge.</p><p>"But what's the fun in that?"</p><p>—</p><p>The next morning, I'm sitting with Blaise at the Great Hall bright and early. On the weekends, breakfast starts at the same time but ends later, so people take the opportunity to sleep in and then cram food in their mouths in the last fifteen minutes of breakfast.</p><p>Blaise and I, however, seem to be two of the few early risers today.</p><p>"Oh, Celeste," he says suddenly, making me look up from my yogurt and granola.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"I was just wondering—what took you so long? When you went to give Malfoy his wand?"</p><p>I choke on a tiny bit of granola near the back of my throat, making my cousin narrow his dark eyes at me. "Oh—" Cue a little more choking. "Oh, I was just, uh, talking with him. We just started talking and got carried away."</p><p>"Oh," he says, frowning slightly down into oatmeal while he pushes all the oats to the side so he can pick out the berries. "Hey, Celeste?"</p><p>"What's up?" I ask distractedly as a barn owl comes swooping in and lands next to my food, pecking at it a little bit before holding its leg out for me to see the letter tied to it. It wobbles slightly as it balances on one leg, so I move quickly to grab the letter.</p><p>"Are you and Draco hooking up?"</p><p>I choke on a bite of yogurt after inhaling it, descending into a violent coughing fit that has the owl startling and flapping away and Blaise giving me a grossed out look that soon turns into a suspicious one.</p><p>"No," I say when I've finally calmed down, rolling my eyes as I shovel another spoonful of breakfast into my mouth and one-handedly open my letter. Technically, I'm being honest, but it still feels like a big fat lie.</p><p>"Are you sure? Cause—"</p><p>"Hush your face and let me read my letter."</p><p>
  <em>Dear Celeste,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          I'm sorry I've only written a few times before. You'd be surprised how busy I've been kept. The Department of Mysteries is not made for those who seek long reprieves between work, but at least it keeps me on my toes. Your mother has been going a rampage around the manor, practically tearing apart your aunt's decor. She says it's either redecorate or find somewhere else to live that's "more befitting of a queen."  Your mother is a particular type, Celeste, but luckily, she's exactly my type.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          It's safe to say, though, I miss your presence around the house. You keep me on my toes just as much as your mother does, but every time you leave for a year of school, I'm reminded just how much of a stabilizing presence you are. Not sure if you get that from me or not. I definitely miss sorting through mysterious little knickknacks with you. You should've seen this new collector's item I've picked up from Knockturn Alley (rather good place for collecting). Never you mind, I'll show you when you come back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          Speaking of, you are coming back for the holidays, aren't you? Not that your mother will give you much of a choice. She doesn't say it much, but I can tell she misses you as much as I do (if not more). She always gets a bit hot-headed when you're gone for too long. Save me, Celeste, or I may go mysteriously missing like one of your aunt's poor husbands.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          I do hope to see you for Christmas. We've been invited to an engagement party. The Parkinson's are a very nice family to invite us. Their daughter, Poppy, has just been engaged to some French young man. I think you should know their younger daughter, Pansy?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          I miss you, I love you, write back soon, and please come home or this may be the last time I may ever write to anyone at all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Your Old Man</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's the weirdest dream you've ever had?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. MAYBE IT'S A STRETCH</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>just a lil moment in the quidditch changing rooms</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>December 19th, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p><em>"Godric</em>, I'm starving," Miles Bletchley groans as he slams his locker shut, running a hand through his hair that's wet from coming fresh out of the shower.</p><p>"Didn't we tell you to eat before practice?" I roll my eyes as I aggressively rub my own wet hair with a towel, feeling an ache in my wrist as I do so. The ache isn't exactly from Quidditch, nor the strenuous daily workout schedule Montague has us on (and is on our asses to keep up), but rather from last night's activities. A seventh year, Zola Everglade, joined me in kicking the boys out of the dorm last night, and she quite particularly liked the way I use my hands, which meant I spent a vast majority of the night doing exactly that and then another hour deep cleaning my rings.</p><p>"Oh, fuck off, Malfoy," he rolls his eyes. "And put on a shirt. You're not impressing anyone with those birdcage ribs."</p><p>I glance down, seeing nothing but lean abs built from hours of working out. I just smirk, letting the comment pass knowing fully well that it's Miles's hunger akin to pregnancy cravings that's talking.</p><p>A cool gust of wind hits my back as someone opens the door and lets it slam shut.</p><p>"Is that Celeste?" he asks suddenly, his eyebrows perked.</p><p>I glance up at him immediately, scanning his face before looking over my shoulder to see Celeste standing at the door to the locker rooms, a bored expression on her face as she shivers and rubs her arms. She's wearing her school uniform except for her robes, though I see her robes folded up and tucked under her arm. Celeste's grey sweater's sleeves are pulled down over her finger tips, making the collar pop off one of her shoulders. Her locker, typically hidden inside her white shirt, is golden and gleaming right under the knot of her green tie. She's wearing a skirt and those knee-high socks, legs trembling a bit, though I see her flex her muscles to get it to stop. Celeste looks around, still bored, but clearly looking for someone in particular. Her eyes don't land on me.</p><p>I then look back forward to drop the towel and start rummaging through my locker and my bag to find my clean clothes.</p><p>"Why's she here? Do you know?" Miles asks as he tucks his tie under his own grey sweater, his eyes flicking to me momentarily before resting back on Celeste.</p><p>"Why would I know?" I shrug as I find my white button up and shrug the sleeves on.</p><p>I turn around fully to look at Celeste as I start buttoning it up only to see her already looking at me. Her eyes aren't on my face, though, but rather my stomach and chest as I deliberately slow down the pace of my hands so that I can give her more to look at for a couple seconds extra, flexing my abdomen as I smirk to myself. Her head starts tilting and lips start parting as her eyes glaze over, focused on my chest, when someone calls her name.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>We both turn our heads to see Graham Montague walk over, completely dressed and his hair dried. He looks mildly confused but also sports a great grin when he sees Celeste turn to look at him, though she doesn't really reciprocate. She looks entirely uninterested, her eyebrows low and eyes dull, though she does flash a small, polite smile when he stops beside her, hands on his hips and chest puffed out.</p><p>As the rest of the boys chatter amongst themselves, I make myself busy getting ready while craning my ears to hear their conversation.</p><p>"Hey, Graham," she says in a slightly tired voice, though filled with just as much poise as any other day.</p><p>As I fiddle with the button near the collar of my shirt, I can't help but laugh softly to myself, because I know I'm one of the lucky few who has seen Celeste lose her dignity, poise, and suaveness, all just because of the way I touch her.</p><p>"So, uh, what are you doing here?" Graham gives her a winning smile, leaning against the wall next to the door and running a hand through his hair. "Wanna go check out the showers? The boys are all done in there, so if you want, we can—"</p><p>"I didn't come here to hook up," she interrupts, blinking blankly as her voice comes out casual yet authoritative.</p><p>"Oh," Graham blinks just as blankly, now frowning in confusion. "Then why are you here?"</p><p>Celeste pushes her impeccable curls out of her face before grabbing the folded black robes tucked under her arm and extending it out towards Graham, who stares down at it as if he's never seen a folded garment before in his life.</p><p>"I grabbed the wrong robes before I left last night," Celeste explains shortly, the robes falling limp in her hand as she keeps her arm extended and waits for Graham to grab it.</p><p>"Oh," he says, eyebrows rising up as he takes the robe from her and unfolds it. Sure enough, it's <em>way</em> longer than any robes meant for a 5'7 girl, and big enough that if she put it on, the hood would slip past her shoulders. "I guess that means I have yours—I'll go get it."</p><p>"Yeah, you do that," Celeste yawns tiredly, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth as she watches Graham walk away. The dark-skinned girl then stretches her arms out before glancing around for a moment, spotting a chair next to the door and nestling in it comfortably.</p><p>I watch her carefully for a moment more as I finish getting ready. Despite all the shirtless guys in the room, other than that moment before Graham walked up to her where she was staring at me, Celeste doesn't gawk around the room. Instead, she closes her eyes—out of tire rather than respect, funnily enough—and tilts her head back to lean against the wall. Her legs are crossed, her hands siting in her lap, and her chest rises and falls as if she's fallen asleep in mere moments.</p><p>When my robes are on, my dragon-hide gloves are right on my fingers, and my Quidditch bag is put away, I slam my locker door shut. I wince slightly when it startles her, but then I shrug it off as her inscrutable, ebony dark eyes finally land on me—not my chest, not my abs, but my eyes.</p><p>"Morning," I greet as I bend down to grab my schoolbag and walk over to take the empty seat next to her.</p><p>"Mm, yeah," she says in a slightly groggy voice, giving me a tiny wave of her hand. "Can't believe you guys have practice when it's this cold out."</p><p>"Graham's fault," I sigh, leaning back in the chair and resting an elbow on the arm. My hand buried itself in my hair that's slightly still wet, ruffling it up a bit. "Mornings like this make me wonder if I really <em>am</em> as cold-blooded as a snake."</p><p>Celeste snorts humorously. She stifles another yawn by shoving her knuckles into her hand, making me frown slightly when I look at them.</p><p>"No gloves? Or scarf?" I question.</p><p>"Gloves are tucked into the pocket of my robes. I lost my scarf sometime last week," she responds with a slight sigh, glancing to the side to look at me briefly before leaning her head back against the wall again. "Did you sign up to go home last week?" she asks, her voice, though tired, silky smooth in that low way it always is.</p><p>"I did," I nod, remembering the letter I got from Mother. She was very sweet about asking me to come home, but from the way she phrased it, I could tell—if it were up to Father, which it is, I'd <em>have</em> to go home. So I have to go home. "Nice to get a break from this hellhole, isn't it?"</p><p>"Oh, yeah," Celeste says with a sarcastic scoff, making me glance at her questioningly. I brush it off, though, when she yawns once more, her head falling off to the side a little while her eyes flutter shut.</p><p>"What, did you and Graham have marathon sex or something?" I joke, smirking slightly when I see her roll her eyes even under closed lids.</p><p>"<em>No</em>. I left his room at, like, eleven."</p><p>"Then why do you look like you haven't seen a bed in weeks?"</p><p>"Wow, thank you," she says dryly, snapping her eyes open and glaring at me through the side of them. "I love being told that I look like shit."</p><p>"That's not what I meant," I roll my eyes with a slight huff. "You just look tired, that's all. All purple under your eyes."</p><p>"That's so sweet of you to say," she snaps in a low voice. She then huffs slightly as she repositions herself, this time angled slightly towards me with her elbow also on the armrest and her chin tucked on top of her fist. "I <em>didn't</em> sleep last night, actually, not really."</p><p>"Why not?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. "Transfiguration essay? I thought I saw you finishing that in class last week."</p><p>"Watching me carefully, are you?" she teases with a slight crinkle of her nose that makes her look playful for a moment, but then she sighs softly and the tired look is back. "No—I was up trying to figure out the damn Ancient Ruins homework. I mean, normally I'm good at picking up foreign languages and scriptures. I know Mermish, you know, and three other languages besides English, but—"</p><p>"Hold on," I frown, holding a finger up. She pauses instantly, giving me an inquisitive look and slightly furrowed eyebrows as she grabs my hand and pushes it away form her face with disdain. I roll my eyes before saying, "You don't take Study of Ancient Ruins. You take Divination and Care of Magical Creatures—you're in all my classes, Zabini."</p><p>She winces slightly. "I mean, yeah, I don't take the Ancient Runes <em>class</em>, but I'm self-studying it. I'm actually self-studying Arithmancy and Muggle Studies too," she says with a slight shrug. "Tried to apply for a Time-Turner, but Dumbledore told me they're not handing those out anymore. So then I asked if I could learn it myself and take the O.W.L.s at the end of the year, and he said yes."</p><p>I stare at her, dumbfounded.</p><p>Celeste notices my gaze on the side of her face and turns her head to look at me with a small frown. "What?"</p><p>"So am I."</p><p>"Self-studying?" she asks, her frown growing. "Runes, Arithmancy, <em>and</em> Muggle Studies?"</p><p>I nod slowly, almost in a trance. I haven't met anyone else—except <em>Granger</em>, of course—stupid enough to take <em>all</em> the classes available at Hogwarts. I didn't want to, of course, but Father told me I had to.</p><p>"<em>My</em> father is forcing me to, what's your excuse for ruining your life?" I ask, feeling a bit tired myself at the thought of all the homework I have to do tonight.</p><p>"My <em>mother</em> is forcing me to."</p><p>I huff out a short laugh, though there's nothing funny about the amount of sleep I've lost because of this. I wake up at 6:00 A.M. every week day to teach myself Arithmancy until 8:00, at which point I have to go get ready and have breakfast by 8:30. At 9:00, morning classes begin and don't end until 12:00. In my one hour lunch break, I eat lunch and take the time to socialize considering I hardly have any otherwise.</p><p>And then there's afternoon classes until 4:00 P.M. Sometimes I'll give myself an hour break, but usually it's Muggle Studies until 5:30, Ancient Runes until 7:30, and then dinner. Typically, after dinner, I can't bring myself to do anything productive, so it's just talking and smoking and maybe drinking if Pansy's managed to nab a bottle of Firewhiskey.</p><p>And then I have homework. Studying.</p><p>I wish I could say I follow this strict schedule exactly how it is, but it's practically impossible. Sometimes self-studying runs an hour later than it should, and sometimes I get so frustrated, I'll drop thirty minutes in. With the O.W.L.s coming up, homework takes <em>hours</em> every day if I want to stay on top of my shit.</p><p>Then there's Quidditch practice at least once or twice a week, meaning I have to shift my entire schedule. Sometimes I'll drop a thing or to, but—</p><p>I'm lucky if I ever get six hours of sleep.</p><p>"What's the most you've slept this last week?" Celeste asks, stretching her legs out in front of her.</p><p>"I got five hours two nights ago."</p><p>"Lucky," she laughs lowly, slowly sinking down in her seat.</p><p>"How does Granger do it?" I sigh with a disgruntled laugh, rubbing my eyebrows. "She <em>never</em> looks exhausted, does she?"</p><p>"Is she self-studying too?" Celeste asks.</p><p>"Yeah. But, I mean, I'm pretty sure she <em>likes</em> doing it," I say with a disgusted expression, crinkling my nose up and curling my lips a little. "Though, I don't think she's taking twelve subjects like us. Pretty sure she dropped Divination and Muggle Studies a few years ago."</p><p>"So there you go," Celeste mutters bitterly. "<em>That's </em>why she isn't a living zombie."</p><p>I roll my eyes as Graham reappears, walking towards us with crumpled up robes in his hands. He stops in front of Celeste, extending it down towards her lap.</p><p>"Here. It was, uh, kind of smushed underneath all the stuff in my bag, so..." he laughs slightly.</p><p>Celeste grimaces as she takes the robe into her hands. When he walks away, she tentatively sniffs it, instantly recoiling.</p><p>"Oh, my Godric," she winces, holding the robe with just her forefinger and her thumb as far away from her face as possible. "I think this was in his <em>Quidditch </em>bag. Damnit. I'm not wearing this."</p><p>I snort. "I guess you're freezing today, then."</p><p>—</p><p>I've been patrolling the hallways for a few minutes now, wondering where the hell Potter and his band of Weasleys have gone.</p><p>Potter and Weasley weren't in any of our shared classes today. I didn't mind the missing company, it was rather nice, actually. But where could they be if not in class? And then, during lunch and dinner, I realized that the entire Gryffindor table is severely lacking in red-headed freaks.</p><p>But I see Granger down the hall, unaccompanied by the usual two idiots, and I decide that I want to find out what's going on. So, brushing some dust off my badge, I storm down the hall, making Granger aware of my presence by the sound of my shoes scraping against the floor.</p><p>"What do you want, Malfoy?" she sighs with exasperation, looking a little tired as she steps in front of a first-year boy she was talking to seconds later. "Here to bully him again? He told me all about that day in the courtyard, you know."</p><p>I frown at her with confusion, but then I shake it off. I've dealt with so many out of bounds first years, I can hardly differentiate between them.</p><p>"Where are Potty and Weasel, Granger?" I sneer, smirking slightly as I fiddle with my tie. "Up to no good, I assume?"</p><p>Granger scoffs, rolling her eyes at me. "Wouldn't you like to know?"</p><p>"Tell me."</p><p>"And why should I?" she asks in a snide voice, turning her chin up at me haughtily while she turns her wand in her hand a couple times.</p><p>I dip my own hand in the pocket of my robes to feel for my own wand, just in case she decides to do something stupid. "If you won't tell me, I'll just have to assume that they and the rest of the band of weasels are up to no good. Certainly wouldn't mind giving them a month detention each after the holidays, would I?"</p><p>"If you <em>must</em> know," Granger scowls, crossing her arms and tapping her wand against her shoulder furiously, "Arthur Weasley is in St. Mungo's. That's why they're gone, you cold-blooded prick. Now <em>leave."</em></p><p>I roll my eyes at her. "That wasn't so hard, was it, Mudblood?"</p><p>She seethes at me, but I just walk away while my mind churns, wondering why this tiny bit of information is irking me so much.</p><p>It's as I'm turning the corner that it strikes me.</p><p>A few days ago, Father sent me another letter. It went how his letters typically go. He asked me how my studying is going, whether I'm receiving top marks or not. He berated me for not passing Granger yet. And then he began talking about what's going on at home.</p><p>
  <em>My mission has proven to be more difficult than expected. I can't say much in these letters because there's no knowing if one will ever end up in the wrong hands. There is something I must retrieve, but it seems it's being guarded closely by several fools, including that Blood-Traitor.</em>
</p><p>Maybe it's a stretch.</p><p>Maybe it's completely coincidental.</p><p>Or maybe the Dark Lord and my father have something to do with it.</p><p>When I'm back in my dorm, I know I should be packing. We leave for the holidays in two days. Or if I'm not packing, I should at least be studying. Just because these next two days there aren't any classes doesn't mean that I can slack off.</p><p>But instead I find myself laying flat out in my bed, arms crossed beneath my head with a blanket thrown messily over me. The blanket is too small, so it doesn't cover my feet. Despite my socks, my feet are freezing, but I'm too lazy and tired to move to cover them. I'm too consumed with just my thoughts.</p><p>In all honesty, I couldn't possibly care less about Weasley or his father. I don't care if his father is all banged up and in St. Mungo's. I just wonder if it's <em>my</em> father's fault that he's in there.</p><p>"Malfoy."</p><p>I pick my head up to see Nott walk into the dorm.</p><p>"Nott," I say back coolly, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow at him.</p><p>"Montague and the other seventh years are throwing one last party in the boys' dorm before winter break," he says as he throws himself down onto his bed and reaches for his wand, murmuring a quick <em>Accio!</em> to summon the chocolate that Crabbe hides under his bed. He grabs a chocolate frog and unwraps it, shoving the whole thing in his mouth before saying in a muffled voice, "It's tomorrow night. You going?"</p><p>"Who else is going?" I ask, stifling a yawn before holding my hand out. He instantly tosses a chocolate frog at me, it landing on my chest. I unwrap it as he speaks.</p><p>"All the fifth, sixth, and seventh years."</p><p>"In one tiny dorm?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"I'll be there."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what do u want to do when u grow up? what's something u definitely don't wanna do?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. NECKS TO YOU</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>just another filler i PROMISE THE PACE PICKS UP SOON im frankly unsure why i did this</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is a short chapter, and for that i apologize</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>December 19th, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Do I look fine?"</p><p>"You always look hot," Pansy chimes from inside the bathroom without missing a beat—without even glancing at me.</p><p>"She's not wrong," Daphne snickers as she leans over her dresser to peer into her mirror, making an odd face while she slides the mascara brush over her eyelashes.</p><p>I roll my eyes, though a grin lights up my face.</p><p>It's gonna be thirty or so people crammed in one dorm room getting high on Alihotsy and drunk off their asses on Firewhiskey, and I have to say, I'm looking forward to it <em>far</em> more than I'm looking forward to spending two weeks at home.</p><p>I stand in front of my mirror and stare at myself for a little while, trying to decide if what I'm wearing is too much or not. Boys tend to do the absolute <em>least </em>when it comes to planning parties, meaning I have absolutely no idea what the dress code is—so I find myself in a shimmery golden tank top, the kind with the sparkles that stay in tact and <em>don't </em>rub off onto every surface they do or don't come in contact with, a simple, black pair of wide-leg pants because I'm <em>tired </em>of wearing skirts and having constructed movement and worrying about whether I'm flashing anyone or not.</p><p>I fiddle with the locket that lays over my collarbones before deciding that I need to confide with my own friend who I know will <em>never</em> lie to me.</p><p>Cheeky.</p><p>"Cheeks!" I call out, and instantly he appears from under my bed where he was probably snooping around for crumbs of food.</p><p>I look down at him, seeing my chubby little baby staring up at me with wide yellow eyes.</p><p>"Do I look okay?" I sigh with exasperation, glancing at myself in the mirror and trying to figure out what's wrong.</p><p>Cheeky makes a low, croaky, and long howl, scratching at the gem of my pants before looking at me with a purposeful glare in his eyes.</p><p>"You're right," I say with a nod, realizing what it is. "I <em>do</em> look like a middle-aged mom trying too hard to be hot. I'll wear the other outfit then."</p><p>I eventually settle on an outfit that doesn't make me look like I peeked in my schooling years, quickly do my makeup, shove my feet into a terrible pair of heels that I'll probably end up kicking off by the end of the night, and the we're off to the seventh year boys' dorm.</p><p>It's already pretty crammed by the time we get there. The air is all smoggy, smelling distinctly of Laughing Potion—Alihotsy smoke. Music is blasting loudly from a Wireless, some Hobgoblins song from a couple years ago that the already drunk seventh year girls near the window (that is, the glass wall separating the dorm from the Black Lake) sing along to at the very top of their lungs.</p><p>I grin slightly as I walk in, thirty bodies crammed in this one dorm. The beds have been pushed around a little to make space in the center of the room where I see some sixth years dancing, Cassius Warrington and a girl I think is named Azure Ibex stumbling all over the place while they dance very off beat.</p><p>"I'm gonna hang with Verona!" Pansy shouts in my ear before disappearing off to talk to the purple-haired sixth year.</p><p>Millicent sits on a spare bed with Goyle, the two of them sharing a blunt while Adrian Pucey walks over to them waving a couple bottles of nettle beer in the air. Tracey inserts herself in the makeshift dance floor, her crimped pink and blonde hair bouncing over her shoulders as she smoothly inserts herself between Warrington and Azure. Daphne gives me a squeeze of my hand before finding Miles Bletchley near the window, her green eyes glowing bright when he instantly pulls her into his side.</p><p>"Celeste! C'mere!" Graham calls me from the bed closest to the window, making me snap my head over to look at him. He's leaning back against the headboard, patting the space next to him.</p><p>I flash him a small smile before maneuvering my way through the little crowd, sitting down on his bed with a soft sigh. He instantly places a bottle of beer in my hand before wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I glance up at him for a moment, taking in his chiseled jawline, thick black hair that falls in waves, and electric blue eyes that are a little red from Alihotsy. I then pop open my beer and take a great swig, glancing over at the few other people occupying the bed.</p><p>Pandora Pinescrew sits at the edge of the bed, her back leaning against the window to the Black Lake. Her green eyes are smug and there's a smirk on the blonde's pink lips as she looks down at the head in her lap—Draco's head. She looks down at him while stroking his hair, the expression on her face as though anyone would be lucky to be in her position.</p><p>Draco lays across the bed with his head on her lap, platinum blond hair getting a bit ruffled up as she runs her fingers through it. His eyes are open but heavy, silver and piercing and locked on me. One of his legs is bent while the other is outstretched, so long that it dangles easily off the bed and nearly touched the ground. One of his arms lays casually over his chest while his other hovers slightly, a smoking blunt between his fingers. He places it between his lips and takes a sip without taking his eyes off of me, chest deflating while he exhales slowly.</p><p>And at the foot of the bed sits Crabbe, his back turned towards me as he watches the seventh years sing with an eager look on his face.</p><p>"Are we just gonna sit here?" I sigh after a few minutes pass of us just drinking and smoking, both activities that I enjoy, though I expected a bit more.</p><p>"We should dance," Pandora says suddenly, her hand grasping Draco's hair to tilt his head back so he's forced to look at her. "Drakey, lets go dance."</p><p>I choke on a spit of nettle beer, my laughter only getting worse and harder to swallow down when <em>Drakey's</em> sharp silver eyes instantly dart to glare at me, as if daring me to say something to piss him off.</p><p>"You okay?" Graham chuckles next to me, flashing me a concerned glance.</p><p>"Yeah, totally," I cough, trying to force the beer out of my lungs. "Why don't we dance too? Just for a little while, and then we can sit around or whatever."</p><p>Graham doesn't miss a beat, instantly rolling over me to step off the bed before extending a hand towards me, a big hand, calloused from handing Quaffles and Quidditch broomsticks, that I take with my own. He pulls me up and off his bed, making me laugh softly while he all but drags me to the makeshift dance floor. I glance over my shoulder to see Draco roll his eyes before reluctantly getting out of bed and letting Pandora lead him to the dance floor as well, making me smirk before I turn my head back to look at Graham.</p><p>The music changes to an upbeat song by Lorcan d'Eath, a famous twenty-nine-year-old half-vampire who makes a living off of making teenage witches swoon. I laugh and cringe at the same time when it comes on, recognizing it as his famous love song "Necks to You." At least it isn't one of his slower, soppy love songs, but rather a fast-paced and cheesy one that boasts about his dream girl's perfect neck and sweet, sweet blood.</p><p>Graham pulls me up against him while we dance. I can't help but notice how different dancing with him is compared to dancing with Draco. With Graham, his motions are a bit stiff and choppy. They're on beat, thankfully, but it's like he's being a Chaser rather than a regular teenager at a party. His movements are strong and <em>too</em> purposeful, like he's trying to shoot a Quaffle through a hoop rather than carelessly wave his arms in the air when Lorcan sings: "Arms up! Necks out!"</p><p>Dancing with Draco—well, it makes sense why he's a Seeker. Seekers require agility, fluidness, the ability to blend in with the wind, move as fast as the world around them but slow down quickly enough before they go crashing. It's almost surprising how well he knows how to move his body. I remember dancing with him at Daphne's birthday, and even when he wouldn't move his hands off of my hips, his body moved against mine naturally. His muscles were loose, his hips were fluid, and he was the living embodiment of <em>sex</em> on the dance floor.</p><p>I let my arms rest over Graham's shoulders while his rough hands smooth their way up and down my sides, awkward with the way they grip me. Sometimes his touch on my hips is too hard, but sometimes his fingers at my waist are too soft. I ignore it, though, just throwing my head back and letting my hips move however they want.</p><p>I straighten my head and look over his shoulder when he tugs me in a little closer to see Verona and Pansy dancing <em>way</em> too erotically for public view. Pansy sees me and grins while running her hands through Verona's purple spiky pixie cut.</p><p>My eyes then dart over to see Miles Bletchley and Daphne presses close together as well, Daphne's cheeks alight with bright red excitement, though I don't think she notices Azure on the other side of Miles feeling his arm up.</p><p>And then I see Draco and Pandora.</p><p>He looks like he's in his element. I don't think I see him so calm and careless as when he's dancing, not even when he's high or drunk. His hips move perfectly to the music, his movements neither side big it's embarrassing nor so small that he looks insecure. It strikes me that he's probably just as good at classical forms of dancing. If I grew up required to take ballroom classes so I don't embarrass my parents at events, he probably did too.</p><p>Draco makes eye contact with me as he runs a hand through his white locks. His eyes are dark and heavy, an ashy shade like embers burn behind them rather than the typically icy color that makes me wonder if his eyes are really blue or grey. He smirks slightly when he sees me looking, an inviting smirk as his hand goes down to briefly brush against his abs. I can see the outline of them through the clingy, tight material of black satin shirt he wears, the thin white lines that run vertically rippling and making him look more fluid than water. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a thin silver chain against his pale skin.</p><p>When I look back up at his eyes, he looks amused. Draco then glances away and back at me as if he's trying to show me something. I tilt my head just slightly, communicating the best look of confusion as I can. He then glances again, letting his eyes linger longer before returning to me.</p><p>I glance to see what he's looking at, nearly snorting when I see Pandora trying all to hard to—to what? Turn him on? Impress him? She's practically bent in half trying to rub her ass against his dick, except rather than making it look hot and moving her body properly, she's really just bending and straightening her legs in a repetitive manner, making her look a lot like an ostrich trying to stick its blonde head into the dirt.</p><p>My lips twitch as I try not to grin too hard. When my eyes flicker up to Draco's, he's still looking at me, a similar expression on his face as he clearly tries his best to inch away from Pandora. I snort loudly at this, making Graham look at me with alarm.</p><p>"Everything alright?" he asks , gripping my arm.</p><p>I open my mouth, but before I can speak, a raspy voice cuts in.</p><p>"Switch partners, Montague?"</p><p>We glance to the side to see Draco standing beside us, an amused glimmer in his eyes. Pandora is where he was seconds ago, still dancing in that awkward, gawky, bird-like way of hers.</p><p>"Sure," Graham shrugs, giving Draco a heavy clap on the shoulder before walking over to Pandora so the two can share their unique mating rituals.</p><p>Draco steps in front of me, his hands instantly going to my waist and pulling me against him while he starts dancing. His hair, typically so neat, is ruffled up and falls into his darkened eyes. There's a lazy look on his face, but he's focused solely on me with an amused hint on his lips that makes my gut twist a little. But I just smirk and start dancing right back with him, enjoying the way he lets his hands roam freely.</p><p>His smell swarms me in the best way possible. The sweet, masculine, sharp smell that draws me in closer than even his strong hands could.</p><p>He leans down, lips brushing against my ear. I think he does it on purpose—I think he knows how it affects me. "My dorm is empty, you know," he says in a low voice, his touch turning feather-light as it tickles its way up my waist. "Don't think anyone will notice if we disappear for a little while..."</p><p>"Why would I want to disappear with you?" I murmur back challengingly, turning around to feel his chest pressed against my back while we dance.</p><p>He laughs softly, reaching around me to push all my curls over one shoulder so he can lean in to my ear again. This time, his tongue traces the edge of it before he whispers, "Let me even the playing field. Make it fair. Nobody loses, nobody wins—except you, honestly."</p><p>My eyes flutter shut, my movements grow smaller and muted, and my pulse picks up from the second his hot breath hits my skin. He keeps his face buried in my neck for a moment, pressing a barely-there kiss next to my jaw and teasingly brushing his fingers right under my shorts before pulling away to continue dancing behind me.</p><p>And my mind wanders to what leveling the playing field and making things fair would entail. I can already imagine him being a tease, kissing his way down from my lips to my neck to my chest to my stomach, and then he'd skip over where I need him to kiss his way up from my knees to my thighs, taking his sweet time at my inner thighs.</p><p>And I can imagine tugging at his hair when he finally does what I need him to.</p><p>"Why?" I manage to choke out, looking slightly off my shoulder, though I can't see him. I force myself to continue dancing despite how those simple words of his make me want to collapse and let him do whatever he wants to my body.</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>His hand is on my back, tracing the straps of my top. It's a strappy, practically backless black top, with nothing but two strings near my waist and one around my neck keeping it together. Goosebumps jump up all over my skin as he brushes his cold rings against it, fingertips clearly enjoying the way the my skin form bumps because of <em>him</em>.</p><p>"Why—why do <em>you</em> want to?" I ask after clearing my throat, faltering when I feel him slip a finger under one of the strings and tug on it gently. His hand then slips low to the waistband of my denim shorts, tugging on one of the belt loops so I stumble backwards and crash into his chest.</p><p>"Can you blame me for wanting a taste?" he whispers in a raspy voice, and it's at this moment that I realize I'm doomed when it comes to this boy.</p><p>But I turn around, rest my arms on his shoulders, and continue dancing like the conversation never even happened. He gives me a confused look, but it doesn't stop him from dancing right back with me, his hand all over my nearly bare back, greedily feeling for my skin.</p><p>"You're not wearing a bra, are you?"</p><p>I shake my head, subtly pushing my chest out a little so he can see for himself. His eyes drop down, instantly growing shades darker as they hungrily take in my chest, his hand on my hip tightening slightly.</p><p>His eyes flash up to mine, narrowed with need.</p><p>"My dorm, ten minutes."</p><p>I shake my head ever so slightly, biting back a smirk at the look of confusion that flickers over your face.</p><p>"There's only one thing you can do to make me cave," I remind him, reaching up to gently rub my fingers through his hair, admiring the way his white blond locks are so soft and silky and smooth between my fingers.</p><p>I lean in and go up on my toes to get as close to him as possible. And then I get a grip at the hair at the back of his head and pull it back as harshly as possible, making him gasp while I whisper softly:</p><p>"Beg."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: how has your day been?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. WINE AND LAST HOPES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the holidays begin!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>December 21st, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Move it, you bloody chicken," I scowl to the fat grey cat that sits in the middle of the aisle right outside my compartment, staring up at me with evil yellow eyes and mouth parted just slightly to bare its teeth. "May not be able to use magic out here, but that doesn't mean I can't—"</p><p>"Are you threatening Cheeky?" an accusatory voice stops me.</p><p>I glance up to see Celeste in the doorway of the compartment directly opposite mine, her dark eyes blazing with fury I only ever see when she's defending her fat Chicken. Her curls are up in a loose bun held together only by her wand sticking out the side, a couple loose strands falling over her face. She blows them away angrily only for them to fall back down over her eyes.</p><p>I give her a dry smile. "Move it out of the way."</p><p>"<em>Him</em>," she snaps, kneeling down to pick up Chicken and cradle the big ball of lint in her arms. She pressed a kiss on his forehead while glaring up at me.</p><p>I smirk at her, saying sarcastically, "You like being in that position in front of me, don't you?"</p><p>"Don't talk like that in front of him," she says simply, straightening back up. She gives me one last harsh look before turning around to face the girls still inside the compartment, saying, "Let's go."</p><p>Crabbe pushes against me from behind. I glance over my shoulder to throw him a nasty look before brushing off my coat and stepping out into the aisle. All along the cart, compartment doors swing open and the aisle fills with bustling, chattering students that push and shove at each other, eager to go home for the holidays. I manage to make it off the cart without stumbling over some stupid first year's feet.</p><p>The air is crisp and cold when I step down from the train and onto the platform. It's a bit windy out today, the air biting especially at my nose and cheekbones while running it's aggressive fingers through my hair. I fiddle with my scarf, wrapping it a little tighter while I take a few tentative steps away from the train to let the others out and look this way and that for my parents.</p><p>I see a couple workers walking over from the far side of the train pushing several trolleys filled with all our luggage atop them. Blaise steps down from the train and walks up behind me, clapping me in my shoulder before leading me towards the end of the platform where we wait for our luggage and parents to arrive. I watch, my eyes drying out a bit from the cold wind, as students step down from the Express and hug their parents, red in the face and hurrying about to either run through the platform wall or simply Disapparate and go home right on the spot.</p><p>"Which one's yours?" I ask when the workers pull up with the trolleys stacked full of luggage.</p><p>"The brown one with the little golden buckles right there," he responds, his face buried in the collar of his coat while his hands form fists in his pockets.</p><p>I nod shortly, my fingers numb as I fiddle with my dragon-hide gloves and stride over to the trolleys, grabbing my black trunk and Blaise's brown one in one hand each and mugging them both back over to where he stands. He gives me a nod when I drop his at his feet.</p><p>A loud crack comes just a few feet away from my right side, making me flinch and turn to see who it is. I blink blankly for a moment, fearing that I'm seeing double until I realize quickly that Blaise's mother hasn't duplicated herself—the woman next to her must be Celeste's mother.</p><p>"Blaise!" Colette Zabini beams, rushing past me with wide open arms right as I see Celeste and the girls step down from the train.</p><p>Blaise grunts when his mother nearly toppled him<br/>over, stumbling backwards while he struggles to pull his hands out of his pockets. When he does, he awkwardly pats her back while shooting me a glare over her shoulder as I smirk.</p><p>"Hi, Aunt Colette," Celeste greets in a sweet voice that has me rolling my eyes. As soon as Blaise's mother lets go of her son, she attacks her niece in a hug just as aggressive, making Celeste's eyes bulged out slightly before she laughs softly and hugs her back. "I missed you too!" Her eyes then slide over to just beside me, and I follow them to see who can only be her mother. "Hello, Mother."</p><p>Blaise's mother lets go of Celeste and turns around to barge over to me. I wince slightly in preparation, but she doesn't swarm me in a massive hug. No, what she does is far, far worse.</p><p>She brings her cold hands up to my face and gives my cheeks two tight pinches, shaking my face while she beams brightly. "Oh, look at you, Draco! What an adorable young man you've grown into."</p><p>My face turning bright red while my hands clutch her arms in a desperate effort to get her to stop, I mumble in a muffled voice, "You saw me a few months ago, Ms. Zab—"</p><p>"And you've already grown taller! At this rate, I'll need to step on a stool to pinch your cheeks next year!"</p><p>"Or you could not pinch my ch—"</p><p>"Nonsense!" Bur she finally lets go, giving me one little pat on my cheek before turning to her sister. "Corinne! Oh, Cor, come here. You met Lucius and Narcissa—this is their son. Isn't he just an adorable little man?"</p><p>"Oh, yeah," I hear Pansy snort sarcastically as she walks up towards us while dragging her trunk behind her. "Just the cutest little baby."</p><p>I shoot her a warning glare, bringing one of my hands up to rub my sore cheeks before glancing over to see Corinne Zabini walk over. It strikes me just how much her daughter takes after her. The entire Zabini family shares their striking features, especially the dark eyes and high cheekbones, but it isn't just looks that Celeste shares with Corinne. It's their demeanor, the way that she walks in confident but almost <em>refined</em> strides. Her mother, just like Celeste, walks with her chin turned up slightly, her eyes heavy, and her eyebrows lifted a bit, giving her that mysterious look. On her, though, it looks more contemptuous, while on Celeste, it looks amused.</p><p>"Mrs. Zabini," I smile politely, sticking my hand out for her to shake. "Pleasure to meet you."</p><p>"And you," she says, giving my hand a firm shake before dropping it. She eyes me up, and maybe I'm imagining it, or maybe she's looking at me with suspicion. "I've heard quite a bit from your parents about you. You play Quidditch?"</p><p>"I do, ma'am," I nod, shoving my hand back in my pocket.</p><p>Mrs. Zabini gives me a faint smile before turning to Blaise. She wraps him in a much smaller hug, murmuring something I can't hear before moving on to greet Celeste. It's at this moment that another crack sounds in the air, followed by the appearance of my father and my mother with her arms wrapped around one of his. She lets go of him immediately, straightening her hair out before spotting me. A warm smile instantly lights up her face, and she strides forward to grab my hand and place a kiss on my forehead.</p><p>"Hi, Mum," I mumble, feeling myself smile slightly as I pull her into a short hug. I look over her shoulder to see Father standing with his back straight and one hand clasped over the other, eyes wandering around the station with a slight grimace on his face as he takes in his surroundings. "Father," I clear my throat.</p><p>His eyes snap to me as Mother pulls away. His thin lips curve up into a smile while he steps forward to place one hand on Mother's shoulder.</p><p>"Ready to go?" he asks, eyeing my trunk. "How was the ride here? I never liked that Hogwarts Express. Always so rickety, and just swarming with—" He cuts himself off with Granger passes by. "Well, Hogwarts in general was always swarming with pests. Still is, isn't it?"</p><p>I nod unconsciously, my eyes still following Granger as she now picks up her walk to a jog towards a couple who look a little startled as they glance around at all the witches and wizards crowding the platform. Her wavy brown hair bounces a little as she leaps up and wraps her arms around the man's neck, and—</p><p>"Draco? Are you paying attention?"</p><p>My father's snapping voice draws my eyes back to my parents. "Right, sorry—just got a bit distracted."</p><p>"Shall we leave, then?"</p><p>"Yes, please."</p><p>"I'll see you later tonight, Colette, Corinne," Mother says with a kind smile while she places one hand on my shoulder and one hand on Father's.</p><p>"Tonight?" I hear Celeste ask as I bend down to pick up my trunk.</p><p>"Oh, yes," Colette Zabini says, looping her arms through one of Blaise's and one of Celeste's. "We're throwing a dinner!"</p><p>And then my parents and I disappear with a crack.</p><p>—</p><p>Mother asked me to pick out a wine to bring to the dinner after getting ready.</p><p>So here I am now, ready, wearing a simple shirt and a dark green sweater over it, walking down the hall to my parents' room to ask which wine exactly she wants me to pick out.</p><p>I twist the rings on my fingers as I pass the many Malfoy portraits on the walls, dating all the way back to when Merlin was around. Men with cold eyes watch me pass by, occasionally giving me curt nods. We Malfoy's are known for our hair, but that's more of a recent coincidence. I pass Malfoys with black hair and brown hair and curly hair. There's one thing they all hold in common, though. The same cold eyes.</p><p>I pause briefly at Abraxas Malfoy, my grandfather. He, in his youth, looked strikingly like Father. Same long blond hair though his is pulled back in a tight braid. Same cold grey eyes, clouds of dust and ash that grow more and more compact until they reach the dark center of his pupil.</p><p>He tilts his head at me questioningly.</p><p>Before his portrait can open his mouth to speak, I hurry along the hallway, feeling a dozen pairs of eyes following my back. I ignore them, though, only hastening my pace until I reach my parents' bedroom.</p><p>"Do we have to go?"</p><p>I freeze in my step when I hear Mother's muffled voice behind the door to my parents' bedroom. My fist, raised and about to knock on the wood, drops to my side while I glance down the empty hall and turn my ear towards the door.</p><p>"To the dinner?" Father's voice responds, followed by what sounds like the rustling of paper. "We do it every year when the kids come back for holiday. Why wouldn't we?"</p><p>"Lucius." Her voice is tired and serious.</p><p>"<em>What</em>, Narcissa?" Father sighs softly.</p><p>"I know there's more."</p><p>There's a silence that follows except for a little rustling and what sounds like a dresser drawer opening. I swallow thickly, feeling my pulse pound against the side of my throat. I press my palms against my pants and lean in closer to hear.</p><p>"You said it yourself," Father then says bitterly. "My mission, not yours, right? So let me worry about it. No need for you to shed a drop of sweat over it."</p><p>"Don't be like that, Lucius," Mother sighs softly. I can imagine the look on her face—the lines near her eyes and mouth deepening, her grey eyes growing dull, and her eyebrows furrowing before going limp as if she has no energy to put into keeping them furrowed.</p><p>"Like <em>what?</em>" he snaps. "You know this is important to Him."</p><p>I shudder softly, instinctively taking a step back before forcing myself to lean back in.</p><p>"We've already had <em>two </em>failed attempts, Narcissa," he seethes, and I hear creaking inside the room as if he's started pacing. "<em>Two</em>. We already Imperiused Podmore, and look where he is now—Azkaban, rotting with your sister."</p><p>"Don't you talk about my sister," Mother says hastily.</p><p>"Oh," Father laughs lowly, seething anger in his quiet voice, "I promise you, in these weeks to come, we'll have <em>plenty</em> of talking to do about your sister. And that snake of his—well that was hardly my fault, was it? Did I tell it to go sneak into the Department? I didn't tell it to attack the blood-traitor, did I? But, of course, it's my fault that the papers are having a bloody..."</p><p>He's silent for a moment.</p><p>"He'll have my head, Cissy," he then sighs softly. "Don't know why this is so important to him, but he'll have my head if I don't..."</p><p>"Lucius..."</p><p>"The Zabinis may just be my last hope."</p><p>I stiffen at this. My heart pauses for a second, still and dead quiet, and then it's thumping again, harder than before. Something tells me he's not talking about Blaise and Ms. Zabini.</p><p>"I can't think of any other way. They're our closest link to the Department." He sighs harshly. There's another creaking noise, the sound of someone sitting down at the edge of the mattress. "Not like they'll have much of a choice either. They refuse for now, but they won't be able to say no to <em>His</em> face. I'll crack them. And then it'll all be over, Cissy, I promise."</p><p>"Will it, Lucius?"</p><p>My mother's voice breaks me. It's soft, distant. It never wavers, just like how she never wavers. She and her voice are always firm, steady. But it has a blue tinge to it now, making my throat squeeze.</p><p>"Can you really promise me it will?"</p><p>He's silent. She's silent. I consider walking away.</p><p>"No," he then says softly. "No, I can't. But if I do this, darling, if it all works out right, it'll be the beginning of a new era. That wretched boy will be gone. It'll be a perfect world, Narcissa..."</p><p>I hear a soft thud followed by my mother's soft, chiming laugh. There's some murmuring I can't hear, but it's degrees more lighthearted than the tone only seconds ago.</p><p>"It'll be a perfect world for us," Father than sighs, loud and clear. "Without all the imperfections, without the dirt on the streets. A pure world. One you and I can be happy in, my love."</p><p>"And Draco," Mother says lowly.</p><p>"And Draco."</p><p>—</p><p>My mind spins at a dizzyingly fast rate while I stand in the foyer waiting for my parents to come downstairs so we can Apparate to the Zabini manor.</p><p>I lean against the stairs, my ankles and arms crossed while I let my eyes close and mind wander. My hand grasps the neck of a bottle of wine—after overhearing that conversation, I decided it was best not to knock on the door for something so trivial as asking which bottle of wine to bring for the Zabinis. I chose one by myself at random, my mind far too preoccupied to read the labels for ages and types.</p><p>At least I know now that Weasley's father isn't in St. Mungo's because of my father—not really, at least. I've never met the Dark Lord, but I've heard plenty about him and the reptile that never leaves his side. Nagini.</p><p>The department. No, the <em>Department</em>, it's <em>The</em> Department. The Dark Lord wants something in <em>the Department</em>, and the responsibility has fallen on Father's shoulders. I suppose this is the mission I'd been hearing about all summer and he'd been so vaguely writing about during the term.</p><p><em>He'll have my head</em>.</p><p>I wonder if I'll ever meet Him. No, rather, <em>when</em> I'll meet him. It's indescribable: the fury that comes with being treated like a mere boy while listening to stupid Potter being talked about like he's a <em>threat</em>, an equal and imminent threat. As much as the thought of the Dark Lord stills me like stone, I know one day it'll be my turn to fight for him, and I can't seem<br/>to decide if I anticipate that with anxiety or eagerness.</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>I glance up to see my mother descending the stairs, followed closely behind by my father. I force a smile at her as I push myself off the railing and turning to stand straight. She's beautiful, as always, wearing a simple black dress under her velvety green robes. Over her chest lays that big, oval emerald embedded in silver, that familiar necklace she's been wearing for as long as I remember. I bought it for her. Well, my <em>father</em> bought it with his money, but it was my gift to her when I was eight on her birthday.</p><p>"Get your coat, dear," she smiles slightly as she steps down into the foyer.</p><p>Father steps down behind her and walks around to stand behind me. He claps a heavy hand down on my shoulder, making me nearly drop the wine in surprise.</p><p>"You've grown taller," he notes, a hint of surprise in his voice.</p><p>I glance at the side of his head, and surely enough, where at the end of the summer the top of my head reached only his mouth, I now reach his eyebrows, and my shoulders are nearly level with his.</p><p>I <em>have</em> grown taller.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's something that happened in the books that you wish happened in the movies?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. EASY ON YOU</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a little cousin bonding time, and a steamy scene with draco</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>December 21st, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"And this happens every year?"</p><p>"Every year," Blaise confirms with a slight nod, leaning over his dresser to squint at something on his neck that I can't quite see from where I am sitting on his bed.</p><p>"I didn't know your families are that close," I say with a slight rise of my eyebrows as I run my fingers through Cheeky's fur, smiling softly when he turns over for some belly rubs.</p><p>I knew that Draco, Blaise, and Pansy are best friends. That much could be figured from day one. I didn't know until today, though, that they're actually <em>family</em> friends.</p><p>"I mean, I spent, like, half my childhood at the Malfoy manor," he says, squinting slightly while he runs a finger over his neck. "I love Mum, but she was always busy finding a boyfriend or husband or whatever. Pansy's parents were always traveling, and she didn't like staying home with a nanny, so she also spent a lot of time at the Malfoys'."</p><p>I'm silent for a moment, tracing odd patterns on Cheeky's chest while his paws lay limp and folded. I spent half my childhood traveling. I've been to countless countries by now, and I don't think I've stayed in one for longer than three years. After I turned twelve, we definitely didn't stay anywhere longer than a year. My stomach sinks slightly when I remember that half the school year is already up. I only have a few months left here if things go how they usually go.</p><p>As if he's read my thoughts, Blaise asks suddenly, "You've travelled a lot, right?"</p><p>"Yeah," I say, letting Cheeky slyly slip my finger in his mouth to nibble on it.</p><p>"Where have you been?"</p><p>I sigh softly. "Where do I start? I was born in the States. We stayed there for about four years before moving out to France. France was two years, then it was another three years in Brazil. Spent a year just...all over South America, and then another two years roaming South Asia."</p><p>Blaise whistles lowly.</p><p>"I'm not even done yet," I snort unceremoniously. "We stayed in Japan for a little under two years. I really liked it there, enough to learn the language. But then it was off again to the States. Only for a couple months, though. Then it was France until...well, until we moved here."</p><p>I squint slightly as I recount my words in my head, tracing back to see if I've missed something. It seems about right, though. My family has never taken a vacation before simply because everything has always been a vacation—temporary, fleeting, yet by the end of it, leaving you with that exhausting craving to go home to a mattress you recognize. I don't have any best friends—which I don't really mind, because what's the use of them anyway? And we don't <em>really</em> have any family friends considering my parents left them all behind nearly seventeen years ago. I hardly have any family. Last time I saw Blaise was when his mother's husband at the time took them on a trip to the States and they came by to visit us in Massachusetts.</p><p>"I don't really get why your parents had to move around so much," Blaise says, walking over to me with two ties in his hand, one with a silver pattern and one green. I point to the green one, and he tosses the silver one onto the bed haphazardly.</p><p>"Their job," I shrug simply.</p><p>"I know they're Unspeakables, but I've never heard of Department of Mysteries workers having to travel so much for their job." He then pauses for a moment as he ties the green tie under the collar of his black shirt before shrugging slightly to add, "Though, to be fair, it's not like anyone knows much about the job at all."</p><p>"Yeah," I murmur softly, scratching Cheeky behind his ears while I exhale softly.</p><p>"I hope you stay here this time," Blaise then says. I look up to see him looking at me through his mirror, a serious expression on his face while he sprays his cologne.</p><p>I quirk an eyebrow at him. "Do you?"</p><p>He then smiles slightly. "I mean, you haven't tried to pull my hair out of my head yet, so I wouldn't mind if you stuck around."</p><p>I grin slowly at him before saying haughtily, "It's only because you're practically <em>bald</em>, little cuz."</p><p>—</p><p>"Dinner was <em>amazing</em>, Colette," Mrs. Malfoy sighs with a small smile minutes after the house-elves have cleared away the table. "Will you have one of the elves write up a recipe? I think I'd like to have mine make that sometime at home."</p><p>"And one for us, as well," Mr. Parkinson chimes as he rubs his stomach, a nod coming from Mrs. Parkinson beside him.</p><p>"Of course," Aunt Colette chirps, a bright smile on her face as she turns to Blaise and I. "Why don't you take Pansy and Draco upstairs? You'll be <em>bored </em>by our discussions."</p><p>"Sure," Blaise shrugs, glancing at me before walking over to Pansy and Draco and beckoning for them to follow.</p><p>I follow behind at a slower pace, my hand reaching up to twist my pocket as I pause briefly next to Father. He glances down and sees me, giving me a small smile, his hazel eyes crinkling are the corners, and pressing a kiss to my forehead.</p><p>"Run along," he says while Mother watches is a few feet away, an odd look in her eyes. "It'd be rude to leave your friends waiting. We'll talk later, okay?"</p><p>"Yeah," I say with a small smile, glancing briefly at Mother before stepping out of the dining room. I take a few steps towards the stairs before glancing over my shoulder just in time to see Mother closing the doors, leaving me standing in the foyer clutching the hem of my dress and trying to decide whether to go upstairs or try to listen.</p><p>My stomach knots slightly while I just stand there and stare at the mahogany wood doors, imagining the seven adults in there pouring wine and laughing, or maybe pouring scotch and sitting with grim faces to discuss something they <em>wish</em> they could put off but know that they can't.</p><p>"Are you just gonna stand there?"</p><p>I look up, heart nearly jumping out my throat, to see Draco standing at the top floor, his arms leaning on the railing as he twists a ring on a finger on his left hand and looks down at me with clouded eyes and a quirked brow.</p><p>"What are you doing?" I frown, taking a step closer to the stairs and away from the doors. "Go back to Blaise and Pa—"</p><p>"Shouldn't you be up here too?"</p><p>"Leave, Draco," I sigh softly, turning my gaze back to the doors.</p><p>"Are you planning on listening in?" he then asks quietly, walking slowly towards the stairs from the landing. I hear slight creaking as he steps down quietly until he's down on the floor a few feet behind me. "I doubt you can hear much all the way from here, darling," he says in an obnoxiously teasing voice.</p><p>I startle slightly when his hand brushes against my lower back. I glance to see him coming up to stand beside me, a dry, ironic smile on his lips before he drops his hand from my back to cross his arms.</p><p>"Pretty doors," he remarks sarcastically. "Love the little golden trims on the sides. Are those snakes? Wonderful touch."</p><p>I sigh softly, momentarily closing my eyes. "I'm so tired tonight, Malfoy, so what do you want?"</p><p>"'Malfoy?' Since when are we on last name basis?" he quips just as sarcastically as before. "And I don't want anything. I'm just bored. I hear that..." he hesitates, a soft chuckle leaving his lips, "games make <em>excellent </em>pastime in moments of boredom."</p><p>I turn to look at him blankly. His eyes are hard and stormy. If I look close enough, I can practically see the dark storm clouds, black and grey with little silver linings swirling threateningly, the occasional crack of lightning breaking the clouded appearance. His lips still form that smirk, but it's stiff, almost conflicted and forced. I can see it slipping slightly at the corners as he watches me closely.</p><p>And then he sighs, long and loud, his face growing sting as he too turns to just simply stare at the doors.</p><p>"They've probably put a Silencing Spell," I say quietly, letting my eyes linger on the side of his face before looking back at the doors.</p><p>"Probably."</p><p>I give him another terse glance before taking a tentative step forward. And then another step, and another step, and then I'm right in front of the doors leaning in with my ear nearly touching the wood.</p><p>And I hear nothing. It's silent. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine an empty room, the table collecting dust, the lights on the chandelier dimmed, and the curtains drawn so that nobody outside may see in.</p><p>I let disappoint creep into and under my skin for a few seconds before I pull away from the door, still standing just a foot away from it and staring at the golden snakes that coil and slither about the edges as if they may come to life and someone let me hear.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>I turn away from the door to look at Draco, his expression hardened, eyes tired. He looks at me with furrowed brows and slightly squinting eyes, drinking me in with a kind of intensity that I can't handle right now, so I look away as I walk past him and towards the stairs, feeling him turn to follow me up.</p><p>There's an odd, churning feeling in my stomach as I walk up the stairs and down the halls of the second floor. It makes me walk faster, like if I slow down, I might hurl. Portraits on the walls turn their heads as we walk past, occasionally murmuring things to each other while they trace their fingers over their fine jewelry and sip from bottomless goblets of wine.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>"Hey," I say suddenly, stopping abruptly and swiveling on my heel to see Draco a couple paces behind me.</p><p>He quirks an inquisitive brow. "<em>Hi</em>, Celeste," he says almost coyly.</p><p>I give him a sweet smile. "Wanna see my room?"</p><p>He blinks blankly, a whole flood of emotions and reactions coursing through his eyes in the span of half a second. First it's shock, eyes growing misty and foggy, and then realization, clouds clearing up just slightly, and then, as he smirks, the storm<br/>is back and brewing dangerously.</p><p>"I can't think of anything else I'd rather do," he says almost mockingly, walking up to me with those heavy eyes while his hand runs through his hair, pushing his straight silver locks out of his eyes.</p><p>"Good."</p><p>And because for some reason my mind can't think of anything else to do, like if I don't do this I might not do anything at all ever again, I grab him by his green sweater and pull him towards me, my other hand going up to tangle in his hair and pull his head down to mine. He doesn't even get startled, no, he responds instantly. His hands go to my hips to pull them flush against his before moving back to my ass to give them a tight squeeze while I press my lips against his feverish ones.</p><p>He turns us, pressing me against a wall between two portraits. I smirk slightly, figuring that my ancestors on the walls are probably feeling a bit scandalizes right now, but it only spurs me on to drag my hand around Draco's back and down to squeeze his ass right back.</p><p>He inhales sharply, pulling his lips away from mine to give me an incredulous look before grabbing both my hands away from his body. He pins them up against the wall, both my wrists in one of his strong, veins hands, silver rings cutting my skin. I gasp softly, but he swallows the sound by pressing his lips against mine again. I kiss back while thrashing slightly, attempting without success to pull my wrists out of his grip. His hand only grows tighter around them while his other hand grabs my hip and pressing his fingers in harshly.</p><p>"Where's your room?" he whispers in a raspy voice against my lips.</p><p>"All the way down the hall," I murmur back. "Last one on the right."</p><p>And then he's picking me up, both hands below my thighs while my wrists are free so I can bury my hands in his hair and kiss down the side of his neck while he quickly walks us down the hall, his fingers slipping under my dress to touch my bare skin and skin under the trim of my panties. He scratches his nails against me, making my breath hitch before I laugh softly in his neck.</p><p>He opens the door to my room and closes it not a second after stepping us in, instantly pressing me against my door. I throw my head back as he rolls his hips against mine, lip attached to my jaw and sucking a sweet spot right under it. I manage to<br/>unwrap my legs from around his hips to stand on the ground again, steadying myself by grabbing his shoulders while I kick my heels off and send them flying.</p><p>I grab him by his hair again to pull his head out of my neck, leaning up to press a lingering kiss to his lips before walking forward and pushing him<br/>back. He stumbles slightly, and when his calves hit my bed, he falls backwards onto the mattress.</p><p>Feeling my pulse thumping hauntingly fast, I move quickly to straddle his lap, leaning forward to grab his sweater and tug, telling him to sit up. He just lays there for a few moments, propped up on his elbows, and smirks at the sight of me sitting on his lap, my dress hiked up to my upper thighs, my hair probably a mess, and my lipstick likely smudged. He then sits up leisurely, slipping his hands onto my thighs and running them up and down before pressing his lips to mine again.</p><p>"Well aren't you needy tonight?" he teases mockingly before biting down on my lower lip, nibbling softly while I struggle to slip my hands under his sweater, feeling his abs through the thin material of the shirt he wears underneath.</p><p>"I don't hear you complaining," I scoff, pulling away from him to give him a firm look while pulling on his sweater. "Take this off."</p><p>He quirks an eyebrow at me. His lips are so pink and flushed, and his hair is messed up from me running my fingers through it and tugging at him. He then smirks slightly. "Ask nicely, princess." His voice is sarcastic.</p><p>I furrow my brows. "I want it off."</p><p>Draco tuts softly, giving me a look of disappointment that makes lightning strike through my core. He brings his hand up to cup the side of my face, dragging his thumb over my lip. "That's not how our little game works, princess. You know that."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"No 'but's. I'm sure you're used to the world bending to your each and every whim, but..." His smirk spreads, his eyes grow dark, and he leans in to whisper in my ear with his breath hot, "<em>I won't go so easy on you</em>."</p><p>My breath hitches softly. I know he hears it, just like I know he hears the way my breathing suddenly gets a little heavier and raggedy. He presses a kiss right under my ear, making my skin heat up instantly. Merlin, does he smell good all pressed up so close to me. His cologne is perfect. It's not so strong that it hurts my head, but strong enough that even when he isn't around, I can remember his smell. Sweet, musky, and so masculine.</p><p>And then he jolts his hips up, erection slamming right over my panties. I gasp, resting my forehead on his shoulder while my hands grasp the sleeves of his sweater desperately. My toes curl as I hesitantly let myself relax again on his lap, feeling him press against me through his pants.</p><p>And I'm just <em>so</em> tempted to beg. Fuck my stubbornness. Fuck my dignity. Fuck my sense of self worth.</p><p>I just want him to <em>fuck me</em>.</p><p>I've apparently lost the ability to move or function, but he hasn't stopped moving. Even with my head on his shoulder, he's found away to tease me more and drive me so close to just begging for him to fuck me hard and fast and give me what we both need. His hand tucks my hair away from my ear so he can brush his lips against it. He scrapes his teeth against it, nibbling on my earlobe, licking my skin softly. His hand is under my dress cupping my ass, giving me slight squeezes and scratching his nails down my sensitive skin.</p><p>He slips his hand under my panties to touch more of my skin, squeezing tight so his rings burn me. I exhale softly at this, closing my eyes and turning my head on his shoulder so my nose nearly brushes against his throat.</p><p>"<em>Comment ça se sent, chérie? Bon? </em>[How does that feel, darling? Good?]" he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice.</p><p>I nod against his sweater, screwing my face up tight with a pinched look of pain. Everything in my head is screaming at me to tease him back, quit acting so desperately, but my body is begging me to just give in, give him what he wants so he can give me what I want.</p><p>"<em>Utilisez vos mots. J'aime entendre ta jolie voix</em> [Use your words. I like hearing your pretty voice]," he chuckles softly while his hands move to my hips, gently guiding them to move against him.</p><p><em>Don't you dare say a word</em>, my mind chides me.</p><p>But my resolve is crumbling, and I'm just <em>so</em> tired.</p><p>"Draco..."</p><p>And then a knock at the door effectively knocks <em>me</em> out of my stupid little daze.</p><p>"Celeste?" Blaise's voice comes from behind my door. "Draco? Are you two in there?"</p><p>I'm quick to get off of Draco's lap, glancing in the mirror to fix my hair, wipe the smudged lipstick from around my lips, and straighten out my hair.</p><p>"Yeah," I say, proud of how casual and nonchalant my voice is. "Yeah, sorry. Dray was helping me find that Muggle vodka we stole over the summer. Can't seem to remember where I hid it."</p><p>Draco shoots me an amused glance, still sitting casually on my bed, moving only to fix his ruffled blond hair. I give him an eye roll, but he just responds with a smirk that makes me scoff.</p><p>"We hid it in my room, remember? Pansy and I have already opened it." Pain strikes through my gut and chest when I hear him rattling the doorknob, and for a second, I think I'm having a heart attack. "Why's this locked?"</p><p>
  <em>Why can't you mind your own damn business, you nosy little fucker?</em>
</p><p>"Oh," I laugh lightly, ignoring the way Draco snorts while my eyes go wide, "I must've locked it by instinct. Here, I'll just..."</p><p>I stride over to the door, unlock it, and swing it open to see Blaise staring at me.</p><p>He squints slightly when he sees me, dark eyes suspicious and scrutinizing as they scan over me and look for a flaw—maybe a crooked strap of my dress, a  bit of smudged lipstick I missed, a flustered look on my face. It seems he doesn't find anything, so he, rather huffily, shifts his gaze over to Draco, the bloody idiot who's <em>still</em> just sitting in my bed. He looks completely and utterly bored, though.</p><p>Blaise squints harder, crossing his arms and leaning against my doorframe while trying to read me.</p><p>I roll my eyes. "What?" I half-scoff and half-laugh. "Can you move your fat ass out of the way? Before Pansy finishes the vodka herself? If she goes home drunk and her parents get mad, I'm blaming <em>you</em>."</p><p>Blaise ignores all that, instead asking in a prying voice, "What's going on here, Cellie?"</p><p>"Nothing," I say calmly, fiddling with my locket and glancing over my shoulder to see Draco staring just <em>so</em> obviously at my ass with a distracted and bored look on his face. Idiot. "And even if something was, calling me <em>Cellie</em> wouldn't get me to tell you."</p><p>Blaise raises an eyebrow in disbelief.</p><p>"Oh, my <em>Godric</em>, just move," I scoff, shoving at his shoulder. He stumbles slightly, but he just moves back to block the doorway.</p><p>"Are you guys hooking up?"</p><p>"No way," I deadpan right as Draco chimes in with an, "Ew, fuck no."</p><p>My eyebrows rise up slowly. Blaise and I lock eyes, and I can see the amusement starting to boil up in his eyes while my own eyes harden into a glare. I look over my shoulder to give Draco an incredulous look, spotting the smirk on his face.</p><p>"<em>'Ew?'</em>" I question. "Does the thought of being <em>sexually involved </em>with me disgust you, Malfoy?"</p><p>"Oh, <em>ew</em>," a voice gags, but this time it comes from Blaise who, in all his dramatic glamor, pretends to dry hurl with a pinched look on his face. "Please don't talk about sex in front of me, Celeste, <em>please</em>. Just...come by my room. And please don't fuck each other." He gives me a long, desperate look, and then Draco an even longer and almost comical glare before disappearing out my doorway and down the hall.</p><p>I watch until he turns the corner before turning around with a small smirk to face Draco.</p><p>He stands up, brushing the wrinkles out of his sweater while walking over to me with a matching smirk.</p><p>"You were gonna beg," he says with a bright, amused gleam in his eyes.</p><p>"No, I wasn't," I laugh shortly, my smirk growing. Let's just ignore the fact that I'm lying.</p><p>"Yes, you were, sweetheart," he chuckles lowly, reaching a hand up to tuck my hair behind my ear.</p><p>"I think the 'ew' was overkill," I say smoothly, leaning back against the doorframe as he steps to stand at the other side of the doorway, looming over me being seven inches taller. "Too dramatic. Probably made him more suspicious."</p><p>Draco leans his forearm against the frame right over my head. Thankfully, I don't react—no hitching in my breath, no small gasps, no swallowing thickly or biting my lip. I just laugh softly and let my smirk grow into a dry little smile while I reach up to fix the collar of his shirt peeking out over his sweater. My fingers brush against his neck, feeling how warm his skin is there.</p><p>He leans in so his lips are hardly an inch from my ear, and in the huskiest, darkest, most raspy voice ever, he whispers, "You were going to beg."</p><p>And he leans away, a triumphant look on his face, and walks off down the hall to join Blaise and Pansy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what would you wear to the yule ball?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. I HATE THE FRENCH</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>pansy's sister's engagement party! aaaaand flustered draco malfoy yup yup</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>December 23rd, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Where did you go?" Pansy demands with a great scowl on her face. "I told you not to leave my side."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows, my lips twitching as I try not to smile too hard—it'd probably earn me a purple-nurple from Pansy knowing her.</p><p>"Damn, Panz, I just went to go get some water. When did you get so possessive?" I can't help but grin, and she gives me a deathly glare.</p><p>"Fuck off," she huffs, crossing her arms and turning her head to look out at the ballroom, mean brown eyes glaring at every person who walks past us.</p><p>"Aw, don't be like that," I chuckle, draping my arm over her shoulders. "You know you'll be okay if you're alone for half a minute, right?"</p><p>Pansy scoffs. "Why, so <em>Damien Volant</em> can try to talk to his soon-to-be sister-in-law? No thanks. He and his snooty family can stay out of my ass."</p><p>"I don't get what your issue with him is," I say, pursing my lips slightly. She only crosses her arms tighter and look away, lips pressed tightly together.</p><p>Poppy Parkinson's engagement party is not so much a party as a <em>ball</em>. The Parkinsons' eldest daughter is twenty-two now and has finally gotten engaged to a worthy Pureblood man. Honestly, it's late compared to most engagements. Typically, parents will marry their children off by the time they're twenty years old.</p><p>The party is in the ballroom of the Parkinson manor, filled with Purebloods from all over the world dressed in their most expensive clothes and jewelry, all trying their hardest to steal time away from Poppy and Damien, or maybe their parents, to congratulate them and most likely make a business deal of some sort. The Parkinson's are major investors, so their money is sought after rather wildly.</p><p>I sit with Pansy in a corner of the ballroom sipping on water while she hordes a tray of hors d'oeuvres to herself, constantly slapping my hand away any time I try to reach for one. My family arrived a bit early, so we're both waiting for the Zabinis to arrive.</p><p>"His parents greeted me when I came," I say, eyeing the pancetta crisps on her tray. "They seem pretty nice."</p><p>"They're disgusting," Pansy snaps, throwing me a look like she's offended I'd ever call the Volants anything but ingrates. "I hate the French..."</p><p>"Didn't you have a secret thing with that girl from Beauxbatons last year?"</p><p>"That's besides the point."</p><p>I shoot her a grin, but she ignores me. Pansy just huffs and sinks lower in her chair, sulking much like a little kid who didn't get to have candy for dinner. I can tell that she took next to no part in getting herself ready for this party. I'm assuming it's her parents that put a Hair Lengthening charm on her, because her black hair, usually choppy and hardly grazing her chin, is sleek, straight, and reaches her waist, and her bangs are neat and trimmed. She's wearing the frilliest, most gaudy pink dress I've ever seen, the kind of shit she'd never get caught dead in. I remember last year during the Yule Ball, I'd gone shopping with her for a suit she could wear, but she ended up wearing a dress since she wasn't out yet. It was simple, though, black and simple rather than something made for a porcelain doll.</p><p>She's even wearing opera gloves and pearl jewelry.</p><p>"Hey, Pansy?" I ask abruptly as she shoves a pancetta crisp into her mouth.</p><p>"What?" she asks with a frown, voice muffled as she chews.</p><p>"You're hot."</p><p>Pansy rolls her eyes. "Shut up," she scoffs, mouth still so very full with food, but she chews with no shame, making me want to grin and grimace at the same time. "You wish you could get a piece of this."</p><p>"Definitely," I snicker.</p><p>"I bet it devastated you when I came out to you," she says dryly, but I see the small smile on her lips.</p><p>"I cried for days."</p><p>"Didn't you have a crush on me in second year?" she then laughs slightly. It isn't her iconic, world-renowned shrieking laugh, but it's a laugh all the same.</p><p>I feel my face burn slightly. "Shut it."</p><p>"I <em>knew </em>I wasn't making that up! Wait 'til I tell Blaise! Oh, he's gonna have a field day with—"</p><p>"Look!" I yelp desperately, anything to get her to shut up about one of the things that embarrasses me more than any other. "There's Blaise and Celeste right there—why don't we put a pause on this conversation, yeah, Panz?"</p><p>Entering the ballroom is the entire Zabini clan. Colette Zabini is dressed in a light green, a great curtain of glitter over her skirt that I'm sure will leave its presence on every surface it touches. She gives Blaise a great smooch on his cheek, making him look embarrassed and Pansy snort, before setting off probably to find her next husband.</p><p>Corinne and Alaric Zabini wall in looking powerful. She's wearing a dark green dress that matches his suit vest, her arm linked around his. Her dark eyes search the room with slightly furrowed brows, while his hazel ones are focused down at Celeste who walks in right beside him.</p><p>She and Blaise spot us quickly, and right as she's about to follow after Blaise to walk over to us, I see her father say something I can't read off his lips. She stops in her step though, grins, and strides back up to him. He wraps his arm around her in a tight hug to press a kiss to her temple before letting her go after Blaise.</p><p>"Hey," Blaise says as he pulls a chair up to sit with us.</p><p>When he sees Pansy, his eyes widen before darting over to me. I give him a discreet shake of my head—when I mentioned her appearance when I first saw her, she nearly poked my eye out with her hot pink nails. All I said was that she looked nice.</p><p>"Hi," Pansy grumbles, wolfing more food down. "Took you long enough."</p><p>Blaise looks like he wants to argue, but he seems to think better of it. "Your parents went all out," he says instead, looking around the ballroom.</p><p>He's not wrong—gold, silver, and pink tapestries, pink being the Parkinson color, are draped all over the walls, real gemstones embedded into the crowns of the moving kings and queens woven into the fabrics. There are nearly as many waiters as there are guests, shuffling around with endless drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Dinner hasn't even been served yet, nor has entertainment really begun save for the orchestra playing in the opposite corner.</p><p>"Yeah, well, they've finally managed to sell their daughter off into a business deal, so," Pansy scoffs flatly.</p><p>I frown slightly. "It's an engagement, Panz."</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous, Draco. Any Pureblood engagement is a business deal. You know that."</p><p>I shrug slightly. "I don't know. Calling it that just feels—"</p><p>"Wrong?" she asks testily, a fierce look in her eyes. Her parents can take away her thick liner and dark clothes and even make her take her piercings out, but they can't get rid of her terrifying eyes. "Maybe because it is."</p><p>I shift uncomfortably. "Since when have you been so against Pureblood ways?"</p><p>Her look stays firm and steady, enough that it has Blaise clearing his throat uncomfortably. And then she turns her head away as Celeste, who got sidetracked into a conversation with some old lady, behind making her way over to us again.</p><p>"Since I realized that...well, most of us aren't lucky enough to marry someone we love. But I don't even get to marry someone I'm attracted to," she mutters darkly, hands crushing what's left of the food on her tray. She carelessly brushes her hand off on her dress and slaps on a grin right as Celeste walks over and plops down on a chair.</p><p>"Hey, you guys," Celeste says, preoccupied with getting a strand of her hair unstuck from her dress.</p><p>"Hey, Cel," Pansy sighs softly.</p><p>Celeste glances up at her, looks back down, and then does a double take. I wince slightly as her dark eyes take Pansy in, the high heels, big pink dress, dolled-up hair, the lipstick, the lack of piercings, all of it. I pray silently that she isn't stupid, that she doesn't say anything that could end with mutiny, that—</p><p>"You look ridiculous," Celeste blinks blankly, her voice a deadpan.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>Pansy's jaw drops in shock. For a couple moments, she just stares at Celeste blankly. And then she starts cackling, that irritating hyena laugh that lets anyone in a mile radius know that Pansy Parkinson is there.</p><p>Blaise and I exchange bewildered looks.</p><p>"I know, right?!"</p><p>—</p><p>Eventually, Pansy is forced by her family to be social and actually interact with the Volants and their guests. She has dragged Blaise with her to awkwardly hover over her shoulder while she makes sour and pinched expressions at anyone who talks to her, though Celeste and I managed to escape her claws in time.</p><p>And Celeste's dress...</p><p>I almost want to roll my eyes at what she's wearing because it's just so <em>her</em>. The dress itself is black, tight on top, closing from the waist down. The neckline is low and all the way down to her waist, showing off her collarbones and that locket that dangles between them. It's not just plain black, though. Of course not. The dress is embroidered with shiny golden-beaded thread, her skirt filled with outlined golden leaves that almost look like they're waving in the wind when she walks. The bodice is also covered in gold, small patterns crawling up the sides and constantly drawing my attention to that locket on her bare, black skin. The skull with the countless snakes coiling out its eyes and wrapped around its head.</p><p>"Are you staring at my tits?" Celeste asks in an almost bored voice.</p><p>I snap my eyes up to hers before rolling them. "Just your pendant. Don't flatter yourself."</p><p>She laughs dryly as she plucks a drink off of a passing waiter's tray, taking a small sip while her dark eyes look at me challengingly over the rim of the cup. She exhales loudly after swallowing. "Just admit you think I look hot," she shrugs.</p><p>She does, but now that <em>she's </em>said it, I'd do anything but admit it.</p><p>"You're so full of yourself," I roll my eyes.</p><p>"And you're not?"</p><p>She looks at me challengingly, plum-colored lips smirking ever so slightly. Her eyes gleam, framed by long lashes while they glance all over me, drinking me in with just looks from feet away. It tugs at something in my gut, urging me to lean in and move closer.</p><p>I force myself to look away from her, instead sitting down at a nearby empty table. We're near the back of the ballroom where less people are congregated. They're all mostly swarming around the newly engaged couple. I quickly spot Poppy and Damien. Poppy looks almost exactly like Pansy. They have the same features, though her wavy black hair is naturally long, and her brown eyes. She's wearing a pink dress too, but it's a lighter and more subtle shade compared to the garish color of Pansy's nearby. Damien hovers next to her, hair brown and face slightly smug.</p><p>"Hey."</p><p>I turn my head to see Celeste picking at her nails with a bored expression. "What?" I ask simply.</p><p>"I'm going out to the balcony. You joining me?"</p><p>I watch her carefully for a few moments, though she doesn't look up from her hands at all. So I glance around, looking to see if there's anything better I could be doing. Nearly all the Slytherins from school are here, but I think I'd like to spend my break from school away from people from school.</p><p>"Fine," I shrug slightly, standing up and brushing off my suit jacket.</p><p>"Oh, don't sound too excited," she teases, coming up to me to place a hand on my shoulder and give it a tight squeeze. "Here, I'll walk in front of you so you can stare at my ass without me catching you."</p><p>"Wh—?"</p><p>She doesn't give me time to respond, just striding forward while I roll my eyes at the back of her head. The worst part is that as I start walking, I <em>do </em>stare at her ass, and I can practically see the smirk on her face as I clear my throat, loosen my tie, and glance away while she leads me to the balcony.</p><p>The ballroom is on the second floor of the Parkinson's manor, so the outdoor balcony looks out of the great field and forest behind it. Nobody seems to really be occupying the balcony spare for a couple guests talking near one corner.</p><p>Celeste doesn't turn her head to see if I'm following her. She just walks on towards the opposite end of the balcony. I watch as she uses her hands to sweep her hair all over one shoulder, showing off the way that her dress is practically backless. She stops at the railing, resting her forearms on it and leaning forward to get a view while the light wind makes a few thin strands of her hair fly.</p><p>I stop a few feet behind her, watching her hair in the wind before turning my head to glance out at the thick forest. It's dark out, and there aren't very many lights strung up in the balcony, so everything looks like one big silhouette.</p><p>And then I'm suddenly stumbling forwards because Celeste has turned around and grabbed onto my tie. I manage to steady myself by grabbing the railing on either side of her while she leans back against it, now playing with my tie with a small smirk on her face.</p><p>"What are you doing?" I ask in a low voice, giving her a suspicious furrow of my brows as I glance to look at the people at the opposite end of the balcony. It's too dark to see who exactly they are, though.</p><p>"Nothing," she responds in a light voice. Celeste is shivering softly—it <em>is</em> December after all, a thin layer of frost blanketing the outside world and gathering at the tops of the railing. She's hardly covered up at all, but from the look on her face, she doesn't seem to mind. "It's cold out, that's all. They say sharing body heat helps conserve it."</p><p>"You're so annoying," I snort, a corner of my lips turning up slightly.</p><p>"Yeah, but you're still attracted to me."</p><p>She takes one of my hands from off the railing. Normally my hands are cold, but compared to the way hers are practically ice, mine feel warm. She doesn't take her eyes off of mine for even a second as she brings my hand up to her collarbones, gently holding two of my fingers out to brush over her skin. I can feel the goosebumps from the cold under my fingertips as she drags them across and over her necklace.</p><p>And then she drags my fingers down that low neckline, letting them brush just slightly over her cleavage. My eyes drop with our hands, watching her chest heave just slightly while she moves my fingers all over her skin.</p><p>And then she laughs softly, making me aware of the stupid look on my face. I close my parted lips, blink away my dazed expression, and roll my eyes as I force myself to look back up at her face. She smirks at me before pulling my hand up and wrapping it loosely around her neck. My eyebrows lift as I move to pull my hand away instantly, but she wraps her hand around my wrist to keep it there.</p><p>"In public, Celeste?" I murmur, unable to help the small smirk that spreads across my own face as I glance once more at the people across the balcony only to see them walking back into the ballroom. We're situated at a corner parallel to the doors that if anyone looked out, they wouldn't be able to see us, but that doesn't do anything to quell the anxious thrum of my pulse. "Really?"</p><p>"Yeah," she says in that smooth voice of hers, letting go of my wrist to trace the rings on my fingers while she looks up at me with big, bright eyes. "Why? Does it scare you, Draco?"</p><p>Her other hand that's still around my tie tightens and pulls me in closer. I instinctually tighten my hand on her neck, hearing her breath hitch while I move my hand on the railing so my forearm rests around her back, letting me lean in closer to her.</p><p>Her hand then trails up my neck to tangle her fingers in my hair, gripping it tightly and pulling me down closer to her. I let her, feeling my breathing quicken as I anticipate her next move. Her breath tickles me softly before she places a small kiss on the corner of my mouth. My hand on her neck itches to tighten, but I keep it loose, moving neither to squeeze nor to pull away.</p><p>"<em>Je dois l'admettre</em> [I have to admit]..." she whispers against my jaw, dragging the tip of her up my jawline until her lips are brushing against my ear, "<em>vous regardez bien dans ce costume</em> [you look good in that suit]."</p><p>"Oh, yeah?" I mumble, pressing my hand flat against her back, her cold skin searing against my palm. The light wind bites at my face, making my cheeks turn a little pink.</p><p>She kisses my cheekbone. "<em>Fermez vos yeux, Draco </em>[Close your eyes, Draco]," she whispers in a gentle, lulling voice that has me closing my eyes without a single thought. My head drops slightly as her hand in my hair massages my scalp, occasionally pulling on a lock. "<em>Pouvez-vous imaginer me prendre vos vêtements hors de vous</em> [Can you imagine me taking your clothes off]?"</p><p>She slides her hand up and down my chest, teasingly playing with the buttons on my shirt. Her hand then slides all the way down to my pants, fingers trailing over my belt.</p><p>I can imagine that. With my eyes closed, the only image printed on the swirling black screen before me is that of Celeste undoing my tie, unbuttoning my shirt, kissing her way down my chest while she unbuckles my belt.</p><p>"<em>Pouvez-vous imaginez-moi à genoux en face de vous</em> [Can you imagine me kneeling in front of you?]"</p><p>Her hand slides down over my pants, touch gentle and hardly there and she dances her fingers over the fabric. My hand on her neck curls, making her breathing get shallow instantly. I can feel her pulse pounding against my thumb, and it's much steadier than mine is. She chuckles softly, giving my hair a light tug.</p><p>"<em>Je veux envelopper ma bouche autour de vous à nouveau. Tu as aimé quand j'ai fait ça </em>[I want to wrap my mouth around you again. Did you like it when I did that]?"</p><p>I curse softly, pressing myself closer to her to try to feel some friction against her hand. She laughs softly, but she complies, gently rubbing her palm up and down against me. She pulls my head back, and I let her, so that she can press teasing kisses to my neck.</p><p>"<em>Tu ne veux pas le sentir à nouveau</em> [Dont you want to feel it again]?"</p><p>Her hand stops on my pants, right over my erection that's grown in here moments. And then she gives it a tight squeeze, making a strangled moan leave my lips as I press them against her shoulder, my hand giving her neck a harsh squeeze before moving down and behind her, grabbing her ass through her dress while she resumes stroking me gently through my pants.</p><p>"<em>Ou, mieux encore </em>[Or, better yet]..." she whispers in a breathy voice, the cold December wind seeming to fade away as the sound of her rasping voice makes my body warm up, "<em>ne voulez-vous pas être à l'intérieur de moi </em>[dont you want to be inside of me]?"</p><p>My hand on her back scratches at her skin. I'm pressed so close to her that my hips are practically pinned against hers, hardly enough space though she manages to keep moving her hand over my erection. I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to grind down or thrust into it. If anyone looked at us right now, we'd probably look like an embracing couple. They wouldn't know all the sultry things she's whispering to me in French, or that her hand is currently rubbing and squeezing me and making me want to beg for her to let me bring her to a bathroom so I can fuck her until she's forgotten her own name.</p><p>"<em>Aimez-vous ma robe, Draco? Voulez-vous l'arrachez </em>[Do you like my dress, Draco? Do you want to rip it off]?"</p><p>And then she's undoing my belt, unbuttoning my pants, and slowly pulling the zipper down, slipping just her thumb in to brush over my brief-covered erection. I groan softly, feeling that if this continues any longer, I might just take her here and now on the balcony where anybody could walk over at any moment. I force myself to take my hands off her body, bracing myself against the railing. My hands go numb pressed against the frosty metal, but I don't think I can handle touching Celeste's skin.</p><p>"Don't you want to hear me moan?" she whispers, sliding her hands inside my suit jacket, soaking my warmth up into her cold arms. And she leans up on her toes, giving my earlobe a nibble before moaning lowly in the sultriest, most erotic voice, "Oh, <em>Draco</em>."</p><p>I stop breathing.</p><p>But her breathing grows heavy, tantalizing me, luring me in with the way she moans mockingly and laughs softly at both me and herself. I press myself tighter against her, though she's stopped moving her hand and instead just presses it against me.</p><p>She laughs softly in my ear, irritating me slightly, but then she's mockingly moaning again. "'<em>Fuck</em>, <em>it's too good.'</em> Don't you want to hear me moan that?" Her hands are in my hair again, pulling at it while her hot breath watches over my neck and ear. "<em>'You feel so good...I need you harder, please...'</em>" She laughs again, but I'm shaking, my self-restraint on the verge of crumbling</p><p>I bury my face in her neck right as she gives me another tight squeeze, groaning against her neck. She gasps teasingly, slipping her hand inside my pants to fully cup me and stroke me while I bite down on my lip hard enough to draw blood.</p><p>"There has to be a bathroom somewhere here," she whispers in her low, silky voice. "Fuck, you're so hard. You want me that bad, Draco?"</p><p><em>Yes, obviously, idiot</em>.</p><p>"You know what you have to do if you want to have me," she whispers, pulling her hand away to zip and button my pants back up, messing with the belt until it's done as well. She grabs my belt loops to pull me closer. "Beg for me, Draco. We'll both get what we want."</p><p>I want to beg.</p><p>I have to beg.</p><p>I'm going to beg.</p><p>"Can I interest you two love-birds in some garlic-ricotta toasts?"</p><p>I freeze.</p><p>And then I slowly pick my head out of Celeste's neck to look over at a waiter standing a couple feet away holding a large tray, a big grin on his face.</p><p>"No, thank you," I say coolly, the sight of his ugly, rotted teeth enough to quell the blood flow driving towards my crotch. "<em>Leave</em>."</p><p>He blinks blankly.</p><p>"I said, <em>leave</em>."</p><p>And he turns around to scamper away while Celeste snorts unceremoniously. "Geez," she mumbles, playing with a lock of my hair near the base of my neck, "looks like the baby needs a nap."</p><p>"No, I need to find a bathroom," I snap, seeing the way her face lights up triumphantly and scoffing. "<em>Alone. </em>Get over yourself, Zabini."</p><p>She just shrugs nonchalantly while watching me walk away. I can feel her dark eyes on my back as I fix my hair and walk down the balcony towards the doors, clasping my hands together in front of me in a way I'm <em>praying </em>isn't conspicuous. I can practically hear her laughter even when I'm already in the ballroom.</p><p>"Are you sure you don't want any garlic-ricotta toasts?"</p><p>I turn to see the very same waiter with the very same big, ugly grin, looking at me expectantly while holding out a tray of food.</p><p>"Didn't I say no? Get out of my way."</p><p>I push past him towards the exit, needing to find the bathroom <em>now</em> and not a second later.</p><p>"But, sir, y—<em>oh!</em>"</p><p>I stumble forward, nearly crashing into the floor and breaking my previous face, but I manage to steady myself on a nearby table. My blood boils as I inhale and exhale heavily, slowly turning around while feeling the food stuck to the back of my hair and jacket to see the waiter sprawled out on the floor, a mortified expression on his face.</p><p>People nearby gape at us, though I hear one familiar laugh.</p><p><em>I hate her</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. HOW WAS YOUR CHRISTMAS?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a little stroll through diagon alley</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>first chapter i actually quite like!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>December 26th, 1995</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The last time I lost my necklace, I was twelve.</p><p>Mother gave it to me on my twelfth birthday. I remember seeing her wear it every day of my life up until then when she took it off, clasped it around my neck, and told me to <em>never</em> take it off. I remember thinking it felt heavy. I'd owned a few light necklaces, but thag locket was heavy. Gold, almost bronze, and despite all the times I've deep cleaned it, it's never lost it's tarnished look.</p><p>Mother says it's older than I can imagine.</p><p>Anyway, she gave it to me on my birthday and told me never to take it off. Obviously, I didn't listen. It's just a locket, so I figured it didn't matter if I took it off every once in a while. So I did. Some days the clasp would get tangled in the hair at the back of my head and rip it out, so I'd get frustrated and take it off. I've always hated the feeling of wearing jewelry while showering, so I'd always leave it on the bathroom counter next to the sink to put back on after drying off.</p><p>But I lost it one day, of maybe it fell off. Whatever it was, it was missing for the entire last week of summer before I began my first year of magic schooling. I was a little worried, but not too stressed, because I figured it would turn up eventually.</p><p>And it did, but Mother was the one who found it on the floor behind my dresser.</p><p>She had a <em>riot</em> when she found it, bathing into my bathroom right when I was about to shower—I was fully clothed, <em>thankfully—</em>with the locket dangling from her fist and her eyes burning with an insane kind of fury. I froze when she looked at me like that, and I didn't move a single muscle for the entire twenty minutes she shouted at me. If I spoke, I was on autopilot—like when she asked me how long I've been without it, I told her it was a week, and she just shouted some more. I didn't understand it then, and I still don't understand it much now, but for some reason, that necklace is important enough for her to go on a massive rage if I don't wear it.</p><p>Here I am five-and-a-half years later in the exact same predicament, except there's <em>no</em> way it's my fault this time.</p><p>The day after she found it, I began school. For years, I never bothered taking the locket off, not even when I was showering, or when I was sleeping and the chain was bothering me, or when it looked odd with whatever I was wearing. I didn't feel comfortable taking it off until about a year ago.</p><p>And so now I'm standing in the middle of my bathroom, a towel around my body and a towel wrapped around my hair, staring blankly at the counter next to my sink where my locket should be waiting for me to put it back on.</p><p>"Oh, fuck," I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself while clutching my towel with my hand to keep it together. I stare with wide eyes at the empty counter as if the locket will magically reappear. "I'm screwed."</p><p>"Cel?"</p><p>I glance at the door when I hear Pansy's voice from inside my bedroom—she's early. Why's she early? She's the kind of girl that's typically an hour late.</p><p>"Uh, yeah?" I call back.</p><p>"Just letting you know I'm here," she says with a short laugh, followed by what sounds like her walking around. She's probably snooping like the nosy little bitch she is, which would make me roll my eyes, but I'm still frozen. "Hurry the fuck up! I wanna get to Diagon Alley <em>before</em> dark!"</p><p><em>That</em> makes me roll my eyes.</p><p>"Oh, hush," I scoff, pulling my towel off and patting the material against my still slightly damp arms before slipping my bra and underwear on. "I'm half-naked," I warn, pulling the microfiber towel off my head while walking over to the door.</p><p>"Can I look?"</p><p>"Pervert," I snort in response as I step out of my bathroom and waste no time shutting my bedroom door. I glance over to see Pansy sitting at my desk, preoccupied with the moving figurine of an emerald shelled fire crab that exhales tiny little flickers. Sometimes I use it to light blunts.</p><p>"How was your Christmas?" she asks distractedly, a her mouth parting slowly as she runs her fingers over the emeralds on the crab's back. "Did you get my gift?"</p><p>I grin. "Did you get mine?"</p><p>"I'm wearing yours!"</p><p>I glance at her to watch her tuck her choppy black hair behind her ears so I can see the golden butterfly earrings flap once or twice.</p><p>"I was gonna wear the dragonfly ones," she says, "but I thought this matched my outfit better."</p><p>"Wise decision," I snort, stepping into a comfortable pair of white pants, glancing in the mirror to make sure it isn't transparent or anything. "I <em>did</em> get your gift, to answer your question," I sigh heavily, turning back to my closet, finding a tight checkered brown and white top that I <em>know</em> looks good on my skin—it's a shame I'll have to wear a coat over it. I love winter fashion, but it's nearly always covered up.</p><p>"Did you like it?" she laughs teasingly. "Ow. Your crab bites."</p><p>"Well, Pansy," I laugh shortly, slipping my shirt on and fixing the sleeves so the rest <em>right </em>at the junctions of my shoulders, "as nice as the lingerie is, I mean really, I don't think I own any as pretty <em>and</em> comfortable, <em>I nearly opened your damn gift in front of my parents</em>."</p><p>Pansy just cackles, that shrieking sound that even the best impersonator couldn't recreate.</p><p>"Like, are you trying to tell me something?" I huff slightly, grabbing my Sleekeazy's <em>InstaDry!</em> potion and rubbing it into my hair, watching as the water evaporates and the locks curl up in mere moments. "Do we need to have a conversation? Are you trying to fuck me? I'm not even your <em>type</em>."</p><p>"Yeah, well—" She shakes her head, a grin on her face. "As hot as you are, Cel, I wasn't trying to make a move," she says, putting the fire crab down and standing up to walk over to me, stepping into my closet and peering up at my accessories.</p><p>"So you went Christmas shopping for me, saw lingerie, and figured it'd make a great casual gift?" I snort, putting the potion down and pushing past Pansy to get into my closet to grab my coat. "By the way, do you know if the boys are ready yet?"</p><p>"Blaise is ready, Draco isn't here yet." Pansy then stifles a laugh. "Funny—he's the reason I bought you your gift."</p><p>I freeze.</p><p>"Um, excuse me?" I scoff, turning my head to watch Pansy lean up to grab a dark beret from off it's hook.</p><p>She turns it a few times in her hands before promptly placing it atop my head, squinting at me for a few seconds before nodding with approval. "For Draco," she says casually, looking at me as though we're having any other regular conversation about shoes or something. "I mean, when you guys finally fuck, I figured you could wear something cute. Not that you'd need it, but D <em>does</em> seem like the kind of guy who can't resist some lace."</p><p>My jaw drops, but I quickly snap it shut as I turn to grab my jewelry box and paw through it in case my locket somehow might be in there.</p><p>"I don't know what you're talking about," I shrug casually, sighing softly when I don't see that familiar locket, though I do grab a pair of hoops and place them through my ears. "You're crazy, Panz."</p><p>"I am, yeah, but I'm also right," she says in a sing-song voice, grabbing a crêpe scarf and giving it an impressed look. "Can I wear this? I'm wearing this."</p><p>"Pansy, Draco and I aren't gonna fuck," I laugh slightly, stepping around her to walk out of my closet, grabbing my wand from my dresser to shove it in my pocket. "Though, the lingerie will still be useful, so thank you!"</p><p>"I'm not stupid, Celeste," Pansy scoffs as she follows after me, the blue scarf now around her neck. "And even if I was, I'd figure it out. You and Draco? <em>So</em> obvious. Only reason Blaise doesn't know is because he's the most oblivious bitch I've ever met."</p><p>I inhale sharply, wincing as I look at Pansy. She gives me an expectant look before I sigh in defeat. "What did you even know?"</p><p>"I'm not super sure, but it seems like some kinda sex game," she says, grabbing her coat from off my bed and slipping her arms into it. "I mean, why else is Draco acting more and more sexually frustrated? You're a tease, aren't you."</p><p>I bite back a small smirk. "One could say that."</p><p>"Well—cmon, we should get going—then I'm right, aren't I?" she says, opening up my door so we can walk out and down the hall towards the stairs side by side. "What exactly is going on? Why haven't you fucked each other yet?"</p><p>"Hey, Pansy?" I hiss sarcastically, giving her a pinch she probably can't feel through her thick coat. "Why don't you talk a little louder? Don't think my father heard."</p><p>"Sorry," she rolls her eyes before stepping in front of me to descend the stairs. "But seriously."</p><p>"It's..." I can feel my face burning as I think about it. It's not so embarrassing thinking it to myself or talking about it with Draco while I'm palming his hard-on, but saying it out loud to Pansy or anyone else is mildly embarrassing. "The game is that...well, we're both trying to get each other to, uh, beg."</p><p>"Beg?"</p><p>"For the other to fuck them."</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>," Pansy says with a slight giggle, stepping down off the last step and turning to flash me suggestive smile and wiggle of her brows. "I <em>see</em>. Who's winning so far?"</p><p>"Me, obviously," I scoff proudly, leading her down the hall. "How is that even a question? Have you seen me? There's no way—hi," I interrupt myself abruptly when we step into the parlor room to find Blaise and Draco sitting leisurely on one of the sofas in conversation, an impatient look on Blaise's face and a bored one on Draco's.</p><p>Pansy snickers next to me. I resist the urge to hit her.</p><p>"Took you long enough!" Blaise scoffs, being the dramatic little bitch he is, and stands up while slipping his coat over his arms. "Nearly grew some grey hairs waiting for you."</p><p>"You'd need hair in the first place for that to happen," I snap with a roll of my eyes, glancing down and fiddling with my crossbody purse. "Morning, Draco."</p><p>"Morning," he yawns in response. "Are we leaving now? Can we leave? Blaise, where's your mother? Isn't she Apparating us?"</p><p>"Yes," Blaise huffs, shooting Draco a glare. "You calm your tits and I'll go get her."</p><p>Draco gives Blaise an unimpressed look as my cousin turns and walks down the hall rather sassily. Pansy glances between us for a moment before smirking, shaking her head, and following after Blaise at a lazy pace.</p><p>"Why's he always so snappy?" Draco rolls his eyes.</p><p>"You're one to speak."</p><p>—</p><p>"Alright, Pansy and I need to make a stop at Gringott's," Blaise says, rummaging his hand through his satchel. "You two coming with? Or will you meet us at the Leaky Cauldron?"</p><p>I glance at Draco right as he turns his head to look at me. His icy eyes, matching the light snow that covers the roofs of all the shops and cottages surrounding us, glance down to my lips for a moment before he looks at Blaise and Pansy.</p><p>"We'll meet you there," he says. "I'd rather <em>not</em> take that ride down to the vaults if I don't have to. Nearly threw up last time."</p><p>I snort, ignoring the glare he sends me.</p><p>"Are you sure?" Pansy asks with a smirk, her brown eyes, shielded by her signature thick liner, looking at me in particular. "You guys won't tear each other apart if we leave you alone?"</p><p>Draco huffs, a cloud leaving his mouth. "Shut up."</p><p>"No promises," I drawl with a light laugh, seeing Pansy's smirk grow while Blaise groans tiredly.</p><p>"Let's go, Pansy," he says. "My satchel feels too light. It's unnatural."</p><p>And then Pansy's linking her arm around Blaise's, and the two trudge off in the snow towards Gringotts Wizarding Bank, the white building that towers over all the other shops. Draco and I watch until the crowd thickens and covers our view of them.</p><p>I turn to look at him right as he does. I shiver slightly in the cold weather, pressing my legs together tightly and hunching my shoulders to cover the sides of my face a little. My neck feels empty, too light without my locket around it. My stomach drops slightly when I remember that I've lost it.</p><p>His pale skin is slightly flushed from the cold. Little red dusting cover his nose and right under his cheekbones, like ghosts of lipstick-covered kisses. His eyes look as icy as the snow covering the ground, hard and sharp and crystalline. His hair is neat and as pristine as the white blankets on the rooftops, giving me the temptation to lean up and just mess it up.</p><p>He's staring at me silently as well. We must look a little odd, just standing outside the window of Sugarplum's Sweetshop with our hands buried tightly in the pockets of our coats, half our faces buried by our scarves, just silently drinking each other in. His eyes keep skating over my lips, and sometimes they glance down at my legs in what I almost think is <em>disappointment.</em></p><p><em>Maybe he misses seeing me in skirts and knee-high socks</em>, I think with a slight smirk.</p><p>"Well," I sigh, making his eyes flash up to mine, "you wanna go straight to the Leaky Cauldron? Or maybe walk around and go into some other shops first?"</p><p>He shrugs, looking up and around the street. It's not as crowded as the first time I came here. "I think I want to walk," he says, leaning in slightly. "Just for a little while more. It's cold, though. Are you too cold? We can sit inside somewhere if you want."</p><p>I raise my eyebrows slightly. That might just be the most he's spoken to me while<em> also</em> being polite and, <em>I don't know</em>, a regular and respectful human being. I'm so tempted to call him out and tease him for being uncharacteristically decent, but unlike usual, I'm not exactly in the mood to pick a fight.</p><p>"I'm alright," I shrug, bouncing up and down on the balls of my heels to move a little and maybe amp up my body heat. "I can still feel my fingertips, so...let's walk?"</p><p>He just nods before turning to walk in the opposite direction as Pansy and Blaise. I watch him for a couple seconds before shrugging and figuring he must be going in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. I walk quickly to catch up with him, my arm brushing against his and making him glance down at me momentarily.</p><p>"How was your Christmas?" I ask. "Get anything good?"</p><p>Draco snorts dryly. "Yeah, I guess. My mum got me a new watch. It's nice, actually," he says, an oddly light tone in his voice as he pulls his hands out of his pockets to push the sleeve of his coat up a bit on his left arm to reveal his wrist. "Tap it. Twice."</p><p>It looks like a regular expensive watch. It's silver, thick-banded, and ticks on time. The face beneath the hands is pretty, though, displaying the night sky. Minuscule stars glitter and purple galaxies swirl.</p><p>"Tap it," he repeats with a soft huff.</p><p>I roll my eyes, but I grab his hand to hold it closer to me and tap it twice with my other.</p><p>Instantly, the hands fold in on themselves before the face projects a little object. It's shimmer, looking as though made of pure magic. It's silver in color, though I catch wisps of purple and green as it moves around. A small dragon the size of my hand flies in a confined spiral right above Draco's wrist, leaving small trails of light behind it. Mesmerized, I bring a hand up to it, extending a finger out. It responds instantly, turning around the nudge the tip of my finger with its nose. I can't feel a thing, but it makes me smile.</p><p>We've both slowed down, walking now at a leisurely, careless pace, watching this little dragon made of glitter and light. I then tilt my head and frown slightly when I see a few small little dots of light, just slightly brighter than the rest of the dragon, scattered along its body.</p><p>"It's the Draco constellation," Draco says in a murmur.</p><p>"It's beautiful," I say honestly, staring at the dragon for a few seconds more before finally looking back up at Draco. His eyes are on the watch as well, but when he feels me looking at him, they flash over to my face. He looks relaxed, eyebrows aren't furrowed, lips aren't scowling.</p><p>I then let go of his hand right as he pulls it back towards himself, tapping twice on the face of the watch so the dragon disappears before fixing his sleeve and shoving his hands back in his pocket.</p><p>"What about you?" he asks, looking away and across the street at the uneven little cottages and restaurants and shops. "You get anything nice?"</p><p>"Well, Pansy got me—" I pause instantly, remembering quickly that I can't <em>really</em> say. "Uh..."</p><p>"What?" he laughs slightly. "Was it bad? Can't <em>possibly </em>be as bad as what she got <em>me</em>."</p><p>"What'd she get you?" I prompt curiously, glancing up at him through my lashes as I wonder what could possibly be more embarrassing.</p><p>"A shaving kit."</p><p>"Why's that so bad?" I ask, smiling slightly as I give him a confused look.</p><p>Maybe I'm hallucinating, or maybe his pale cheeks grow pink even more—and not from the cold.</p><p>"I..." he laughs softly as he trails off, glancing down where he kicks snow with his feet, silvery hair falling into his eyes. "Never mind."</p><p>It strikes me.</p><p>"Oh, my Godric," I murmur, my eyes growing wide and my jaw dropping as I let out a delightful shriek, slapping my hands over my face. "Don't tell me—"</p><p>"<em>Hush!</em>"</p><p>"—you can't grow facial hair!"</p><p>He slaps his hand over my mouth with one hand and grabs my hair with the other to tilt my head up so he can look me dead in the eye, an irritated and embarrassed look on his sculpted face. It makes my stomach flip, but I push that feeling away and just smirk against his glove while he leans in slightly.</p><p>"Shut it," he seethes, though there's a hint of amusement in his eyes as he drops his hands form my head and face only to grab me by the sleeve of my coat to drag me with him as he starts walking at a faster pace.</p><p>"Aw," I laugh softly, stumbling as I nearly slip on a patch of ice, "Draco can't grow a 'stache? Poor little <em>Drakey</em>—isn't that what Pandora calls you?"</p><p>"Oh, bug off," he rolls his eyes. "It's not that big of an issue! Plenty boys my age can't—"</p><p>"Does Mummy tell you that to make you feel better?"<br/>I pout mockingly, making him glare at me and let's go of my sleeve roughly. He strides faster, those stupidly long legs of his making his own step equal twice the size of my own. I scurry to keep up with him. "Poor little boy," I laugh, practically jogging.</p><p>"Don't call me that," he retorts without glancing at me.</p><p>"You poor, helpless little thi—"</p><p>"Hey!" he snaps, shooting me a nasty look. "I'm an entire head taller than you, idiot. Not to mention loads more muscular. Watch your mouth, or I might snap you in half."</p><p>I raise my eyebrows at this. "Well, I might enjoy that."</p><p>He blinks before exhaling a short laugh, rolling his eyes, and running a hand through his hair. "Non-sexually," he clarifies, giving me a light shove. "I'll snap you in half non-sexually."</p><p>"You think I still won't enjoy it?"</p><p>He laughs at this, a grin lighting up his face and making me stifle a laugh of my own. "Shut up," he says with a shake of his head. "What'd Pansy get you?"</p><p>I bite back a smirk, looking away from him and down the street as we walk. Well, he walks, I jog beside him.</p><p>"Lingerie," I say, glancing to my left and away from him as I clamp my lips down tight, embarrassment and amusement battling each other.</p><p>He's silent for a few seconds before I hear a weak, tired noise hearing his lips, something between a laugh and a sob.</p><p>"L-Lingerie?" he confirms in a choked voice.</p><p>I look back at him, suppressing a smile at the way his eyes dilate and tongue licks over his lips several times.</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>"Huh," he says, a mildly distracted look on his face that makes it really hard not to laugh. "Oh. Well, uh...I mean, at least you can use yours. Lace?"</p><p>"Why do you want to know?" I tease, shaking my head slightly while my cheeks burn harder. Suddenly, the cold isn't so bad. "Can you slow down?"</p><p>His cheeks are red, making me <em>so</em> glad I have dark skin, because I just <em>know</em> he'd tease me ruthlessly if he knew I'm blushing right now.</p><p>"Just wondering," he asks in an oddly light voice. "What color? And no."</p><p>I roll my eyes.</p><p>"One's red, one's black, and one's a full set set," I say, feeling my usual bold self take over as I look at him with lifted brows and amused eyes. "Black lingerie with a dark green satin robe and a garter, of course. <em>And</em>..."</p><p>"And?" he asks with a short laugh, glancing at me with wild eyes while unconsciously speeding up, making me feel a little stupid speed walking so aggressively next to him. "There's more?"</p><p>"Thigh-highs."</p><p>His face goes blank. "Oh."</p><p>"You're picturing me right now."</p><p>"In black lingerie, thigh-highs, a garter, and a green robe? Yes, obviously, I am, Celeste," he huffs in an annoyed voice, his hands clearly forming fists in his pocket. "<em>Damn it.</em>"</p><p>I laugh to myself, and to my surprise, I hear him laugh softly as well. We walk—he walks, I get my daily cardio in—in silence for a few moments, both just looking around the streets, occasionally taking turns without discussion. I rather like Diagon Alley when it isn't crowded. It's cute, a comforting feel to it much like Hogsmeade.</p><p>"Blaise got me a book on fixing my superiority complex," Draco says all of a sudden, his voice shaking in laughter.</p><p>My eyes widen. "Me too!"</p><p>"He's a right dickhead, isn't he?" he chuckles, gently grabbing my elbow to make me turn a corner with him.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>, he is! And I got him a very nice set of cashmere gloves, socks, and a scarf. The good quality stuff that you only find out of the country. The audacity," I scoff, nearly slipping on some snow. "Damn it, Draco, can't you slow down?"</p><p>"It's not my fault your legs are so stubby," he says smoothly, making me glare at him in shock. "You know what I got him? Cuff links. Oh, don't look at me like that. They're nice ones, gold with serpent eyes and little emeralds in them—yeah, see? And he gets me a book on my bloody...<em>attitude</em>," Draco scowls ferociously.</p><p>"He's a bastard of a—<em>shit!"</em></p><p>I slip on a patch of ice and stumble forward, nearly falling onto the concrete sidewalk and splitting my face open.</p><p>Draco moves quickly though, grabbing the back of my jacket and pulling me back up to my feet. I stumble again, crashing into the side of his chest while my heart races wildly and eyes stay frozen and open wide, looking up at his mildly irritated grey ones while adrenaline rises my body like a wave. It takes me a couple seconds to come down to earth, patting his arm to tell him he can let me go and I won't fall. He loosens his grip on my coat, pressing his palm against my back for a second or two before dropping his arm to his side.</p><p>"Idiot," he scoffs, already walking again. "Can't even use your own two feet properly, can you?"</p><p>I give him an incredulous look as I cautiously begin walking behind him. "I asked you to slow down!"</p><p>Draco sputters slightly. "Yeah—well—you should've asked again, dumbass!"</p><p>I scowl at him as I catch up to him. This time, he isn't walking so fast, thankfully. "You're insufferable."</p><p>"You're stupid."</p><p>"Wow, you're so original."</p><p>"Oh, shut it," he groans, rolling his eyes irritably.</p><p>I scowl slightly, and then we're both walking, actually walking, in silence again. The snow crunches beneath our feet, a satisfying little noise accompanied only by the footsteps of the few other people nearby, the jingling sound of shop doors opening and closing, a couple cheerful shouts from down the street where two kids run around, their parents shouting after them to be careful.</p><p>"What'd your parents get you?" Draco asks out of the blue.</p><p>"Hm?" I ask, blinking slightly as I look up at him. "Oh. My parents? Well, my mother got me some clothes," I say, looking away and at the other side of the street. "A few skirts, some rather nice shoes, and a really beautiful couture dress. I can't wait to wear them around." It's what she gets me every year for both Christmas and my birthday. She's the primary fuel for my closet—I hardly need to shop for myself.</p><p>"That's nice," he says a little distractedly. "And your father?"</p><p>I smile slightly. "He got me two things. A book and apple mille-feuille."</p><p>I glance up at Draco to see a pinched look on his face. "Oh. Um, that's—that's nice," he says, clearly exerting a lot of effort in being polite.</p><p>I snort humorously, making him shoot me a wary glance. "Let me explain," I say with a shake of my head. "I've spent a lot of time living in France, or at least a lot compared to everywhere else. Two years when I was younger, and then a year and a half right before coming here."</p><p>"Ive visited France quite a few times," Draco says, ruffling his hair up distractedly. I've noticed he does that quite a bit when he is...not necessarily unfocused, but rather lost in something. Usually, he'll snap back and fix it up, though he lets his hair stay messed up this time. "It's beautiful there."</p><p>"It is," I agree, nodding slightly. "Anyway, there's this little bakery near where we used to live. None other like it. It was owned by a little Wizarding family, and they made the best pastries in the world, both Wizarding and Muggle. After school, on the days Father wasn't busy, he'd take me down to the bakery, and we'd get something new each time."</p><p>Draco smiles slightly to himself, but it slips away a second later.</p><p>I look at him cautiously before clearing my throat and looking down the street, feeling my chest swell with nostalgia as I continue. I don't typically mind moving around so much, but France has a special place in my heart.</p><p>"But the apple mille-fueille will always be our favorite. We've never found a bakery that can make one like theirs," I finish, smiling slightly as I kick up some of the snow. "I haven't had it in months. We finished it in minutes last night."</p><p>"That's..." Draco trails off. He clears his throat. "And the book?"</p><p>"Oh," I say, inhaling deeply. "Well, Father's a bit of a collector. When he isn't busy with Department of Mysteries work, he busies himself with collecting. And he'll collect anything, from coins to art to furniture. But I prefer rare books."</p><p>"You read a lot?" Draco asks with a hint of surprise in his voice, his eyes boring holes into the side of my head.</p><p>"Yeah, I do," I say.</p><p>"Me too. What book did he get you?"</p><p>"It's an old Muggle book from the 1600s. <em>The Tales is Mother Goose</em>, by Charles Perrault," I say, closing my eyes for a moment. The copy is old and worn, naturally, being centuries old, but it's beautiful.</p><p>"Muggle books?" Draco asks with a hint of surprise and contempt in his voice. "Really? Haven't you any taste?"</p><p>"You should give them a try," I open my eyes just to roll them. "You'd be surprised how insightful some of them can be. Oh, and reading about <em>their</em> versions of magical worlds, well, that can just be <em>comical</em> sometimes."</p><p>Draco sniffs. "I think I'll stick to books published by witches and wizards."</p><p>"You do you."</p><p>And then it's back to silence. Crunching snow, shouting from down the street, and jingling of door bells while we walk side by side, our shoulders and arms occasionally brushing against each other. I feel oddly at peace, more so than I'd ever expect walking down Diagon Alley with Draco Malfoy of all people. Maybe we're both just not in the mood to pick fights or play games, but just enjoy a quiet day and warm clothes in cold weather with questionable but strangely enough comfortable company. And he smells nice. Green apple candy, cologne, and that unnameable masculine hint.</p><p>"Uh, Celeste?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>Draco doesn't respond for a few seconds. He then stops walking all of a sudden right in the middle of a road that we're crossing, making me pause as well and look at him with mild concern. He's frozen, squinting slightly, his pink cheeks sucked in a little.</p><p>"What's wrong?" I frown.</p><p>"Aren't those your parents?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's your favorite book?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. THE LAST DAY OF THE YEAR</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>it's new years eve ! and things get steamy (because, of course, it wouldn't be core if things DIDNT get steamy)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>December 31st, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Draco! The guests will be here any second now! <em>Please</em> tell me you're ready," I hear my mother's voice from down the hall right as I slip my suit jacket on, the last part of my all-black outfit.</p><p>"I'm ready," I say lazily as she steps into the doorway of my ajar bedroom, glancing around before her eyes rest on me.</p><p>She sighs in relief. "Good, good. I need to go check on the food, make sure the elves haven't made food for two thousand instead of two hundred again. Oh, and I should make sure that the timer is correct, or else—"</p><p>"Mum," I smile slight, stepping away from my mirror and towards her. "Don't stress."</p><p>She flashes me, ironically enough, a stressed out smile before deflating slightly. "Ah, well, maybe I shouldn't. I did already check all these things an hour ago, but..." Her eyes drift off, tired, and dark, but then they snap back to me as she straightens up with a bright smile, holding her hands out to me. "You look just handsome, Draco. I can't believe how much you've grown," she sighs, clasping my hand in both of hers.</p><p>My smile grows slightly as I step forward, take a hand of hers off of mine and bring it up to place a small kiss over her rings, seeing her smile warm a bit. "You look beautiful, Mum. I swear, you get younger every time it's January first again."</p><p>"Oh, shut it," she huffs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Leave the flattery for the girls tonight. A kiss at midnight, right? Do you kids still do that?"</p><p>I roll my eyes. "Yeah, but it's not—whatever. Let's go downstairs, Mum. There's no point in you looking this beautiful if the guests won't be able to see."</p><p>The two of us leave my room and walk down the stairs right as my parents' bedroom door swings open to reveal Father dressed in his finest suit. He eyes us and catches up to us right at the top of the stairs as the three of us begin walking down. I can hear the music playing from the entertainment room. Typically, we host in the ballroom, but this New Years we've invited only about a hundred guests.</p><p>"Did you hear back from the Greengrasses?" Mother asks from behind me as we step down to the bottom floor and walk towards the entertainment room. "Did they ever say that they're coming?"</p><p>"They did," Father responds. "Though they said their youngest is ill, so they're staying home while sending their eldest with the Parkinsons."</p><p>Mother clicks her tongue. "We'll send something back with Daphne for Astoria, then. Do we still have those chocolates from—"</p><p>
  <em>CRACK!</em>
</p><p>The three of us freeze, inches away from the doors to the entertainment room. And then we turn on our heels to find an old house-elf with sagging skin staring at us with beady eyes.</p><p>"What are you doing out here?" Father scoffs, walking forward and tapping his walking stick against the tile floor menacingly as he stops in front of the house-elf. "Go back to the kitchens. We don't need our guests seeing you tonight."</p><p>The house-elf bows slightly, lifting his ugly face up to look at us. "Apologies, Sir," he says in a voice like gravel, his breath smelling of sulfur and making me blink blankly and glance to the side even from feet away. "Kreacher has come from the Black household."</p><p>Father turns his nose up, glancing over his shoulder to look at Mother. "He's not one of ours?"</p><p>Mother looks at Father for a few seconds before glancing down at Kreacher. "I don't think I recognize him."</p><p>Father turns his head back to face Kreacher, momentarily glancing at me. He taps his serpent-headed walking stick against the ground twice before saying, "Why are you here and not at the <em>Black</em> household, then?"</p><p>I glance back over my shoulder to Mother, seeing her take the smallest step backwards. Black—that's her maiden name. There's an almost worried expression on her somehow paler face, but when she  makes eye contact with me, she gives <em>me</em> a reassuring smile.</p><p>"Kreacher was...excused from the house," he says hesitantly, a great sneer breaking his wrinkly white face and making his hooked nose curve down enough to nearly touch his lips. "Mudbloods and Blood-Traitors and dirty thieves...sullying my mistress's house...oh, how she'd cry if she knew..."</p><p>I frown slightly. From behind me, Mother steps forward to stand beside me, her hand gently wrapping around my arm to pull me just slightly behind her. I glance at the side of her face, but it's entirely unreadable and icy, looking at nothing but Kreacher.</p><p>"Are you here to tell us something?" Father asks in a cold, light voice.</p><p>"There's so much Kreacher cannot tell you," the house-elf croaks. "So much Kreacher has sworn to keep secret...he's close to the boy. My master, my poor mistress's pitiable excuse of a <em>son</em>."</p><p>"<em>Sirius</em>," Mother whispers in a voice I can barely hear, so soft that Father doesn't seem to hear. Her eyebrows furrow just slightly. And then she turns her head to look at me, squeezing my arm. "Draco, go downstairs. Everyone should be here soon enough."</p><p>"B—"</p><p>"Listen to your mother," Father interrupts without glancing at me, an odd edge in his voice.</p><p>I stare at the back of his head for a couple moments, my pulse thrumming aggressively in my neck. And then I shift my gaze to Mother. She doesn't smile, but she lifts his hand to my tie, fixing it and picking a a hair off my jacket.</p><p>"Go," she says, and then she turns away.</p><p>I watch her carefully for a moment before turning around and stepping into the entertainment room.</p><p>Not even a few minutes later, guests are piling in. It's 8:17 P.M. by the time all our guests are here, some of them showing up already drunk (the Burkes really like wine, and they can't seem to hold it either). Out of respect for the guests, I stay in the room for a couple minutes, walking around to greet a few of them (and doing my best to avoid hugs from over-powdered grandmothers) before I'm leading all their kids out the entertainment room, down the hall, and down to the basement.</p><p>"Do you have alcohol?" Evan Rosier asks when we're all down in the basement with the Hobgoblins blasting loudly while colored lights flash—I never bother setting all this up, but surprisingly, the house-elves know how to put together a decent party.</p><p>I scoff slightly, walking over into the kitchen and the inbuilt bar. "Obviously," I roll my eyes, leaning to grab a couple big bottles. "Who do you think I am?"</p><p>And soon enough, chaos is unfolding in the basement while I watch with a faint smile. The New Years party always end up a bit wilder than the others because all our parents are too damn drunk to care about how drunk <em>their</em> kids are. There are several rooms down in the basement, and they always end up occupied by the end of the night, leaving rather nasty remnants of their delights over for me to order an elf to clean and swear not to bring up to my parents.</p><p>"Hey, creep," Pansy chirps as she hops up into a bar stool beside me, grabbing an open bottle of Dragon Barrel brandy and taking a sip straight form the mouth.</p><p>"Hi, Pansy," I roll my eyes, shaking my head when she offers the brandy.</p><p>"Why are you just sitting here? Shouldn't you be out there like all the other horny little boys looking for a girl to fuck?" she asks, waving at someone I can't see across the basement.</p><p>"Ah, I was just thinking. But hey, maybe I'll go do that now. Better than sitting here with your annoying ass," I say in a cool voice, standing up and giving Pansy a smirk.</p><p>"Yeah, whatever," she rolls her eyes. "You love me."</p><p>"Eh, debatable," I chuckle, seeing her grin before I turn around and walk into the thick of the party where people dance messily to the music.</p><p>At the end of the basement, though, I see people sitting. They're scattered on the sofas and on the ground, some of them wrapped in my mother's favorite blankets and some of them on top of each other, alcohol spread out among them as they laugh and talk amongst each other. I spot Blaise right when he sees me, and he instantly makes space for me to sit.</p><p>"What's going on?" I ask as I plop down onto the plush sofa next to him, grabbing the pillow behind me and tossing it onto his lap.</p><p>"Truth or dare," he says with a lopsided grin, handing me a small bottle of Firewhiskey. "You don't look drunk enough for this."</p><p>I look across the misshapen circle to see Lucian Bole giving Peregrine Derrick a strip tease, hopping on one leg while he struggles to get his pants off over his shoe. I groan slightly, popping the cap off the glass bottle and taking a long sip before muttering—</p><p>"No, I don't think I am."</p><p>"Move."</p><p>I startle, nearly spilling Firewhiskey all over myself when a relatively small figure shoves me into Blaise and slips into the space between me and the arm of the sofa. I glance to see who it is before rolling my eyes—I should've known. Celeste sits right next to me, a bit squished but entirely unbothered. Her thick, long curls are up in a ponytail all the way at the top of her head, a few strands out and framing her dark face. She looks at me and smirks slightly, plum-painted lips looking tempting.</p><p>"Could've asked nicely," I scoff, nudging Blaise to make room. He shifts down further and slings his arm around Tracey's shoulder, who blushes while I roll my eyes, before I move down as well. Celeste gets comfortable, though I notice how she lets her leg press against mine.</p><p>"When have you ever known me to be nice?" she laughs slightly, leaning over me to grab the pillow off of Blaise's lap and placing it on her own, resting her arms on top of it.</p><p>She's dressed in simple clothes, but it looks good on her. Her dress is made of a black, velvety material, the sleeves all the way down to her wrists and the neckline covering even her collarbones. It's short, though, and there's a small slit up the side of her thigh. She wears sheer stockings on her legs, making it hard to resist the urge to grab them and swing them over my lap.</p><p>"You like how I look?" she asks with a stifled laugh.</p><p>I flash my eyes up to her instantly. She looks at me challengingly, dark brown eyes so warm and harsh at the same time as they scan me up and down.</p><p>"Shit," she laughs slightly, her fingers grazing my thigh. "You look good in all black, Dray, I have to admit."</p><p>"Don't call me that," I snap, looking back forward right when Blaise and Tracey get up.</p><p>Blaise looks around a bit awkwardly, though there's an all too excited grin on his face. He stretched his arms and back out while looking down at Celeste and me. "Hey," he says, wrapping his arm around Tracey's waist and pulling her into his side while the pink-haired girl squeals slightly, "Trace and I are gonna go...explore." His grin grows.</p><p>Celeste snorts humorously. "Sure," she says sarcastically. "Have fun!"</p><p>"We will," Tracey murmurs, blushing bright red while Blaise snickers.</p><p>"Draco," he then says, "watch out for Celeste, okay?"</p><p>Celeste rolls her eyes with a slight scoff while I raise an apprehensive eyebrow. "Oh, <em>please</em>, Blaise," she says a bit sourly. "I can handle myself, thanks. I don't need <em>white boy of the year</em> to babysit me."</p><p>"It's your attitude that makes me worry," Blaise sighs softly, shaking his head, but then he turns back to Tracey, grins, and leads her towards one of the rooms.</p><p>Meanwhile, I turn slowly to face Celeste while my blood starts to boil, directing a sharp glare at her smirking face.</p><p>"White boy of the year?" I question coldly.</p><p>She laughs softly before grabbing my arm and moving it to rest around her shoulders. She tucks her legs up on the sofa and leans in slightly, her hand resting on my thigh and head on my shoulder. I frown down at her while she casually brings her bottle of Lobe-Blaster up to her lips.</p><p>"What are you doing?" I ask with a scowl, my body rigid.</p><p>"Sitting," she says in a light voice, her hand running up and down my thigh lightly. "What are <em>you</em> doing?"</p><p>I swallow thickly, turning my head away from her and out to the circle where people cheer while someone chugs an entire bottle of daisy root draught before instantly making a beeline to the bathroom to throw it all up. I wince slightly at this before looking back down at Celeste. Her head is thrown back to lean against the sofa instead, lips turned up into an amused smirk as she watches the people in the circle make fools of themselves. Slowly, my body relaxed and intended, my arm resting comfortably over her shoulders and my side growing warm where she leans against me.</p><p>My eyes go to her neck. "Where's your necklace?"</p><p>Her hand instantly flies up to the base of her throat where she fiddles with the neckline of her dress. "It didn't look great with my outfit," she says.</p><p>"You never take it off," I comment, feeling her hand squeeze my thigh slightly. I tense, she smirks.</p><p>"What's with all the interest in my necklace suddenly?" she asks with a teasing tinge in her voice, her hand at her neck coming up to trail a finger down my jawline and direct my head to face her better. Her nails scrape slightly against my skin. "I'm wearing something else, you know, that I think you'll find more interesting than a locket," she says in a sly, smooth and silky voice, the one she always speaks in when she's trying to tease me.</p><p>I unconsciously move my other hand to her leg, moving one over my lap. I run my hand up and down her calf, squeezing the muscle slightly and watching as she hums appreciatively.</p><p>"What are you wearing?" I ask, noticing a husky edge in my voice. All the noise surrounding us, the music, the singing and drunk people, cheering of those playing the game, if all fades away when Celeste licks her lips and leans in to whisper in my ear.</p><p>"Pansy's gift."</p><p>I close my eyes as she snakes her hand up into my hair, tangling her fingers with my locks and tugging slightly, scraping her nails against my scalp.</p><p>"Which one?" I choke out, my hand going up to her knee, my fingers slipping slightly over the sheer material of her stockings.</p><p>"Black."</p><p>I force myself to open my eyes and wipe the lost expression off my face, though I hang my head low while my mind spins imagining Celeste in black, lacy lingerie.</p><p>"Describe it," I order in a low voice, slipping my hand back down to squeeze and massage her calf. "In detail."</p><p>"No please?" Celeste teases, but her mocking words lose all their affect when she falters at the dark glare I shoot her. "Alright, fine. Well, it's all lacy and see through. There's flowers covering it, but you can still see me through my top," she laughs breathily, her hand covering mine and dragging it all the way up to my thigh under her dress. "<em>All</em> of me."</p><p>My head hangs lower while images of Celeste in a see-through black bra race through my mind, the way her skin would look under the sheer material.</p><p>"The panties are made of lace too," she whispers, lips brushing against my ear. "They're hardly there, though. They'd be so easy to take off, Draco. And look..."</p><p>She gently pushes my hand out of the way to discreetly push her dress up at the slit. I glance at her thigh to see that where her stockings end is lace, attached to which are little strips of fabric that connect to her panties. She then fixes her dress again.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>Both our heads snap up to where Flora Carrie looks brightly at us.</p><p>"Hm?" Celeste asks smoothly, tilting her head at Flora before letting it rest on my shoulder.</p><p>"Truth or dare?"</p><p>"Dare," Celeste says without even a second of hesitation.</p><p>"Uh...how ab—"</p><p>"Hey," Graham interjects, stumbling into the circle with a bottle of beer gripped tightly in his hand. His eyes are red with heavy bags, hair is all messed up, his shirt buttoned all wrong. "Why don't—Why don't you and Malfoy get a damn room?"</p><p>There are a few chuckles around the room. I roll my eyes.</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>And then she's up, grabbing my hands and pulling me off the sofa, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Warrington whoops loudly, shouting something I can't hear while everyone else laughs and jeers behind our backs. I lift my eyebrows at Celeste, but she just smirks slightly before lugging me off towards one of the rooms.</p><p>She opens it, pulls me in, and slams it shut. Her hands are then on my chest, pushing me up against it with a wild grin on her face. I chuckle lowly, giving her an incredulous look.</p><p>"Why're you looking at me like that?" she asks, reaching next to me to lock the door. The click makes my gut jolt.</p><p>"You're just really excited," I say, leaning my head back while I look down at her casually.</p><p>She rolls her eyes. "Whatever," Celeste scoffs, her hands sliding up my chest and under my jacket. "Take this off."</p><p>"<em>So</em> demanding," I tsk, smirking slightly as she huffs. "Try asking nicely, sweetheart."</p><p>Celeste glares at me for a moment before leaning in. Her hands grasp at the material of my shirt, twisting it in her fists as she presses her lips against mine for a deep kiss. She pulls away but let's her lips brush against mine, teasingly tracing her tongue over my lips. And then she leans in again, this time gently biting down on my lower lip before kissing me again. I kiss back this time, bringing my hands up to grab<br/>her hips. She sighs softly against my lips, carefully pushing her tongue past them to smooth it against my tongue.</p><p>And then she pulls away, face inches from mine and eyes wide and impossible to look away from. "Take the jacket off, Draco."</p><p>My heart beats wildly in my chest, sending blood rushing ferociously to all parts of my body and making my breathing speed up. My head feels a little light as I watch her go from on her toes to resting her feet flat on the floor, biting her lip slightly.</p><p>And then I swallow thickly, stepping away from the door. She steps away from me to give me space, smirking slightly as she watches me tug my suit jacket off and toss it onto the guest bed.</p><p>She steps back up to me, loosening my tie a little before grabbing the end of it and pulling me up to her. I nearly fall over and take her down with me, but I manage to catch myself. My heart pounds to the beat of the fast-paced song playing out in the party, muffled slightly by the locked door. She laughs softly in my face before letting go and turning around to walk to the little desk at the corner of the room. She drags the chair out to the center of the room and stands behind it.</p><p>"Sit down," she says, tilting her head slightly.</p><p>I give her a hard look, clenching my jaw. "I don't take orders, Celeste, I give them."</p><p>"Funny. I could say the same about myself."</p><p>She stares at me with stone in her brown eyes, hard and impenetrable and unyielding. One of her loose curls falls over her face, and she simply blows it away with those plump lips.</p><p>"Sit down, Draco," she urges, gesturing to the seat. "I promise you won't regret it."</p><p>I give her a suspicious look, but I take a few tentative steps forward. She smiles at me, a malicious smile that tells me she's up to no good and has my heart racing. My mind tells me to run. Everything about her sends red signals and warnings up in my head, urges for me to get as far away from her possible, because she has the ability to completely and utterly destroy me. Those perfectly manicured nails of hers, painted golden tonight, could turn into claws ready to tear me apart, her hair could turn into a head of snakes hissing and nipping at my skin, and her eyes might just petrify me and reduce me to nothing but a living statue.</p><p>I turn around and sit down in front of her.</p><p>Her hands go to my shoulders and slip down my torso as she leans down to kiss my cheek. The music changes to another song, a popular song by Spellbound that makes everyone outside scream and whoop with joy before shouting along at the top of their lungs. My heart picks up faster when she walks around me to stand in front of me.</p><p>"Do you like this song?" she asks, swaying her hips slightly before leaning forward to grab my shoulders.</p><p>"It's iconic," I say, tilting my head up to look at her with a faint smirk. "Everyone likes it."</p><p>She grins at this before sitting down on my lap, legs spread wide and dress riding up her thighs. She sits a little far down my lap, way too far away from me. I move my hands to sit on her thighs, rubbing up and down while she dances slightly, tangling her hands in my hair.</p><p>"I think it's a little overplayed," she says, her hands suddenly moving down to the hem of her dress, "but it's undeniably good."</p><p>And then she's pulling her right velvety dress up over her body, over her head, and tossing it onto the bed and leaving her in black lingerie.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: favorite celeste and/or draco moment so far?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. THE FIRST DAY OF THE YEAR</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the first day of the year can't begin without a kiss, right?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>January 1st, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>I just sit on his lap for a few moments, letting him drink me in. My arms rest on his shoulders, my hands buried in his hair, and he ogles at me.</p><p>His hands start at my knees, slowly moving up to finger the lace trims of my stockings and squeeze my upper thighs. He pulls at the straps connecting them to my panties, letting them snap back down to my skin and looking at me carefully when I gasp in response. He does it another time, dragging the elastic up higher and letting it go so it hits my skin harder.</p><p>"You're a fucking sadist," I mutter, feeling my thighs sting as he rubs his knuckles and rings over my skin.</p><p>"I'm pretty sure you are too," he murmurs back, hands moving up to my panties. He pulls me closer on his lap, and I end up sitting just inches away from his crotch where I can't tell if he has an erection or if he's just that big.</p><p>His hands slip inside the back of my panties to grope my ass, feel the skin of my hips, tease the inside of my thighs while I tug on his hair. And then his hands are moving up again, massaging up and down the side of my waist, rubbing his thumbs on my stomach. His eyes finally go up to my breasts, and I swear I see them dilate ten times their size. They go from icy to nearly all black, a crazy hunger in them as he brings his hands up to just below my bra.</p><p>His eyes flicker up to mine.</p><p>"Go on," I urge, shifting a few inches closer to him and gently settling down right over the bulge in his pants, biting my lip when I feel it press against me. "I know you want to touch me."</p><p>And then his eyes are back in my chest while his hands feel me up, groping and massaging my breasts and flicking his thumbs over my hardened and very much visible nipples while I try my hardest to steady my breaths. I lean, pulling on his hair to force his head back so I can get to his neck. I pepper kisses down his jawline while my hands fumble to loosen his tie.</p><p>"Did you put this on just for me, <em>chérie?</em>" he whispers in a husky voice, my heart pounding wildly to the beat of the music playing outside.</p><p>I toss his tie aside and start unbuttoning his shirt while his hands move back to rub up and down my thighs and ass, making me lift myself up for him a little.</p><p>"Hm, Celeste?" he asks with a tight squeeze of my thighs. "Did you put this on just for me to see?"</p><p>I smirk slightly, sitting back down over him with his shirt now fully unbuttoned. "Nope," I tease, seeing his eyes flash. "Not necessarily for you. You're just the one lucky enough to see me tonight."</p><p>"Really?" he challenges while I start swaying my hips side-to-side on top of him, seeing him suck in a sharp breath. "You weren't thinking about me when you put these on?" He traces the lace trim of my thigh-highs.</p><p>"Not even for a second," I murmur, sliding my hands up his muscular torso, admiring the way his rigid muscles feel under my palms, the way he flexed his stomach at my touch. "You think quite highly of yourself, don't you?"</p><p>"Why wouldn't I?" he responds in a low voice, watching me with heavy eyes as I grind down on top of him, closing my eyes and throwing my head back as the music makes my whole body feel like it's shaking.</p><p>His hands go up to my shoulders, fiddling with the straps before gently pushing them down my shoulders. He then pulls me in, attaching his lips to my neck while his hands scratch up and down my back. I hum softly to the music, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down his arms while he sucks on my skin right over my pulse, his lips hot. His hands go up my back, playing with the clasp of my bra.</p><p>"Je puex enlever ça [Can I take this off]?" he murmurs, kissing down my neck to nip at my collarbones while I breathe heavily.</p><p>"Bien sûr [Of course]," I whisper back. He moves his arms away to let me pull his shirt off of them and toss it aside, leaving him fully shirtless beneath me.</p><p>And then his hands unclasp my bra and tug the straps down my arms, leaving me just as shirtless.</p><p>We pull away from each other at the same time, greedily drinking in the sight of each other. His eyes, stormy and hungry, ravish over my breasts. He licks his lips at the sight, growing quite obviously harder underneath me. His torso is so beautiful muscular, with hand-crafted edges and a smooth curve to it where he slouches slightly in his chair. And then I realize quickly this might be the first time he's actually <em>seen</em> me shirtless, and it makes me smirk seeing the way he's absolutely lost in staring at me.</p><p>"Are you just gonna stare?" I tease, lifting myself up slightly and bracing myself on his shoulders while I lean in to push my chest tantalizingly close to his face. "Don't you want to touch me?"</p><p>He glared at me, a terrifyingly dark look that has my stomach churning. And then he grabs me by my waist and pushes me towards him, making me gasp as his mouth instantly latches around one of my nipples. I moan softly, hands burying in his hair and pulling tightly. He grunts slightly, one of his hands going down to grope my ass while he presses wet, hot kisses all over my chest. My stomach swirls as he sucks on my skin.</p><p>"Fuck," I whisper, nearly falling over at all the sensations. "<em>Fuck</em>."</p><p>He chuckles lowly, the kind of laugh that makes me roll my eyes and glare with irritation, but also makes my stomach flip and panties grow just a bit more damp. But then he's standing up, hands placed firmly on my thighs to squeeze them on either side of his hips. I squeal at the sudden movement, pressing my torso tight against his as he walks over to the bed and all but throws me into the mattress.</p><p>I land with bounce, my knees at the edge and legs dangling off. He spreads my legs in one fluid motion to stand between them, eyeing me up hungrily with his hair all messed up and falling into his eyes. He grabs me from under my knees and suddenly pulls me towards him, making me gasp as my core presses against the bulge of his pants. He smirks at me, grinding against my hips and making me moan breathily.</p><p>Draco leans forward, grabbing my wrists and pinning them to the mattress right above my head with one hand. His other hand goes to my hip while he continues grinding into me, his flushed lips parted as his breaths grow hot and heavy. My eyes feel too heavy to keep open, and I struggle to peel them apart even the slightest bit. I don't want to close them—he looks so good with his hair flopped over his forehead and his eyes crazed with desire.</p><p>"Shit," he gasps out, his hand moving up to feel my stomach flex as he presses against me, my underwear and his pants in the way of what my body is screaming for. "How hard do you want me to fuck you, Celeste?"</p><p>The pleasure is so overwhelming I just want to lay there limp and enjoy it, but I manage to focus all my energy on bringing my legs up and wrapping them around his hips, pulling him closer to me by driving my heels into his tailbone.</p><p>"Tell me how hard you like it. You said it yourself, Celeste," he chuckles darkly, digging his fingers into my side, "<em>I'm a sadist</em>. Are you a masochist, Celeste? Do you like pain? Does it turn you on?"</p><p>I make a strangled noise like a whimper, making my face flame up in embarrassment while Draco smirks. He squeezes my wrists harder, bringing his hand up to my face to cup my cheek. His thumb runs over my lower lip, dragging it down and pushing inside my mouth. I instantly brush my tongue against the pad of his thumb, seeing him lick his lips in response.</p><p>But then he pulls his thumb out and grabs my jaw, squeezing so harshly and suddenly that I can help but cry out, turning my head but unable to shake his grip off.</p><p>"Tell me," he orders in a low voice, fingers squishing my cheeks together while I feel the backs of my eyes start to burn. "Do you like pain?"</p><p>I glare at him, feeling humiliatingly stupid with my cheeks squished together like this, but I manage to nod.</p><p>He smirks slowly. "Words."</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," I seethe in a hateful, muffled voice. He laughs in response, letting go of my jaw to place a small pat on my cheek.</p><p>"That wasn't so hard, was it, darling?" he teases, letting go of my wrists only to grab them again and hold them even tighter near my stomach. "Can I try something?"</p><p>"Try what?" I ask apprehensively, biting down on my lip when he presses tight against my panties.</p><p>"It might hurt," he says, his lips pink and wet and his eyes slightly crazed. They drag down from my own eyes to my breasts, his head tilting slightly. "But I know you'll like it. You're sick like that."</p><p>"Hey," I laugh breathily. "We're <em>both</em> sick like that. Do it."</p><p>He lets go of my wrists carefully, a stern look on his face. "No touching. Understand?" he says, quirking an eyebrow at me as I bring my arms up to rest on the mattress on either side of my head, giving him a nonchalant shrug. "Good girl."</p><p><em>Oh, fuck me</em>.</p><p>His hands go up my stomach to cup my breasts, massaging them gently. I let my eyes flutter shut, enjoying the way his strong fingers feel against my skin in comparison to his sharp, biting rings. And then he rears his hand back and brings it down on my tits with a harsh slap that makes my eyes shoot open. I gasp, arching my back in response. At first my skin is numb, but the stinging pain crashes in like a falling wall of bricks.</p><p>His other hand wraps around my neck loosely, barley placing any pressure but directing me to look at him. I breathe heavily, my face overheated and my breaths coming out as pants.</p><p>"Was that okay?"</p><p>I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I choke out a single, strangled word. "More."</p><p>"What?" he frowns slightly, his hand rubbing my breasts gently.</p><p>"<em>More</em>," I huff frustratedly, closing my eyes and furrowing my brows to avoid seeing the smirk that'll inevitably cross his face. His rings press against my stinging skin, momentarily soothing it before he's suddenly slapping me again. I bite down on my lip, <em>hard</em>, and muffle the noise that comes from the back of my throat as the nerves on my skin erupt with pleasure and pain. My back arches off the bed, but he pushes me back down harshly.</p><p>His hand on my throat tightens. I groan softly, lifting my hips up to try to get some friction because he's stopped moving his lips. He laughs cruelly at this.</p><p>His hand squeezes my neck on either side of my throat, making my breathing go shallow. I instinctively bring a hand up to grasp his wrist, push him closer to me, and that's when he slaps me across my face.</p><p>I gasp, digging my nails into his wrist as the stinging in my cheek grows and makes my face heat up. I'm gnawing so hard on my lip, I can taste blood, and all of it together is making my nerves and senses grow wild. The stinging behind my eyes that's been just teasing for the past few minutes grows and makes tears well up slightly.</p><p>"Didn't I say no touching?" he snaps, and then suddenly his grip on my neck loosens. He rips his hand away from me, making my hand fall down to my body, and I can feel him start to pull away. "<em>Shit</em>. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gone that far without asking—"</p><p>"I didn't mind," I murmur, breathing heavily. My eyes feel like lead, but I manage to open them to look at Draco. He's frowning, eyes off to the side, and he's still talking as if he hasn't heard me.</p><p>"—you. I—fuck, Celeste, I'm so sor—"</p><p>"Shut up," I croak a little louder, rubbing my cheek.</p><p>He pauses, looks at me, and tilts his head. There's an almost <em>adorable</em> look of confusion on his face. "Huh?"</p><p>"Shut up," I repeat, pushing myself up to sit. I slip my fingers into his belt loop and look up at him with big eyes. "I liked it."</p><p>Draco looks at me, completely and utterly baffled, for a few moments before a haughty smirk spread across his face. I roll my eyes as he gently cups my face with his hands, tilting it up to get a better look. He traces my lips with one hand, smearing the blood a little. When he noticed my bleeding lip, his eyebrows twitch and lips part. He brings his thumb up to clean the blood off while his other hand brushes near my eyes.</p><p>"Look at you," he whispers, laughing breathily and darkly, looking beyond consumed by the sight of me. "Bleeding, so close to tears. Let me see those tears, Celeste..."</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but we're interrupted by a knock at the door that startles us both.</p><p>We freeze, staring at each other with wide eyes. Slowly, slowly, I see the dread and irritation see onto Draco's face. He lets his head fall back, running a hand through his hair while muttering curses under his breath.</p><p>"Guys?"</p><p>It's Flora's muffled voice.</p><p>"Did you fall asleep in there? You can come out now."</p><p>I fall back to the bed with a slight thud, expletives falling out of my mouth as I rub my face tiredly (I use a magic setting powder—nothing's getting messed up tonight).</p><p>"Damnit," Draco whispers, leaning over me to grab his clothes from the other side of the bed. He sits down at the edge of the mattress beside me, eyeing my very much naked torso that I have both the urge to cover and to flaunt in his face at the same<br/>time while he slips his shirt on and begins buttoning it up. "I was so close to getting you to beg. I know it."</p><p>"You wish," I scoff, knowing fully well that he's right as I too sit up and lean over to grab my bra and dress.</p><p>Draco stands up in front of me, tucking his shirt into his pants before fastening his tie at his collar. I watch with fascination as his hands move and rings glint slightly under the light while I clasp my bra back on and slip my dress on over my head.</p><p>"You have lipstick under your jaw," I say, nodding at him slightly before handing him his jacket to put on.</p><p>He slips his jacket on before rubbing at his jaw, missing it by miles. I roll my eyes and stand up, bringing the sleeve of my dress down to bunch up in my fist before rubbing it against his jaw as roughly and aggressively as I can, ignoring his scowl/pout and mildly pained noises.</p><p>"Wait," he says as I push past him to get to the door. He clasps his hand around my wrist and pulls me back to him, making me nearly fall into his chest.</p><p>"Wh—?"</p><p>He smashes his lips to mine, making the spot where I'm bleeding ache slightly. His tongue brushes against mine as he kisses me slowly but hungrily. And then he sucks my lower lip into his mouth, gently sucking on the broken sink while my body falls limp against his. His hands travel the back of my body, briefly squeezing my ass before pulling my dress down to cover the ends of my thigh-highs. His hands then go up to my hair to pull it out of its high ponytail. It was probably a tell-tale mess.</p><p>When he pulls away from me, I nearly fall over. The insufferable blond instantly grabs my wrist to steady me, giving me a cheeky grin before leading me to the door. He unlocks it, swings it open, and in the way stands Blaise with a great glare on his face.</p><p>I nearly fall over again.</p><p>"Hey, Blaise," I say casually, my heart thumping dramatically as I wrench my wrist out of Draco's gasp to lean against the doorframe, praying I don't look absolutely fucked.</p><p>"Celeste," he says in a cold voice, black eyes piercing me. "<em>Draco</em>. What took you guys so long to open the door?"</p><p>His eyes then flash to something behind us, and I glance over my shoulder to see him looking at the messed up bed. I nearly have a heart attack, realizing he's coming to the correct conclusion.</p><p>"Um—"</p><p>"We were just chilling in the bed, and neither of us wanted to get up," I interrupt quickly with a slight shrug and bored expression on my face.</p><p>"Oh, yeah?" Blaise scoffs challengingly. "Tell me, what were you guys doing in bed."</p><p>"...We—"</p><p>"Draco was showing me his cool new watch," I blurt, grabbing his left hand and praying to Merlin that he's wearing it today. I nearly sigh in relief when I push his sleeves and see the silver accessory there. "Has he shown you it? It's so fucking sick. There's a little dragon and everything."</p><p>"A meteor shower goes off every new hour," Draco supplies, a sly smirk on his face as he discreetly rubs his thumb over the back of my palm before pulling his hand away. "And I think a supernova should go off at midnight."</p><p>"Which it nearly is," Blaise scoffs, making my eyes widen.</p><p>We were in there for nearly an <em>hour</em>, and somehow we managed to do everything but fuck.</p><p>"Whatever," Blaise then says suddenly, shaking his head. "Some of the guys are asking if you have anything to smoke."</p><p>I glance at Draco. His hair is still messed up, making him look ten times more attractive, which is unfair because he <em>always </em>looks ridiculously attractive. There's a purple light cast on him from the party lights, making his eyes look especially piercing. The blond runs a hand through his hair before fixing it.</p><p>"Yeah, I think I still have some of the Alihotsy I stole from Pansy. It's upstairs though—I'll go get it."</p><p>"Alright," Blaise then says before turning to me with a slight glare. "And <em>you—"</em></p><p>"I'll go with you!" I yelp quickly, bounding after Draco who is somehow already halfway across the basement, ignoring Blaise's shouts behind me. Draco glances back at me when he feels me briefly grab the back of his sleeve, the look of surprise on his face quickly turning to amusement.</p><p>"You just <em>can't </em>stay away, can you."</p><p>"Oh, get over yourself. Just because I'd rather be in your company than get a lecture from Blaise doesn't mean I don't hate you," I say calmly as I follow him up the stairs.</p><p>"Aw, don't say that," he says dryly, glancing over his shoulder to give me an eye roll. "I know you're obsessed with me."</p><p>"Look who's projecting now. How long until midnight?" I ask as we step out into the hallway, music from the basement muffled when he closes the door behind me. There's muffled music playing from down the hall where all our parents are, though it's considerably classier.</p><p>Draco glances at his watch. "Like five minutes."</p><p>My eyebrows lift. "Let's hurry then."</p><p>We speed-walk down the hall, me following Draco, towards the stairs, eager to get the Alihotsy and get back down to the basement in time for midnight, when a familiar voice behind a closed door stops me.</p><p>"Lucius, when I said 'no' the first time, I <em>meant it</em>."</p><p>Father.</p><p>Draco freezes as well, turning around to furrow his eyebrows at me with confusion. I shake my head slightly to tell him that I'm just as confused. We stand there for a few moments looking at each other before creeping up to the wall on either side of the door to listen closely.</p><p>"I don't think you understand," a slimy, cold voice responds. It has to be Mr. Malfoy. It has the same frigid, icy edge and dark undertone as Draco's, though it's much more unnerving and not <em>nearly</em> as attractive. "There are protections that come with agreeing to this, protections for you and your entire family."</p><p>My pulse thrums quickly, unnerving me slightly. My heart, the music from up here, and the music from the basement all beat at different tempos, and it makes me queasy.</p><p>"Thank you for worrying," Father responds in a quiet, cold voice like I've never heard him speak in before, "but I think Corinne and I are capable of protecting our family by ourselves."</p><p>"Alaric..." Mother. "Maybe we should reconsider."</p><p>"Absolutely not," Father responds quickly. I can practically see the blazing look in his hazel eyes. He's angry, but his anger is always a quiet force to be reckoned with. I can imagine the grim look on his face, the way his scars have shifted around his frown. "If you need access to the Department of Mysteries, find some other Unspeakables. But not us."</p><p>I glance up at Draco. His eyebrows are intensely furrowed, his eyes are dark and brewing up a storm. He looks at me at the same time. His chest heaved with his heavy breaths, and his entire stance is tense.</p><p>Five days ago, we were walking down Diagon Alley when Draco pointed my parents out. I turned to see them only to find them standing in Knockturn Alley maybe a hundred feet away. They didn't notice me, and I didn't try to get their attention. That day, they <em>knew</em> Id be going to Diagon Alley. It struck me odd that they didn't say that they would be too for whatever reason.</p><p>But they were in Knockturn Alley, and while I don't know <em>much</em> about the creepy shopping area, I do know one thing—nobody ever goes there unless they have matters concerning the Dark Arts. All the shops there meddle with it, the antique shops, the quill shops, all of them.</p><p>And they were standing outside the door to The Spiny Serpent.</p><p>I'd completely forgotten about that odd little shop after my trip to Knockturn Alley, but seeing my parents standing before it made me remember just how strange it was. A simple wooden door with a serpent knocker but no door knob to twist it open, windows displaying old-looking vases taller than me, thick purple curtains shielding the interior from my view, and the person I couldn't see who glanced at me through the curtains when I knocked but didn't open the door for me.</p><p>What business did my parents have there?</p><p>I saw Mother murmur something to Father before the door swung open. How did they get it open? They'd stepped inside and had been inside for nearly a full moment before Draco had jostled me and asked me if I wanted to go say hello. I said no; I said we should keep walking.</p><p>"We <em>have</em>," Mr. Malfoy responds in a calm and collected voice. I hear some shuffling, the sounds of feet on the ground as someone walks around idly. "We've tried twice now. The Dark Lord's dreams failed to spur the boy on, so we've tried to Imperius the Unspeakables. You should know. You work with them."</p><p>"Sturgis Podmore," I hear Mother mutter under her breath. She sighs harshly. "Sent to Azkaban."</p><p>"And Broderick Bode," Father says, his voice slightly strangled. "He's been missing."</p><p>"He triggered the safeguards and went crazy," Mr. Malfoy spits with distaste. "Idiot's in St. Mungo's now. Suppose we'll have to do something to silence him in case they heal him, but..."</p><p>"Don't you <em>dare..."</em> I hear a sudden scraping, someone standing up abruptly and pushing their chair back, "don't you <em>fucking</em> dare try to Imperius me or my wife."</p><p>I've never actually heard him curse before.</p><p>I catch Draco's eye, but he looks away quickly, his breaths coming out even faster as he taps impatiently against his thigh.</p><p>"Alaric," Mr. Malfoy laughs with ease, "I would <em>never</em>. Please, I'd like to think we've become friends by now."</p><p>"We have," Mother is quick to add, an edge to her voice. "Of course we have."</p><p>"But...it's because we have become friends that I'm concerned for your safety."</p><p>"There's no need for your concern," Father says in a calmer but still curt voice.</p><p>"Let him speak, Alaric," Mother whispers in a harsh voice. Silence ensues. I can imagine them both staring at each other, battling silently, hazel eyes burning into black ones, black eyes shooting at hazel ones.</p><p>"Fine," Father mutters after a heavy pause.</p><p>"I fear that, if you do not aid us now..." Mr. Malfoy hesitates. There's the dull popping sound of the cap being pulled out of a decanter before the sound of liquid being poured. Pause. More liquid being poured. And then he exhales sharply like he's just taken a refreshing sip of whiskey before saying, "If you do not aid us now, you'll be approached again in the future. And not by me. By the Dark Lord himself. I promise, he is not as understanding as I am, nor does he have my patience."</p><p>"We can handle that <em>if</em> we ever have to," Father retorts stubbornly.</p><p>I furrow my brows. Is he turning down a spot as a Death Eater? I know my parents were approached when they were younger, when the First Wizarding War was waging, but they turned it down because they were having <em>me</em> and were leaving the country anyway.</p><p>I always assumed they would have said yes otherwise.</p><p>"Can we, though?" Mother asks. There's the sound of metal clinking on glass—it's a tic of hers whenever she's deep in thought, frustration, or worry. She taps her engagement ring and wedding band on the closest surface. "You really think we can handle Him?"</p><p>"Corinne," Father says impatiently, "you can<em>not</em> be seriously considering this right now."</p><p>"<em>TEN!</em>"</p><p>I jump slightly at the loud shouts coming from<br/>both below my feet and from down the hall where the other party rages on. My eyes connect with Draco's, and this time, he doesn't look away. We both stand there frozen with shock and confusion, our minds scrambled as we try to process both what we're hearing and what our next move should be.</p><p>"<em>NINE!</em>"</p><p>"It's not a matter of <em>if</em>, it's a matter of <em>when</em>," Mr. Malfoy says.</p><p>"<em>EIGHT!</em>"</p><p>"I don't care."</p><p>"<em>SEVEN!</em>"</p><p>"I don't see how we have any other reasonable choice," Mother says in that calculating voice of hers. "We move again? Who's to say He won't come after us? If He really wants us as much as Lucius says He does?"</p><p>"<em>SIX!</em>"</p><p>"Please, Corinne," Father sighs harshly, his frustration so tangible in his voice that it hits me like a wall of bricks and makes my chest grow tight with the pressure. "Think of Celeste. We can't do this."</p><p>"<em>FIVE!</em>"</p><p>"I <em>am</em> thinking of Celeste," Mother snaps slightly, but then her voice softens. "She's why we <em>have</em> to, Alaric."</p><p>"<em>FOUR!</em>"</p><p>"Let's not begin the new year fighting," a new, sharp voice interjects.</p><p>I don't recognize it at first, but it makes Draco's head snap up and entire body go rigid like he's in fight or flight. Mrs. Malfoy.</p><p>"Why don't we go rejoin our guests? Surely this conversation can wait."</p><p>It doesn't sound like a suggestion from the way her voice is cold, a thin bit of ice that pierces the air.</p><p>"<em>THREE!</em>"</p><p>There's footsteps, and they're coming our way.</p><p>Draco and I look at each other. The frantic gleam in his eyes mirror mine—they'll be out this door any second now. There isn't time to run in either direction of the hallway, because they'd see us and know that we're running from them.</p><p>"<em>TWO!</em>"</p><p>The doorknob rattles.</p><p>"Do you have the key, Narcissa?"</p><p>I move quickly without a second of hesitation, without letting myself overthink or consider any other option. I stride over to Draco, grab him by his jacket, and back myself up until I'm pressed against the wall opposite to the door with him looming over me.</p><p>"<em>ONE!</em>"</p><p>Right as the door clicks and unlocks, I bury one hand in Draco's hair and pull his head down to mine to smash our lips together in a messy kiss. He's frozen at first, but when I harshly pull his hair, he moves his hands to my hips to pull them close to his. Our messy kiss, lips uncoordinated and sloppy, suddenly turns deep and intoxicating, lips moving in unison. I can taste the alcohol on his lips as I bring my hand down from his hair to the side of his neck.</p><p>The beat of the music below and the beat of the music down the hall are both off from each other and the beat of my heart, but when my finger brushes against the side of Draco's throat, his pulse pounds in unison with mine.</p><p>His hand comes up to cup the side of my face before slipping down to the side of my neck as well, his thumb right over my pulse just like mine is over his.</p><p>"Draco?"</p><p>He pulls away instantly. We both snap our heads over to see all four of our parents standing in the hallway, none looking very pleased whether thats form their conversation or seeing their children coincidentally making out in the hallway right outside the room they were talking in.</p><p>I widen my eyes, letting my jaw fall slack as if I'm completely and utterly shocked. "Oh. I, uh—" I cut myself off, genuinely unsure what to say. I bring my hand up to my tingling lips, touching the spot where I was bleeding earlier. It stings.</p><p>Mrs. Malfoy frowns at me slightly, scanning me up and down. Her expression then relaxes a bit when we make eye contact, and she spares a tight smile before glancing over at Draco. Mr. Malfoy looks irritated, looking with harsh eyes solely at Draco.</p><p>Father is looking at me carefully. When I look back at him, he gives me a slight smile, but it falls off his face almost instantly. Mother looks a bit unimpressed as she lets out a long exhale, but Father turns her around to place a brief peck on her lips.</p><p>"Happy New Year, my love," he murmurs before looking up at me. He glances between Draco and me, a slight chuckle leaving his lips as he says with amusement that doesn't match his tone only a minute ago, "I'm glad you two are getting along."</p><p>I shrink back slightly with embarrassment, giving him a sheepish smile as my face heats up. Draco awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, glancing at me briefly before taking a purposeful step away.</p><p>"Draco," Mr. Malfoy says curtly, all eyes flashing to him, "go back to your guests. And take Celeste with you."</p><p>"Yes, sir," he nods, gently wrapping his arm around my elbow to pull me off the wall. We then both instantly pull away from each other, the embarrassment of being caught making out by our parents very much there even though that was exactly the plan.</p><p>Doing my very best not to look at him, I walk over to my parents and give them a brief hug each, murmuring a "happy New Year" to them both. Father kisses the top of my head and whispers softly so only I can hear—</p><p>"Please don't let me catch a boy kissing you again," he laughs softly, making me smile slightly. "Only reason he's still breathing is because I respect his parents."</p><p>When I hug my mother, she holds my arms tight even when I pull away. The look on her face is unreadable, eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. She opens her mouth to say something, hesitates, and then shakes her head before letting me go.</p><p>I give her a slight frown before turning to see Draco waiting for me.</p><p>"Happy New Year," he mutters under his breath as we walk towards the basement, Alihotsy forgotten, and our parents retreat to the entertainment room.</p><p>"Right. Happy New Year."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's your least favorite food?</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. I THINK YOU'RE PRETTY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>just a lil smoke sesh yup yup</p>
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    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>January 8th, 1995</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"A mass breakout from Azkaban?" I frown, confused. "That wasn't in my copy of <em>The</em> <em>Daily Prophet</em>."</p><p>"No," Father says with a slight sneer, scanning his own copy over once or twice before folding it with a flick of his wrist and setting it down beside his black tea, "nor is it in mine. You won't be able to find it in any copy of <em>The</em> <em>Prophet</em>, not until tomorrow."</p><p>"What's going on?" I furrow my eyebrows, gripping the back of the chair, seeing my knuckles turn white as my pulse thumps loudly in my throat.</p><p>"Sit. It's time I explain."</p><p>He doesn't look at me. He sips his black tea, eyes focused on <em>The</em> <em>Daily Prophet</em> watching a picture of the Minister behind a podium move about. Slowly, I drag the chair back, wincing at the noise it makes scraping against the floor, before sitting down in front of him.</p><p>"Have you had dinner?" he asks.</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Have something to eat."</p><p>"I'm not hungry."</p><p>"I'm not asking," he says simply, setting his tea down and lifting his sharp eyes up to look at me, an unimpressed and bored gleam in them.</p><p>I open my mouth, hesitate, and close it before leaning over to the center of the table to pluck an apple from the bowl. It's red, but it'll make do. He watches me take a bite out of it before speaking again.</p><p>"The Dark Lord has asked me to retrieve something from the Department of Mysteries," he says simply, bored eyes looking at me carefully before dropping back down to the picture of the Minister. "Do you know much about the Department of Mysteries, Draco?"</p><p>"No, sir," I say calmly, my brows tightly furrowed.</p><p>"No, I expect you wouldn't," he muses, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's the most secretive department, older than the Ministry itself. Even the Minister himself doesn't know what goes on there. Only the Unspeakables do."</p><p><em>Unspeakables</em>. I remember hearing that word several times when Celeste and I were eavesdropping a week ago.</p><p>"Are Unspeakables—"</p><p>"They work at the department, yes," he interrupts calmly, stirring his teabag a few times. "Their work is rather confidential...Celeste's parents are Unspeakables, did you know that?"</p><p>I bite my lip before shaking my head. It's not really a lie—I <em>didn't </em>know, at least not until last week.</p><p>"Most Unspeakables don't have much family," Father sighs slightly, an odd gleam in his eyes as he smirks just a bit. "Their work is time-consuming, beyond important, so they don't have the ability to have families. I suppose the Zabinis are the sole exception to this."</p><p>"What does this have to do with...the Dark Lord?" I ask a bit eagerly, leaning in with my forgotten apple clutched in my hand, my elbows resting on the table.</p><p>Is he finally going to tell me? I've spent the past few years wishing for him to finally see me as mature, responsible, deserving to know the on-goings of the very Dark wizard he's devoted his loyalty too. It's been sickening growing up in a house where feeble Potter is spoken of as a risk and someone to take seriously whereas I've been waved off any time I walk into a serious conversation. I want to know. I want to understand, maybe be involved. It's my duty, after all, and it'll come upon me one way or another, so why not <em>now?</em></p><p>"I don't know much about the Department of Mysteries or what exactly they do in there, but I do know one thing—it's where they store prophecies," he says, eyes flashing up at me to gauge my reaction. I keep my face neutral, though my eyebrows furrow slightly as I lean in even closer. "Any time a prophecy is made, no matter who delivers it or to whom it is delivered or about whom it is, it is stored in the department."</p><p>"<em>Prophecies?</em>" I scoff, unable to hide the incredulity in my voice.</p><p>"They're real, Draco," Father smiles coldly. "As real as you or me. Held in glass orbs, from what I'm told, and as we've recently discovered, they're magically protected. Only the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecies or those involved with a particular prophecy may touch them. Should anyone else try to pick one up, they'd instantly go mad."</p><p>I remember Father's words from that night—</p><p>
  <em>"He triggered the safeguards and went crazy. Idiot's in St. Mungo's now. Suppose we'll have to do something to silence him in case they heal him, but..."</em>
</p><p>"So the Dark Lord wants you to get a prophecy, then," I say carefully, watching as Father nods in response. "How are you supposed to—?"</p><p>"We tried Imperiusing two Unspeakables," he says, taking a short sip of his tea. He exhales harshly, and the bitter smell of the drink slaps me in the face. "It didn't work, clearly. One in Azkaban, one in St. Mungo's."</p><p>"So you want Mr. and Mrs. Zabini to get it for you somehow," I say with furrowed brows, my eyes drifting down to the red apple in my hand as I turn it. "Why does He want this prophecy?"</p><p>Father scoffs. "Use your <em>brain</em>, boy," he sneers, cold eyes piercing mine as I glance up at him. "Who do you think the prophecy is about?"</p><p>"Him," I murmur, glancing away and at <em>The</em> <em>Prophet. </em>A small headline near the corner reads: <em>ALBUS DUMBLEDORE AND HARRY POTTER STILL SPEWING LIES</em>. "And <em>Potter</em>. What does the prophecy say?"</p><p>"I don't know," Father responds bitterly. "The Dark Lord says he knows parts of it, but he refuses to tell me..." His eyes go dark, glaring angrily and absently at the tabletop before abruptly brightening up. "Yet he's entrusted me of all his trusted Death Eaters to retrieve it. I suppose I'll be able to answer your question once I actually have it."</p><p>"What are you going to do now?" I ask quietly, my gut wringing itself out inside my body.</p><p>"I have an idea, but...we'll have to see."</p><p>I'm silent for a moment, eyes on my fruit. My fingers fiddle with it, digging my nails into the skin of the fruit and peeling the red cover absently while my mind spins. The Department of Mysteries. A prophecy. A mission for the prophecy. A prophecy about Him. And <em>him</em>. What the world, the <em>universe</em> sees in Harry Potter is beyond me. The Boy Who Lived is no great wizard deserving of a <em>prophecy</em>. He's just a stupid boy raised by pigs.</p><p>"You mentioned a mass breakout from Azkaban," I remember suddenly, my eyes flashing up to see my father has been watching me closely. "How—How is that even possible?</p><p>"There are only two known Azkaban escapees known to the public," Father says calmly, sipping on his tea. "1982, Barty Crouch Sr. broke Crouch Jr.—a devoted follower of the Dark Lord, may he rest in peace—out under the request of his wife."</p><p>"I remember seeing it in the news end of last year," I nod, my eyes dropping again. It was after the Triwizard Tournament was over, after Potter came back from the maze holding Diggory's dead body and screaming that the Dark Lord is back. Everyone believed him then, but after a summer of reading <em>The</em> <em>Prophet's</em> writings about how Dumbledore and Potter are lying, everyone came back assured that he's still gone for good. Except for me, of course. I'd nearly forgotten this past semester, though...</p><p>"Then, in 1993, Sirius Black escaped," Father spits bitterly. "He's your mother's cousin, but you know that. And you should also know that he's an absolute disgrace in the bloodline. He's as much one of us as the <em>Weasleys </em>are. I still can't believe they ever though someone like him was capable of serving the Dark Lord."</p><p>"How did he escape?" I ask, frowning deeply. "The papers never said."</p><p>"Because the papers don't know. Nobody really does."</p><p>"And this time?"</p><p>A somewhat proud but conflicted smile flickers over his face. "The first mass breakout in all of Wizarding history. <em>Ten</em> of them, all high-security imprisoned in the highest part of Azkaban. Bellatrix Lestrange, your mother's sister."</p><p>My body chills.</p><p>"Her husband, Rodolphus, and his brother, Rabastan. Sylvester Travers. Thorfinn Rowle. Augustus Rookwood. Roan Mulciber. Antonin Dolohov. Heron Jugson. Wesley Gibbon. They broke out a couple hours ago—the Dark Lord himself, clever wizard he is, got the Dementors to play along."</p><p>I swallow thickly, unable to stop the frown that takes over my face as I glance aside to the window, seeing the dark blanket of the night sky and the half moon that lingers just above the tops of the snow-capped forest. Ten Death Eaters running around. My mind and body struggle to comprehend what I'm feeling and what I <em>should</em> be feeling. Glad? That the Dark Lord has broken ten of his faithful servants out? That my aunt I've never met is free? My mother's sister? I should be glad, but there's this great, dreadful pit in my stomach.</p><p>"Where are they now?" I finally manage to choke out.</p><p>"They all have family willing to hide them. The Lestranges are here."</p><p>I choke on my spit, seeing my father watch without a hint of amusement as I push my chair back to double over slightly, burying my mouth in my elbow as my body tries to cut all this information out of my head and choke it out my throat. When I've finally calmed down, though my throat still itches and convulses, I look around, alarmed, peering at the heavy curtains by the window and the massive decorative vase near the stairs as if the three Lestranges are hiding in there and waiting for my father's cue to jump out.</p><p>Father chuckles. It sends chills down my bones and makes me snap my head forward to look at him.</p><p>"They're all asleep," he says, lips curving up into a slight smile. "I suspect they won't wake up until late tomorrow. Turns out, even with all those years cooped up in a cell, it's hard to get any sleep. I suppose the Dementors have something to do with that."</p><p>There are three Death Eaters, one of them my aunt, upstairs right now sleeping in our guest rooms. I guess they came and fell asleep while I was doing school work—I always seem to get lost in my work when I'm doing it.</p><p>"So...So why are you telling me all this <em>now?</em>" I sigh softly, pulling the sleeves of my sweater down and glancing over my shoulder. Suddenly, it feels like all the eyes in the world are watching me carefully, laughing at my smallest moves or the smallest twitches of my face. My whole body then grows cold. It's like a frost spreads from the center of my chest to every corner of me, turning my limbs to ice. "Do you need my help, somehow?"</p><p>Father shakes his head, and then his next words fill me with both irritation and relief—"I want to keep you out of this for as long as possible."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>He holds his hand up, an impatient look crossing over his face and instantly silencing me.</p><p>"No arguing, Draco. There's no reason in you getting involved before you have to."</p><p>"You always call it a great honor, Father," I say softly, wondering why I'm arguing with him on this, wondering why I'm not arguing more fervently.</p><p>"And it is," he says simply, "but it's also a dangerous one. I don't see why you shouldn't complete your schooling years first. That way, you'll be a real man by the inevitable time it's your turn to serve him."</p><p><em>A real man. </em>What does that even mean?</p><p>"Weren't you my age when you joined him?" I ask quietly, not daring to lift my eyes to him.</p><p>"Hardly a year older. I won't say I regret it, but..." he hesitates, "but I will tell you I struggled to finish school. You know it's important that you graduate with top marks. What real value are you to him, anyway, if you're an idiot?"</p><p>"Right."</p><p>"I need you out of the house tomorrow."</p><p>I furrow my eyebrows. "Why?"</p><p>"When the Lestranges wake up, your mother and I will need to have a likely <em>long</em> conversation with them, and I'd rather you not be around for that. Is there anywhere you can go?"</p><p>"I—" I exhale sharply, shaking my head slightly as I think. "Well, Pansy was asking if I'm free."</p><p>"Good. We'll Floo you over to the Parkinsons', then."</p><p>"...Okay, but—"</p><p>"It's settled."</p><p>—</p><p>Every time I inhale, all I smell is Alihotsy.</p><p>I'm sprawled out on Pansy's bed, a sequined cushion under my ear scratching my skin, though I'm too lazy and tired to move it. Her room is a hot mess. The walls are hot pink, though they've been covered almost entirely by posters of The Hobgoblins, random snippets of articles from <em>The Daily Prophet</em>, ugly but definitely interesting draws shes scratched with ink and a thick quill, and loads of other bullshit that makes her wall space look beyond cluttered. There are some plants hanging around, overgrown and untamable. Occasionally, one will slyly snake up to me and try to wrap around my throat, but I just have to slap it away to make it stop. Her bed is a mess too, the sheets black, at least seven blankets of assorted colors and materials, and way too many ugly pillows and stuffed animals that make my head hang back awkwardly (there's a stuffed Niffler under my neck that I'm also too lazy to move away).</p><p>Blaise is at her desk, slouched all the way down in her chair humming along to the music playing. He's tone deaf, though, so it's not great to listen to. He was trying some of Pansy's clothes on early just for the hell of it, so he currently sits wearing a tight cropped shirt of hers with his ugly sweatpants from third year looking homeless. Pansy giggled and called him handsome.</p><p>Pansy sits on the ground facing the bed, her back leaning against a crumpled poster of Rita Skeeter (why the fuck does she have a poster of Rita Skeeter?) and her knees slightly bent as she presses her feet against the bed frame. She takes a long drag out of the blunt in her hand. We should probably cut her off. She's had plenty of hits tonight.</p><p>"Give," says Celeste at the foot of the bed. She's laying down on her stomach horizontal to the edge of the bed. My knees are bent and my feet are inches away from her legs. She leans over, grunting slightly as she grabs the joint from Pansy's hand and takes a small sip of it.</p><p>"Guess what?" Pansy's voice croaks slightly as I watch a small wisp of smoke leave Celeste's lips. She brings the joint back up to them. She's not wearing that plum color today.</p><p>"Mm? What?" Blaise mumbles, his head leaning all the way back as he scratches the strip of exposed skin between his/Pansy's shirt and his sweats.</p><p>"The wedding is this summer," Pansy laughs slightly, a heavy, forced laugh. It takes me a few seconds to realize she's talking about Poppy and Damien. "They're getting married in July."</p><p>"That's a good thing, right?" Celeste asks, turning over with a slight grunt onto her back, her long, dark curls hanging over the side of the bed and just barely brushing against the floor. I watch her carefully, the way her long lashes flutter before she closes her eyes, the way her free hand resting on her stomach traces the design on her shirt. It's a Weird Sisters shirt, looking worn as though she's owned it for years.</p><p>Pansy laughs again, but it sounds more like a broken sob. "They're getting married in July, and then he and his stupid fucking <em>French</em> family is taking her with them to <em>France</em>," she spits sourly. "And then she's gonna live out the rest of her stupid, heterosexual life in <em>France</em> and leave me here to deal with my parents."</p><p>"It's not like your parents are ever home to deal with," Blaise mumbles, going right back to humming, even more off-tune than before.</p><p>"Shut the fuck up, Blaise," Pansy responds dryly. "At least I have a fucking dad."</p><p>"Ouch."</p><p>I let out a soft exhale, the ghost of a laugh. My eyes stay frozen on Celeste, unmoving, even when I pour all my willpower in making them move. I watch her pull at a strand of her hair, her eyes full of fascination as it coils back up with a bounce. Carefully, I extend one of my legs so that the heel of my foot bumps against her thigh.</p><p>Her eyes snap to mine.</p><p>"Give me the joint," I say, lazily opening my palm up for her to place it between my fingers.</p><p>"C'mere and take it," she says, placing the joint between her lips with inhaling from it. But then she plucks it right back out to say, "I'm not your little bitch."</p><p>"I could <em>make</em> you my little bitch if I tried," I say back instantly, but my voice is slow, languid, and relaxed.</p><p>Pansy snorts.</p><p>"That's disgusting," Blaise mumbles tiredly, his eyes shut and head flopping onto his shoulder.</p><p>Celeste looks at me carefully. Her eyes are usually big, wide, and attentive, but with the Alihotsy in her system and the air, her eyes are half closed and a little red. She smiles slowly, her unpainted lips smooth and brown as they lift up at the corners.</p><p>"C'mere," I say, my voice so soft I can hardly hear it myself, especially not over the music. "You're wasting the joint."</p><p>"I don't feel like moving."</p><p>"I don't care."</p><p>She doesn't respond. She just lifts her hand holding the blunt to over her face, watching the smoke drift off the end. Right as she brings it near her lips, I raise my foot and bring it down quick to jab my heel into her thigh, making her cry out slightly, muffled by the joint. She turns her head to glare at me as she forces out all the smoke on her lungs, coughing slightly as she uses one arm to push herself up to a sitting position.</p><p>"Fuck you," she coughs out, covering her mouth with her elbow while her eyes—brown today, so brown they're like honey—look at me with animosity.</p><p>"Uhuh," I respond simply, a lazy smirk finding my face.</p><p>"You can use the guest room," Pansy calls out in a distant voice. She then switches the music to something by Celestina Warbeck, the sorceress with the warbling, mournful voice. "I'm in the mood to cry. Is that cool? Cool?"</p><p>"Gross," Blaise mumbles, his mouth tipping open as he looks like he might fall asleep any second now.</p><p>Celeste rolls her eyes. She then pops the joint between her lips and shifts slowly to her hands and knees, crawling up the bed with her hair falling in her face. She then falls back down to the mattress right next to me, plucking the joint out of her lips and reaching it out towards mine.</p><p>I reach out to grab it, but she slaps my hand away. I frown. "Why'd you do that?"</p><p>"Shut up and part your lips," she says simply, pushing herself back up on one arm to lean over me slightly, her curls a thick curtain down one side.</p><p>I can smell her. She smells strong of Alihotsy, but that blackberry is still there. I think it's her hair that smells like blackberries. I glance down for a moment. Her shirt is baggy, but it's caught and getting pulled under her torso, giving me just the slightest hint of her breasts, sending my mind back to a week ago when I finally saw them.</p><p>I part my lips slightly, eyes flicking back up to hers when she brings her hand to the side of my face.</p><p>Her fingers carefully brush my hair away from my forehead. Her own lips part slightly as she watches her own hand trial down the side of my face, her long nails scraping slightly against my skin and making goosebumps pop up all over my body. She gets to my lips, swiping her thumb over them. I part them a bit more for her, and that's when she smiles a faint smile to herself before slipping the filter of the joint between my lips.</p><p>I want to close my eyes, but the way Celeste looks keeps them open as I inhale long and slow. She looks at me carefully, eyes watching my lips as I inhale, the way my cheeks hollow slightly. She looks up at my eyes, glancing between them with something unreadable in hers. A slight grin then spreads across her face, a mischievous one.</p><p>I tap her wrist and she instantly pulls the joint out of my mouth. I watch her for a few seconds, leaning over me, her hand holding the joint hovering between us.</p><p>My hand goes up to her hair, slowly and carefully tangling with her locks near her scalp to pull her head down closer to mine until her face is inches away. And then, my eyes closing slowly, I exhale the smoke over her face, my chest relaxing as it all leaves my lungs.</p><p>When I open my eyes, hers are closed. I smirk slightly, plucking the joint out of her hand and letting go of her hair. She slowly opens her eyes to look at me again, a low laugh leaving her lips.</p><p>"Dray?" she asks in a sing-song voice, eyes all bright yet tired.</p><p>"Yes, darling?" I murmur, ignoring her little nickname for me.</p><p>"You're really pretty." She doesn't blink.</p><p>I lift my eyebrows at her, noticing the way her head dips slightly as she moves in just half an inch closer to me. She licks her lips, eyes flickering between my eyes, my lips, and my hand holding the joint.</p><p>"I know," I mumble, smirking lazily.</p><p>"You're so conceited," she says in a soft, distracted voice, her eyes now focused specifically on my lips while she leans in closer. It's like gravity is too strong for her, like her arm can't hold her up anymore, so her lips inch closer to mine. "You're supposed to say that I'm pretty too."</p><p>"What's the point?" I murmur, my hand going back up to her hair. It's all over one shoulder, so I tuck a lock of it behind her ear so I can see her better before twirling a curl around my finger. Her hair is soft. "You already know you're pretty. Hearing it from me doesn't matter."</p><p>She shrugs one shoulder, a slight smile on her lips. She lets out a soft giggle. "Maybe I want to hear it from you."</p><p>"Why?" I ask, pulling gently on a curl.</p><p>"Because you're pretty," she says like it's obvious, though I can hardly hear it over Warbeck's grief-stricken moaning. "I'm gonna kiss you now."</p><p>"So do it."</p><p>She laughs slightly before leaning in, all her hair falling over the side of my face while her lips mold perfectly to mine. It's a short kiss, brief and terse, and just as quickly as it happens, it's over.</p><p>Celeste then falls back onto the bed right beside me. We're close enough that I can smell her blackberry scent and feel her body heat, but not a single part of me touched a single part of her.</p><p>"Did you guys just kiss?" Blaise's tired, lazy voice asks.</p><p>"No," Celeste responds flatly.</p><p>"Okay."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: who is your least favorite character and why? don't say umbridge bc duh LOL</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. IT'S NOT THAT IMPORTANT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste has a conversation with her parents</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i think this is my shortest chapter yet and ever</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>January 11th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>I peer out from behind the wall down to the foyer where my father has just come home with a slam of the door holding a brown paper bag in his hand. As soon as she heard the door shut, my mother hurried over.</p><p>"Well?" I hear her ask in a hushed voice.</p><p>"Where's Celeste?" Father murmurs, rummaging through the bag.</p><p>"She just went to sleep."</p><p>"Knockturn Alley is terrifying at night," Father whispers. The two of them stare at each other for a few seconds before laughing softly, a smile breaking his face and making his scars bend. He then pulls something out of the bag that makes me squint to see it clearer.</p><p>It's a small, thin vial with a cork top. It's half filled with the strangest substance I've ever seen. It looks neither liquid nor gaseous, a greyish black substance that sways slightly in its container despite how still Father holds in. And then I hear it—the whispers, the hushed noises that no doubt come directly from whatever is in that bottle, making me lean closer and nearly completely reveal myself from behind the wall. It's the strangest feeling, like there's someone in that tiny little vial murmuring softly, coaxing me to come to them, and the harder I concentrate on hearing it, the louder it gets.</p><p>Mother plucks the vial from his hand, and the second she speaks, the whispering goes away.</p><p>"It's lighter," she says, and then frowns. "Well, I think it is—it's hard to tell. Looks like there's less, though. Does that mean..?"</p><p>"That it worked?" Father sighs softly, opening the bag back up for her to gently place it back in. "It's in there. Soren managed to put it in, <em>somehow</em>, but whether it'll work..."</p><p>Mother turns her chin up slightly, her steely dark eyes looking beyond conflicted as she stares unflinchingly at my father's scarred face. "I still don't agree with this," she says coolly. "I really doubt it's our only option."</p><p>"It's a <em>failsafe</em>, Corinne," he responds calmly, twisting the top of the bag. "I doubt it'll ever be necessary. I'm gonna go wish Celeste a good night. Are you coming?"</p><p>I freeze before quickly ducking back behind the wall.</p><p>"Let me get a water first."</p><p>Quickly and as quietly as possible, I race down the long halls until I reach my room, shutting the lights off and crawling under my covers. I've brushed and I've already changed into pajamas—the only reason I heard that conversation was because I was going downstairs to get a drink of water.</p><p>My heart races wildly in my chest, thumping resounding in my ears. My eyes are wide open, staring up at my ceiling. My mother redecorated my room while I was away at school, and I have to say, she did a far better job than Aunt Colette.  The walls are white, but the ceiling displays a pitch black night sky, stars twinkling, moon resembling the one outside. It's like the Great Hall, though more like a portrait than a weather enchantment. And I can't take my eyes off of it as my mind spins.</p><p>What was in that vial? It wasn't liquid, gaseous, and it hardly looked solid. It made me nauseous and intrigued at the same time, like something I should stay away from but don't want to.</p><p>Someone knocks on my door three times. "Celeste?"</p><p>I hesitate slightly before closing my eyes and pretending I was trying to fall asleep. "Huh?"</p><p>"Can I come in?"</p><p>I stretch my arms and back out, turning on my side with a slight grunt. "Yeah, sure."</p><p>The door creaks open, the light from the hallway seeping in as my father's muscular figure slips inside. I smile slightly. He looks ridiculous—this big guy slightly hunched over trying not to make too much noise.</p><p>"I'm turning your lights on," he mumbles before switching them on.</p><p>I pretend to flinch, rubbing my eyes as he walks over to my bedside and sitting down at the edge of my bed. My eyes stay closed as he calloused hand brushes some of my curls out of my face. I sigh softly, leaning into his warm palm before opening my eyes.</p><p>At my doorway stands my mother, still dressed in her work robes, her hair pinned out of her face, her face grim, her eyebrows furrowed, her lips straight. She looks at me carefully before glancing at my father and walking in carefully to sit down beside him.</p><p>"What's going on?" I ask, quirking my brow, a croaky and short laugh leaving my lips. "Are we doing bedtime stories again? No offense, but I think I've outgrown that."</p><p>"You're leaving again tomorrow," Father smiles faintly, reaching to clasp Mother's hand and rub his thumb over her wedding band. "Am I not allowed to kiss my daughter goodnight before she leaves?"</p><p>I roll my eyes. "Fine, I guess," I joke, grinning when he flicks my forehead in response. "You came home late. Long day at work?" I ask curiously, tilting my head a bit as my mind goes back to my overheard conversation of theirs. <em>Knockturn Alley is terrifying at night. </em>I saw them together at Knockturn Alley a little over two weeks ago, and now, tonight, my father was there again. Was he at the Spiny Serpent again? Or am I reading too far into things? "Did you stop somewhere?" I add in a light voice.</p><p>"Actually, I wanted to stop at this new bakery that opened up last month, but I'll go tomorrow morning to get you something for breakfast," he says easily, chuckling slightly as he raises his thumb to trace the thin white scar that runs from his left ear, down his cheek, and over his lips. "No, work ran late. Your mother got lucky and got out before I could."</p><p>Mother smiles slightly when he squeezes her hand. Her eyes go back to me, something churning in them, making friction and me uneasy.</p><p>"Things at the department are busy, huh?" I murmur.</p><p>"You wouldn't believe it. Do yourself a favor, Cel, and <em>don't </em>pursue Ministry work when you're older."</p><p>"I won't," I laugh softly.</p><p>"Celeste," Mother says suddenly, her voice soft but cold, trailing off as her sharp eyes glance away to a throw pillow that I tossed aside while scrambling to pretend I've been trying to sleep, "how long have you been missing your locket?"</p><p>My heart stops.</p><p>"What?" I ask with a breathy laugh, sitting up slightly to get a better look at her. I move too fast, though, and my head goes all light and flops back against my headboard.</p><p>"Your locket," she repeats with a stony calmness, reaching into her pocket and pulling her hand out in a fist. She then unfurls her fingers, the locket dropping down and swaying from the chain she pinches between her fingers. "How long have you been missing it?"</p><p>My mouth parts slowly as I struggle to find the right words while my mind panics. I glance over at Father, but he isn't looking at me. When I look back at Mother, her eyes are filled with more of that calm rage of hers.</p><p>"Well?"</p><p>"Um—" I pause, my mouth opening and closing like a fish as I try to get the parts of my brain to just function and work together for even <em>one</em> second. "A few days."</p><p>"A few days?" she asks coolly, tilting her head at me. "How many?"</p><p>"I don't—I don't know. Four? Five?"</p><p>"<em>Really?</em>" she smiles slightly, but it doesn't even start to reach her eyes. "Because I've been holding onto this for <em>sixteen days</em> waiting for you to bring it up."</p><p>I go silent, my heart working double-time in my chest, silencing everything in the room to a dull rush in my ears, the locket swaying like a pendulum from my mother's fingers before she snatches it back up into her palm. Father sighs softly, but when I catch his eye, he just looks away and at my mother.</p><p>"Um—okay, well, can I have it back now?" I laugh shortly, pulling my arm out from under my covers to hold my palm out.</p><p>"Why should I give it to you?" she asks coldly, her fist gripping the locket tighter.</p><p>"Corinne—"</p><p>"No," she interrupts Father without looking at him, pushing one of her short curls out of her face. "You've made it obvious, Celeste, that you couldn't care less about the locket."</p><p>I huff exasperatedly, shaking my head and rolling my eyes. "That's just not <em>true!"</em></p><p>"No? It's not? Then why didn't you say anything when you lost it?" she asks, tilting her chin up so her fiercely black eyes peer down at me in disdain.</p><p>
  <em>I wanted to avoid a conversation a lot like this one.</em>
</p><p>"Were you planning to go back to Hogwarts without it?"</p><p>"It's just a locket," I snap, my hand bunching my covers up into a fist. "Why do you have to make such a big freaking deal out of a <em>locket?</em>"</p><p>"Didn't I tell you never to take it off?" she whispers in a deathly, frightening voice, harsh eyes making it impossible to look away, not even just a couple inches to my right to my father for an ounce of reassurance. My heart threatens to jump right out of my throat, beating against my chest at a nauseating pace.</p><p>"It's <em>just</em> a <em>locket</em>," I say slowly and firmly, lowering my chin at her and gritting my teeth at the end to keep from raising my voice. "So just...give it back, and I won't lose it again. Please."</p><p>She looks at me, all kinds of emotions flickering through her face. Rage, disappointment, disgust, the holy trinity of emotions that my mother raised me with. Her lips are pressed in a thin line that only grows tighter and tighter, like a lock to a safe that can't be opened, like she knows if she opens her mouth, she'll say something harsh that she'll regret but never apologize for.</p><p>"Corinne," Father says gently. My eyes won't budge, but I can see from my peripheral vision as he reaches out gently to rub her arm.</p><p>She then drops the locket onto my bed and stands up, taking a deep breath. She smooths her robes out, clenching her jaw and growing perceptibly angrier. And then she looks at me, opens her mouth, changes her mind, and turns on her heel to silently storm out of my room.</p><p>"I hate her," I say bluntly once she's gone.</p><p>"No, you don't," Father responds in a gentle voice, picking the locket off my bed and extending it towards me.</p><p>"She hates me."</p><p>"No, she doesn't," he says, then sighing when I make no indication to move. He unclasps the necklace and clumsily wraps it around my neck, probably getting it stuck on a bunch of my hair when it clasps it again.</p><p>"Why does she act like this?"</p><p>He doesn't have an immediate response this time. Instead, he busies himself with tucking me in as I drop back down onto my back. His hands pull the covers up to my chin, straighten them out, move a pillow to the left, move it back to the right, and then he stills, sighs, and looks at me.</p><p>"She loves you very much, Celeste," he says in a stern voice, his eyes suddenly looking tired. "Don't you forget."</p><p>I scoff out a dry laugh. "Yeah, well, she could stand to show it a bit more, then. What's her issue with this stupid locket?"</p><p>"It's been in this family for a long time, you know. Almost as old as Merlin himself," he says with a faint chuckle, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees.</p><p>"Yeah, I know. I don't get it, though. It's just the damn Dark Mark on a chain. You aren't even—we aren't even—" I cut myself off with a heavy sigh.</p><p>"It's not the Dark Mark, Celeste," he says patiently.</p><p>"What the hell else is it supposed to be?"</p><p>"Language," he warns with a slight glare ("Yeah, whatever"). "It's <em>not</em>. You're smarter than that, Cel, think for a second. Compared to this locket, the Dark Mark is new. It's only a few decades old. Your locket is <em>centuries</em> old. I wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Lord took inspiration from it."</p><p>I'm silent for a few moments, eyes drifting up to my ceiling where the enchanted night sky twinkles at me silently. I'm struck by a random thought—I wonder if it's the same night sky on the face of Draco's watch.</p><p>"It looks an awful lot like the Dark Mark," I mumble, my hand going up to my neck to pick the locket up.</p><p>I've worn it for so long, seen it in my reflection so many times, fiddled with it when I couldn't sleep or was taking a test or was just bored out of my damn mind so many times that I have it memorized now. Golden but tarnished, making it look more bronze. A skill, mouth wide open, and countless snakes wrapped around the top of it, some looping through its eye sockets. An empty locket, two blank spaces on the inside waiting to be filled. No, I realize now, feeling rather stupid, it's not the Dark Mark. The Dark Mark has just one snake.</p><p>"I still don't get why it's so important to her," I sigh, watching a particularly big blue star on my ceiling wink at me. "It's a family heirloom, fine, but what's the harm if I take it off when I sleep? Or shower?" I laugh humorlessly. "Merlin, she's psychotic."</p><p>"She's also got rather impressive ears, so keep it down," Father jokes, a grin splitting his face before it falters. He glances aside to where Cheeky sleeps at the very edge of my bed, curled up and looking like one massive ball of grey fluff. "I think...that's a conversation you should have with her, and I know—I <em>know</em>," he stresses, holding a hand up when I try to interrupt, "that she doesn't talk easy about some things, but it has to be with her. Celeste, it matters to her. It can't hurt to just keep it on."</p><p>"She doesn't have to be so passive aggressive about it," I grumble. "I mean, did you hear her? '<em>I've been holding onto this for sixteen days waiting—'</em> Just shut up!"</p><p>Father winces slightly. "I know she doesn't communicate well, but—"</p><p>"But I don't wanna put up with it," I laugh humorlessly, throwing my hands up in the air. "I really don't. I'm so done."</p><p>He's silent, staring distractedly at Cheeky, his hand tapping against his knee repeatedly, moving faster and faster by each second. He's frowning, a great, deep frown, black lines cutting into his dark skin in sharp contrast with his white scars, and his hazel eyes are heavy with conflict.</p><p>And my mind goes back to the two overheard conversations and seeing my parents at Knockturn Alley. The way they entered a shop that has no doorknob, a shop where the keeper didn't even show me their face. The conversation they had with Draco's parents about how they're Ministry workers and the Dark Lord needs their help with something, how they turned down being Death Eaters, but Mother is having second thoughts, and apparently my family is in danger. And Knockturn Alley.</p><p>And the fact that Mother has had my locket for sixteen days, but I did <em>not</em> lose it. It was on the counter next to the sink while I showered for precisely twenty-five minutes. She didn't <em>find </em>it sixteen days ago, she took it. And why? For what?</p><p>And she had the audacity to get mad?</p><p>And then Father coming home late at night from Knockturn alley but saying he was at work. And he was holding a brown paper bag containing a vial of the most mysterious substance I've ever happened upon, and apparently someone named Soren managed to put it, whatever <em>it is</em>, in something, and maybe it'll work, whatever this other it is, or maybe it won't. My mind hurts.</p><p>And then there's that article in the news a couple days ago, the one that makes my stomach feel queasy. The one about how the night before, ten high level prisoners broke out of Azkaban.</p><p>"Hey," I say suddenly, and Father's head whips towards me. "Tell me about the Department of Secrets. What do you even do there?"</p><p>He stills, and the only sound is blood coursing through my veins. And then he gets up and smiles.</p><p>"Maybe another time. It's late, Celeste, and you have to get up early tomorrow. Sleep well."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: how do you like your eggs? i prefer poached</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. PRETTY GIRLS IN RED LACE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste and draco working on arithmancy!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>January 21st, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She shoves my shoulders, making me stumble back and hit the bookshelves.</p><p>My eyes widen as she pushes herself against me, giggling slightly while her arms wrap around my neck. I wince slightly when her sharp elbows stab my shoulders, placing my own hands on her waist. She smashes her lips against mine, mouth open a bit too wide, tongue a bit too <em>thrashy</em>, but I kiss back all the same.</p><p>"Oh, Draco," she moans softly, running her hands up and down my chest while shoving nearly her entire tongue into her mouth.</p><p>I pull my head back slightly—I don't like the feeling of have a dead fish in my mouth—to say, "We should move."</p><p>"Why?" she asks breathily, her hands going up to loosen my tie so it hangs over my shoulders and start to unbutton my shirt. "Nobody's here."</p><p>"Just in case—I know a spot in the back," I say, gently pushing her away from me and hoping the nauseated look on my face isn't so obvious. Pandora isn't usually this terrible, but I think when she goes long periods of time without hooking up, she forgets how to do it.</p><p>"Okay," she says, giving me a sweet grin and leaning up to messily smack her lips on mine. "Lead the way, Drakey."</p><p>I wince, turning away from her to rub my face. <em>Is this even worth it?</em> Yes, it is—it's been too damn long since I've come because of someone other than my own damn hand, so I'll put up with Pandora's nicknames and shitty making out of it means she'll suck my dick when I ask her to. I shoot her a tight smile when she giggles again before slipping tie off, shoving it into my pocket, and striding around the bookshelf to move to the back of the library.</p><p>I spend a lot of time in the library teaching myself half my classes, which means I know most of what there is to know about it. It's massive, so nobody ever bothers going all the way to the back. That's where all the obscure, useless books are anyway. It's also where I'm least likely to get interrupted, whether that's while I'm studying Ancient Runes or eating a pretty girl out.</p><p>"Are we there yet? No offense, I'm not in the mood to do some cardio," Pandora huffs behind me as we walk past shelves upon shelves, passing coffee tables and sofas and seats. "It's late, Draco, I don't think it matters—"</p><p>"I really <em>don't </em>want the librarian walking in on you sucking my dick," I say dismissively, and she instantly shuts up.</p><p>But soon enough we're near the back of the library where Pandora is shoving me against a shelf again. I wince when she does it—her arms and palms are just so bony, it feels like I'm being attacked by a bat or something. She's kissing me again, tongue shoving against mine, mouth wide open and getting spit all over my face. I put my hand on her back and in her hair to try to slow her down and guide her just a little—I'm considerate like that—but she doesn't falter for even a second.</p><p>Is making out like this even enjoyable for <em>her?</em></p><p>Her hands finish unbuttoning my shirt, and thankfully, her lips move from mine and go to my neck and jaw. I close my eyes and lean my head back, gripping the bookshelf while I let her do all the work. Her lips aren't so bad when they aren't on mine. It's still absurdly wet as she kisses down my neck and over my collarbones, but I ignore that.</p><p>She peppers kisses all the way down my torso, and right as she starts kneeling in front of me, fingers fiddling with my belt, she glances up.</p><p>"Draco?" she asks, a slow smile on her face.</p><p>"Mm, yeah?" I respond distractedly, wishing she'd take my damn belt off just a bit faster.</p><p>"Don't you know another language? What is it, Romanian?"</p><p>"French," I say, pursing my lips as she finally unbuckles my belt and moves on to unbutton and unzip my pants.</p><p>Pandora carefully rubs me over my boxers. I wince when I realize I'm only half hard, putting all my mental energy into focusing on all the things in the world that turn me on. She presses kisses to my lower torso, looking up at me seductive while her lips leave lakes of saliva on my skin.</p><p>"Can you talk dirty to me in French?" she asks in a lower voice.</p><p>"Uh..." <em>Hot things, Draco, sexy things. What are some sexy things? Thighs. I like thighs. And tits. Just pretend she's already sucking your dick. That's hot, right? For fuck's sake, just get hard already you massive imbecile</em>. "Fine, I guess."</p><p>Pandora beams.</p><p>"<em>Je ne sais pas vraiment quoi dire</em> [I don't really know what to say]," I admit, glancing down at the top of her blonde hand as she presses kisses (close-mouthed, thankfully) over my half-erection, fingers slipping into the waistband of my briefs. "<em>J'aimerais que tu sois plus douée pour t'embrasser</em> [I wish you were better at kissing]."</p><p>"Fuck, you sound so hot," she whispers, her hands slowly dragging my briefs down.</p><p>I panic—I'm still not <em>fucking hard</em>—and pull her hands away.</p><p>She looks at me with mild confusion before smiling deviously. "Oh? You want me to tease you some more?"</p><p>"Sure," I cough out as she starts kissing me over my pelvis and right above the waistband of my briefs.</p><p>"Keep talking, please," she simpers.</p><p>I slip a hand down to her hair, tangling my fingers to keep a steady grip on her head while I close my eyes again. <em>Think of hot things</em>. I remember the week before I left for break, Pandora and I had one last hook up for the year. She wanted to ride me reverse cowgirl—that was pretty good, right?</p><p>"<em>Je suis bien trop juene pour souffrir de dysfonction érectile</em> [Im way too young to suffer from erectile dysfunction]," I grumble lowly. I worry for a moment that Pandora will figure out what I've said, but then I remember quickly that she's not nearly smart enough to recognize cognates. "<em>C'est ta faute. Tu embrasses comme un poisson</em> [This is your fault. You kiss like a fish]."</p><p>
  <em>Think about...lingerie, yes, lingerie is hot. Pretty girls in red lace. Multiple of them. Oh, all in your bed. Or in the shower. Okay, get rid of the lace, just think about hot girls in the shower. You can do this. Soap. Soapy girls. Oh...what if they're soaping each other up...that's kinda hot...</em>
</p><p>This isn't working.</p><p>"<em>Qu'est-ce que je fais</em> [What the fuck do I do]?"</p><p>
  <em>Just pretend she's already sucking your dick. Pandora is sucking your dick. Great. Remember what she did last time?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Imagine if Celeste did that.</em>
</p><p>"What the fuck?" I blurt, my eyes shooting open.</p><p>Pandora picks her head up. "Huh?"</p><p>I look down at her blankly, my heart pounding wildly in my chest while she gives me that confused look, green eyes squinting at me. My hand in her hair drops to my side as I let out an easy-going chuckle, ruffling my own hair up.</p><p>"I just remembered, I have some Arithmancy homework to finish," I say quickly, doing my pants back up and buckling my belt, "so we'll take a rain check on this."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"I said we'll take a rain check," I snap with an eye roll, watching as she frowns and stands up. She just stands there, watching me button my shirt back up and grab my tie from my pocket to tie it around my neck.</p><p>"So—"</p><p>"Night," I say, stalking off, trying <em>really</em> fucking hard not to think about Celeste.</p><p>—</p><p>When I walk into the common an hour later after all my Prefect patrolling, she's the only one in there.</p><p>She's clearly lost in her thoughts or something, because she doesn't glance up at the sound of the stone door moving to open and close the entrance. I stand near, stifling a yawn while I look at her closely.</p><p>She's sitting near the fireplace. The room always goes a bit dim after curfew, the green lanterns above just faint glows, so her body is most illuminated by the golden fire. She hasn't changed out of her uniform yet, though it's disheveled. Her robe is a crumpled mess on the sofa, her tie is loosened, shirt unbuttoned and a little untucked, and her knee-highs are all uneven. She's kicked her shoes off, one dangerously close to the fire.</p><p>And rather than sitting on a chair or a seat like a normal person, she's on the ground with her legs stretched out and a whole bunch of books and papers spread out around her, a furious look of concentration on her face. She's scratching something with a quill, but then she sighs loudly, curses under her breath, throws the quill down, and throws her head back to lean against the armchair she sits in front of.</p><p>I take a few steps forward, watching as she rubs her eyes and laughs humorlessly, the kind of manic laugh where you're so exhausted, your own misery is amusing.</p><p>She then picks her head up and ties her hair into a messy pony at the top of her head, eyes, black today, absolutely full of rage as they glare down at a piece of parchment placed over an open textbook. She laughs again, a simple, sharp exhale, a disappointed shake of her head, an angry smirk.</p><p>"Celeste?" I call out curiously. She doesn't seem<br/>to hear me, so I try again in a louder voice, "Celeste?"</p><p>Her head snaps up in a mild fright, eyes wide. She sees it's me, though, and instantly relaxed and rolls her eyes to herself. "Hi," she says flatly, leaning over to grab her quill once more and continue scratching on her parchment. She writes for a couple seconds before glancing up at me blankly. "Can I help you?"</p><p>"No, I was just..." I glance around. "It's empty in here. Why aren't you studying in your dorm? It's <em>well</em> past curfew."</p><p>"Do you want me to get out?" she huffs, slamming her textbook shut and glaring at me. "Just tell me to get out, then. Since when do you fucking care about curfew?" she grumbles under her breath, her hands shaking slightly as she gathers up all her books and papers, bits of her hair falling into her face.</p><p>"Celeste, stop," I sigh exasperatedly, walking across the common room towards the fireplace, stopping just a few feet away from her. She doesn't listen, just muttering things I can't hear and rather aggressively piling her things up. "<em>Stop</em>," I snap more clearly, waiting for her to look at me before I crouch down.</p><p>"What the hell is your issue?" she scoffs, her body relaxing abruptly and her piled books spilling off her lap and back onto the floor. "Merlin, just go wank it out and leave me alone..."</p><p>"What the hell is <em>your</em> issue?" I scoff right back, ignoring that last bit.</p><p>"Fuck off, Draco," she sighs irritably, pushing all the books back off her lap and opening one up again, continuing to scribble on the parchment. Her writing gets more and more aggressive to the point where what she's writing is hardly legible, and she's probably seconds away from tearing a whole.</p><p>"No, seriously," I scowl, grabbing the textbook and pulling it out from under her hand, "what're you even doing that has you so bitchy?"</p><p>She tries to grab the textbook back, but I simply slap her hand away as I squint down at the text. I quickly recognize the Agrippan method staring me back in the face, numbers swimming around the page.</p><p>"Arithmancy," I say in realization, looking back up at Celeste and letting her take the textbook back with an angry huff. "Is that it?"</p><p>"Shut up, Malfoy," she mumbles, pushing hair out of her face. She stares blankly at her parchment before pulling her wand out of the waistband of her skirt and giving it a short flourish, all the ink on the parchment instantly disappearing and the paper turning blank. "Don't you have something better to do? Girls to fuck? First years to scream at?"</p><p>I smirk slightly, looking at her with amusement. She rolls her eyes at me and turns her attention back to her textbook, resting an elbow on the armchair behind her and tugging at her hair slightly.</p><p>And then I drop down from a crouching position to the floor, carefully moving books out of the way so I can sit down beside her, leaning against the chair, with my legs outstretched and arm brushing against hers. My pulse pounds quickly, but I feel strangely calm as I glance over her shoulder at the page she's reading.</p><p>"What are you doing?" she asks calmly, dipping her quill in ink and scribbling a number one to begin the first problem, though she hesitates after that.</p><p>"Do you need help, Celeste?" I ask, unable to help the smirk on my face or the way my voice wavers as I try not to laugh.</p><p>"Fuck off, you condescending little bitch," she snaps instantly, making me snort. Her language is rather vulgar when she's pissed off.</p><p>"I'm just trying to me useful," I shrug, my lips twitching. She looks so angry, but for some reason, it's just amusing. "What kind of Prefect would I be if I didn't help out a fellow struggling peer?"</p><p>"I'm not <em>struggling</em>," she says in a curt voice, shooting me a glare out of the side of her eyes. "<em>God</em>, can you please just <em>leave?</em>"</p><p>I look at her closely, watching as she focuses back on her work. She starts scribbling down the first problem, gnawing on her bottom lip as her eyes flit back and forth between parchment and textbook. I know she can feel my gaze on the side of her head, and I know it makes her uncomfortable, because she inhaled and exhales deeply, trying so very hard to be unaffected.</p><p>I look back down at the parchment. Arithmancy is really just Divination but using numbers. Letters have assigned numeric values, so names can be used to predict trends and behavior patterns of a person in the future. I watch as she scribbles down a name, a made up one from the textbook. <em>Starling Soots</em>. And then she calculates this Starling Soots's character, heart, and social number.</p><p>"Good," I say softly, when she scribbled the last number down, making her startle slightly as if she's forgotten I'm here.</p><p>Celeste gives me an odd look. "What?"</p><p>"You did it right," I shrug, propping my left arm up on the arm chair so I can lean in closer to tap the paper with my right hand, my face coming dangerously close to hers—though she doesn't move away. "Are you using the Chaldean method? You got it right, if you are."</p><p>"I am, yeah," she murmurs quietly, fiddling with her quill.</p><p>"So you're right. Why are you so frustrated, then?"</p><p>"Because...the math is easy, it's elementary," she huffs, swatting my hand to get it off her parchment, "but how the fuck am I supposed to predict the future with this?"</p><p>I'm quiet for a moment, watching her big, bright eyes flit between mine. I smile at her slightly, making her furrow her brows. "Do you need help?" I ask slowly.</p><p>Celeste rolls her eyes and looks away. "<em>Please</em>. I'm getting Os in all my classes. I'm probably smarter than you."</p><p>I snort humorously. "You're also taking thirteen classes. If you need help, just ask."</p><p>"I don't."</p><p>"I'm pretty good at Arithmancy, you know. Purely <em>awful</em> at Ancient Runes, but Arithmancy comes easy to me," I say lithely.</p><p>"Brag about it, why don't you?" she says sourly.</p><p>"Ask me for help, Celeste."</p><p>"I don't want to."</p><p>I snap slightly at this. My hand flies up to grip her jaw, turning her head to face me. She tries to look away, but I only dig my fingers into her skin and force her to look at me. The stone in her dark eyes churns as she scowls at me darkly.</p><p>"I don't give out my help just like that, so don't be an idiot," I say lowly, my hand moving to grip her chin instead. "Just ask me."</p><p>"I don't need your—"</p><p>"It's a fucking <em>favor</em>, Celeste," I laugh incredulously, "so get over yourself."</p><p>"I don't do favors," she shakes her head. "I don't ask for them."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"People say things are free, but then they throw it all back into your face the second they get mad," she shrugs, looking entirely bored of me, "so I don't ask for favors."</p><p>"Fine," I say simply, letting go of her chin. "Then you owe me. Deal?"</p><p>"Why are you so insistent on helping me?" she asks with a judgmental look, scanning me up and down with disdain.</p><p>"Even the worst of us like to do charity work sometimes."</p><p>"Fuck off!" she exclaims, but a slight smile briefly finds her face. She realizes quickly and wipes it off, putting that mean scowl back on, but I'm already grinning at her. "My <em>Godric</em>, you're annoying."</p><p>"Yikes. Should you really be insulting the only person willing to help you right now?" I ask sarcastically, leaning in close to her face.</p><p>Her eyes briefly flicker down to my lips. "You're a piece of a shit," she says quietly, her twitching lips threatening to smile. She then clears her throat and looks back down to the parchment while my arm slips around her shoulders. She tenses, but she doesn't say anything. "So how am I repaying you?"</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but she interjects quickly.</p><p>"It better not be sex," she says in a calm voice with threatening undertones, flipping a page in the textbook. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm not willing to whore myself out. A night of you helping me with <em>Arithmancy</em> versus a night of me giving you the best sex of your life? Not a fair deal."</p><p>I laugh softly, making her give me a confused look. "I was gonna say that we should decide <em>after</em> I help you. No sex. I'm trying to win that from you, anyway."</p><p>"Gross," she grumbles, but she bites her lip when I gently brush my hand on her thigh.</p><p>"You still haven't asked me for help."</p><p>"What?" she scowls. "Yes I did. I—"</p><p>"You agreed to let me help, but you didn't <em>ask</em> me for my help," I smirk, giving her thigh a quick squeeze, just to keep her on her toes and also because the way she jolts is kinda cute. "Ask me."</p><p>"I hate you."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>She pouts slightly, eyes lethal. And then Celeste huffs and rolls her eyes, opening her mouth to ask in a voice much like a kid who has been forced by their mother to apologize for something, "Can you help me?"</p><p>I give her a pointed look.</p><p>"<em>Please?</em>"</p><p>I brighten instantly, leaning over her to grab a spare quill and saying cheekily, "Oh, I'd <em>love</em> to, darling. All you had to do was ask."</p><p>She looks like she wants to hit me.</p><p>—</p><p>"There you go," I say, watching her scribble the last prediction down in a tiny, blank corner of the parchment, her handwriting getting progressively worse until she triumphantly throws her quill down and leans back, arms in the air and eyes shut right. I laugh softly. "Congratulations."</p><p>"I'm gonna sleep like a fucking champion," she groans, stretching her back out and tugging at her tie to rip it off her neck. "Shit. What time is it?"</p><p>My arm stuck behind her neck, so I awkwardly lean over to glance at my watch and wince when I see the time. "Past twelve. You have any other homework?"</p><p>Her face drops. But then she laughs slightly. "Whatever, it's not like I was gonna get any sleep this week anyway."</p><p>"What do you have to do that's due tomorrow?" I ask, watching as she relaxes her face and lets her head drop on my shoulder, a heavy sigh leaving her lips and making her chest deflate, like all tension has been released.</p><p>"Nothing due tomorrow," she says, a soft yawn leaving her lips and making her closed eyes squeeze tighter. "I'm working on the homework for next week."</p><p>"Ew," I wrinkle my nose. "You're one of <em>those</em> kids?"</p><p>"Draco, so are you."</p><p>"Oh. True. C'mon, you should get some sleep. You can wait a day to work on <em>next week's homework</em>," I urge, nudging my shoulder. Her head just drops back on there.</p><p>"I'm, uh, sorry for making you stay up, by the way," she says in a tired voice, her hand going up to mine that hangs over her left shoulder. I quirk my eyebrows at her when she starts playing with my rings, twisting them around. "You have <em>so</em> many rings."</p><p>"And <em>you</em> are <em>so</em> sleep deprived that you're acting <em>delirious</em>," I say dryly, looking at her blankly as she snorts humorously.</p><p>"I'm not delirious," she scoffs.</p><p>"You <em>apologized</em>, you're playing with my hand, and your head is on my shoulder. I'd almost think you're warming up to me," I say with a slight smirk, peering down at the top of her head.</p><p>"Oh," she says, dropping my hand and picking her head up, "maybe I <em>am</em> a little delirious." She lets out a soft laugh before leaning forward to nearly stack up her books and compile all her loose parchment, her hair falling in her face and her clothes all rumpled. She looks like a mess, like she's just had a particularly aggressive quickie in a closet. "I think I figured out how to pay you back," she says, capping her ink bottle and glancing up at me.</p><p>"Yeah?" I ask, leaning back against the arm chair and leisurely watching her shove her books into her bag while I think about the History assignment I've been putting off until tonight.</p><p>"You said you suck at Ancient Runes, right?" she asks, buttoning her bag shut and tossing it onto the armchair before turning her body to face me. Her legs are curled underneath her and her arm rests in the chair touching mine. She tucks her hair behind her ear, tilting her head at me.</p><p>"Absolutely abysmal at it," I say with a slight grimace, rubbing the back of my neck.</p><p>"Well, I think I'm pretty good at it. I could help you out sometime, if you want," she shrugs slightly, leaning in slightly to rest her cheek on the back of her palm, an oddly youthful look to her.</p><p>I lift my eyebrows. "You sure? You're willing to put up with me for over an hour to practically teach me the entire subject? Because I really am shit at it."</p><p>"Yeah, I mean, you stayed up with me tonight," she says with a calm look on her face in sharp contrast to the raging fury I walked in on her in. "Least I could do."</p><p>I hesitate for a moment, an idea that could either be absolutely genius or the very thing that leads to my demise striking my head. "Celeste," I say slowly, reaching over to where she tossed her tie to hand it back to her, "we're the only two students in our grade taking <em>all thirteen</em> classes. We're in the same ten together, and we're self-studying the same three."</p><p>"Yes, you're very observant," she says dryly, tucking her tie into her bag. "Where's this going?"</p><p>I shrug, glancing away and at the flickering fire behind her. "Well, maybe we can study together sometimes. Sometimes suffering isn't so bad when there's company to suffer with. I can help you with Arithmancy, you can help me with Ancient Runes. It could be helpful," I say in a light voice, my eyes dropping to her uneven knee-high socks. I can't help but reach out and fix them, feeling her tense when my fingers drag over her skin.</p><p>"Yeah, it could be helpful," Celeste says slowly, "<em>or</em>, by the end of our first little <em>study date</em>, we'll end up tearing each other's hair out."</p><p>I quirk an eyebrow at her.</p><p>"Non-sexually."</p><p>My eyebrow rises higher.</p><p>"Or sexually. See? You never know. It could prove to be extremely counterproductive."</p><p>"Or it could be <em>productive. </em>We got a lot done tonight itself," I point out, smirking as I add, "You're just a <em>little</em> less stupid than you were a few hours ago, now."</p><p>She shoves my shoulder. It hurts more than I expect.</p><p>"Maybe I can give you complimentary lessons on how not be an insufferable douche," she snaps sarcastically, but I see a hint of a smile on her lips. "Fine. We'll try it out. Tomorrow, the library? Does eight o'clock sound good?"</p><p>"Sure," I say, grunting as I push myself to stand up. I hold a hand out to help her get up, but she just looks at it incredulously before getting up by herself, prompting me to roll my eyes.</p><p>"Good," she says brightly, slinging her bag over her shoulder and leaning past me to grab her robe. "And don't be late. I might hex you."</p><p>"I'd like to see you try," I scoff with a slight smile, wandering towards the boys' dorm hall while Celeste walks to the opposite side of the common room.</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>"Get some sleep."</p><p>"No promises."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what color are the walls of your room?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. CHINESE CHOMPING CABBAGE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>ah, a sweet, innocent, purely focusing on school study session</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>February 11th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Is this your tie or mine?" Graham asks, holding it up near his face and squinting at it.</p><p>"Does it matter?" I mutter, snatching it out of his hand and tucking it under my collar to quickly tie snuck to my neck. I grab my grey sweater, sliding it on over my clothes before properly tucking my shirt into my skirt and slipping my feet back into my shoes.</p><p>I bump into Graham and nearly topple over, making an unamused noise. It's our lunch break, and he managed to convince me to participate in a quickie in a <em>broom closet</em>. A cramped one, at that, so we ended up doing it standing.</p><p>"Did you use the spell?" I ask as I lean against a particularly large bucket to lace up my shoes.</p><p>"What?" he responds in a confused voice.</p><p>I freeze, tilting my head up to look at him sternly. "The spell, Graham. The Contraceptive Charm. The one that makes sure that nine months from now, we aren't cradling an ugly little baby. <em>Protego Exgravida</em>. Ring any fucking bells in that hollow head of yours?" I snap, looking back down to my shoe to quickly finishing tying.</p><p>"Oh," he says, then laughing slightly. "Yeah, totally. I did it right after you took your panties off—"</p><p>"Okay, great," I say, snatching my bag up and slinging it over my shoulders. I glance at my watch, cursing softly when I see that I'm late to my study session. "Bye."</p><p>"Wait," Graham calls right as my hand touches the doorknob, making me sigh exasperatedly and turn to give him an impatient look.</p><p>"Can I help you?" I ask dryly, tapping my foot on the hardwood floor.</p><p>"So, uh, Valentine's Day is this weekend," he says, smiling his lopsided smile and rubbing the back of his neck as he glances away at a broomstick leaning against the wall.</p><p>My heart stops. "Yeah, and?" I ask as casually as possible.</p><p>"Well, I mean, I was just wondering if you might want to go to Hogsmeade with me?" he asks with a slight shrug. He's still panting softly from our previous activities, lips slightly parted, hair flopping over his forehead that glistens slightly. Merlin, he's an attractive guy, but he's gotta be <em>stupid</em> if he thinks I'm saying yes.</p><p>"Like a date?" I grimace slightly, my hand on the doorknob tightening before I let go and turn fully to look at him. "Are you asking me out on a <em>date</em>, Montague?"</p><p>His eyebrows lift slightly. He then clears his throat, puffs his chest out a bit, and drops his voice a whole octave to say, "I mean, I think it'd be kinda cool to spend some time with you outside all the closets and dorm rooms, you feel?"</p><p>I look at him blankly, absolutely astounded by what I'm hearing, my lips parting and brows furrowing as I wonder what words to use to let Graham know that <em>absolutely the fuck not</em> without hurting his feelings and having to find a different sex buddy to keep on call.</p><p>"So..." I let out a soft, pained noise. "So you want to...what? Walk around <em>holding hands</em>? Go to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop and cuddle while sipping on some chamomile? Buy matching hats or something?" I struggle to get the words out, my scowl growing more and more prominent as I glance between his eyes frantically.</p><p>He inhaled shakily, letting out a nervous laugh. "Oh, I mean, no, but like..." Graham shakes his head violently, reminding me of a dog that's just gotten wet. "It's more like a...group thing, y'know? The team, some girls, we're just gonna chill around Hogsmeade. You in?"</p><p>"So are you asking me to come <em>with you</em> to this group thing, or are you asking me to come to a group thing that you'll happen to be at?" I ask, unable to keep the disgusted look off my face.</p><p>No offense to him. He's cute. His personality is semi-decent (he reminds me of a dog who still thinks it's a puppy, but mix in some douchebag-ness and mild misogyny). He's athletic. I'm sure he'll make some dimwitted girl who is perfectly content being a trophy wife (which, y'know, you go girl) <em>very</em> happy one day, but I'd rather not sit on a shelf collecting dust.</p><p>"Uh...the first, I think?" he says, pouting slightly as he scratches his black hair.</p><p>I clamp my lips together, inhaling deeply before forcing a polite smile. "Yeah, no offense, Graham, you're super great and everything, but I don't think going on a date is for me. Anyway, I'd rather spend Valentine's Day in the infirmary with mumblemumps than in Hogsmeade. Bye!"</p><p>And before he can stop me again, I'm practically flying out of the broom closet (nearly knocking over a Ravenclaw in the process) and down the halls to the library, wincing when I glance at my watch and realize I've kept Draco waiting for fifteen minutes now.</p><p>"No <em>running!</em>" shouts an appalled Madam Pince when I dart through the open doors of the library.</p><p>"Sorry!" I shout back, continuing to sprint past the many shelves of books, glancing this way and that to find a head of silvery-blond hair paired with evil grey eyes, a cocky smirk, and just an overall smug attitude. It seems, however, that he chose to find a spot near the back, because I'm still running and there's still no irritating little twat to be found.</p><p>Finally, after what feels like hours of running, which is never fun after being fucked standing, I see him sitting at the literal back of the library that I've never seen before today, bent over a textbook scanning a page with a calm expression on his face.</p><p>I scoff to myself before regaining composure. I slap on a peaceful face, straighten my hair, brush off my ruffled clothes, and I walk over to the table at which he is seated as if I'm not late at all.</p><p>"You're late," he says without looking up from his textbook, suavely flipping a page while I take a seat beside him.</p><p>I groan softly, swinging my bag up onto the table. "I know, but—"</p><p>"I don't really want to hear an excuse," he interrupts calmly, glancing up only to push my bag out of his space. "You're lucky we have a free period after this."</p><p>I huff softly, opening my bag and pulling out some books, paper, ink, and a quill. "Yeah, well," I mutter under my breath, feeling him look up and direct his piercing gaze to the side of my face, "maybe if you didn't choose a seat a literal mile away from the entrance, I wouldn't be so damn <em>late</em>."</p><p>"It took you—" He glances at his fancy little watch, his lips pursed tightly, "—seventeen minutes to walk from the entrance to this table, Celeste?"</p><p>I roll my eyes, opening up a textbook.</p><p>"If that's the case, I suppose it isn't your time management we need to work on, but rather your evident lack of exercise," he says sarcastically, leaning forward to abruptly slam my textbook shut and make me jump. I turn my head, shocked, to look at him, taking in his hard glare and unamused smile. "Have you been doing any cardio, Celeste? Need some help?"</p><p>"Oh, shut up," I scoff, trying to open the textbook again, though his hand pressed down on it is somehow too strong. I cross my arms and lean back in my seat, glaring at him. "You're such a passive aggressive little dickhead, you know that?"</p><p>His lips twitch, a small smirk appearing, all his icy features melting away spare for those impenetrable crystal eyes. "<em>Little</em>? Don't tell me you've already forgotten—"</p><p>"Okay!" I interrupt, my eyes going wide as I sit up straight and he chuckles softly, finally taking his hand off of my textbook. "You said it myself, I'm late, so why don't we, uh, get started? What's on the agenda today? Potions?"</p><p>"We do Potions later," he says, clearing his throat and sitting back up to slide his own textbook for me to see. "Today is Herbology. We have that exam tomorrow, remember?"</p><p>We've had two previous scheduled study sessions so far, but I have a feeling we'll need more and more as the months pass. The OWLs are coming up, and with winter break already over, the exams feel much more ominous and real. The stress has somehow magnified, and professors have been assigning even more homework than they were before break. Honestly, I might just spend this weekend catching up. The scheduled study sessions with Draco have been helpful, but we've been having far more than just the two. With all the workload, we've ended up with impromptu sessions where we happen to find each other in the library or common room at the same time.</p><p>We quickly get into the rhythm of the session. Draco's handwriting is remarkably good, but the content of his notes are so sparse, it's a waste even glancing at them. Mine however, mine are detailed, but my handwriting is absolutely shit to the point where he <em>never</em> fails to make a snarky comment about it every time we study together.</p><p>"Honestly, Zabini, a Hippogriff could write better than this," he scowls, flipping through my many pages of notes on self-fertilizing shrubs.</p><p>"Oh, fuck off," I scoff, looking at the one sentence he has on self-fertilizing shrubs (<em>self-fertilizing shrubs create their own fertilizer</em>, how insightful). "You get mauled by <em>one</em> glorified chicken, and suddenly you're the Hippogriff expert, huh?"</p><p>He takes my notes, stacks them together nearly, and then he whacks me over the back of my head with an indignant glare in his eyes.</p><p>"Hey!" I duck my head to avoid another smack, but then he just whacks the side of my head several more times. "This is—<em>stop it!</em>" I can't help but let out a shriek of a laugh when he stands up, looms over me, and continues to assault me with my own, beautiful (but admittedly ugly) and detailed notes, his spare hand gripping my shoulder tightly to make sure I can't move. "I'm gonna get a—<em>ow!</em>—fucking paper cut, you little git!"</p><p>"That did not hurt," he huffs, though he drops my notes back onto the table and sits down with a dramatic thud, peering at me from over his nose. "And if you get a paper cut, you deserve it."</p><p>"Oh, c'mon, Dray," I laugh teasingly, seeing his eyes flash threateningly at the little nickname while I straighten up and fix my hair. "You got attacked by that Hippogriff. Don't you remember how <em>awful</em> and <em>traumatizing</em> it was to get that measly little paper cut?" I pout mockingly. "I mean—"</p><p>"Celeste, I'm not afraid to hit girls," he says calmly, turning his razor sharp gaze to me and clenching his jaw, his blond hair all fluffy.</p><p>I smirk. "Well, you already know I enjoy that, so it's not much of a threat, is it?"</p><p>He buries his face in his palms.</p><p>Eventually, we manage to get through self-fertilizing shrubs (interesting little things: they thrive off of flesh and tend to kill each other) and move onto the Chinese Chomping Cabbage. Lunch has already ended, but our free period is over an hour long. We've grown a bit restless since then. I'm currently sitting on top of the table, my ankles crossed and feet resting on the arm of Draco's chair. He's sitting right in front of me; slouching slightly with one hand continuously rubbing his jaw and the other placed on my calf, though I don't think he quite realizes what he's doing when he absentmindedly rubs my calf or gives it a tight squeeze in reaction to when he gets a question wrong.</p><p>I have the Herbology textbook open over my lap, peering over it as I find questions to quiz him.</p><p>"Here's an easy one," I say with a cheeky grin. "From where does the Chinese Chomping Cabbage originate?"</p><p>Draco glares at me. "Australia."</p><p>"Ooh, incorrect, but I can see how you might get that wrong," I respond dryly, ignoring the pinch he gives my leg. "Next question: what are its favorite things to eat?"</p><p>"Pussy?" he asks with a hopeless expression on his face.</p><p>I choke on my spit, clutching the textbook for dear life while he chuckles at me and runs his hand up my leg to my knee, holding me steady so I don't fall off the table.</p><p>"Wow, um, another close one, but no," I say, my eyes watering slightly. I wipe at them while he smirks at me. "Try again. And actually try this time."</p><p>"Fine," he says in a soft voice, eyes drifting away as he rubs his index finger over his lower lip. "Carrots? Carrots, turnips, parsnips, and...I don't know, zucchini?"</p><p>"Close," I say with a slight smile. "Chomping Cabbages actually <em>only</em> eat root vegetables, so get rid of the zucchini, and that's perfect. Ready for the next question? When is the best time to—?"</p><p>"Let's take a break," Draco says abruptly, an odd glint in his heavy eyes as he scans me up and down</p><p>I lift my eyebrows up at him inquisitively before shrugging slightly. "Sure," I say, carefully slipping a folded bit of parchment into the textbook to save the page before closing it and setting it down beside me before turning back to face. "You wanna just sit? Maybe walk around? <em>Merlin</em>, I could really use a stretch right now," I say, throwing my arms up in the air to stretch my back out, arching it and groaning softly as my sore muscles rejoice. "<em>Fuck</em>."</p><p>Draco's hands are on my legs, suddenly spreading them apart. I instinctively squeeze them together, but he's stronger, easily propping my heels on the arms of his chair on either side of him. I keep my face as unaffected as possible, but my eyebrows furrow as I watch him closely. He chuckles silently, leaning back to eye me up with amusement written all over his face.</p><p>"Let's just talk," he says calmly, but there's something mischievous lingering in his voice.</p><p>"Okay..." I say suspiciously, narrowing my eyes at him. "Do I need to keep my legs spread wide to talk?" I ask with a slight scoff, leaning forward to rest my forearms on my knees and get closer to him, though he's so casually leaned back that I hardly get within a foot of his face.</p><p>"No, that's just for my own fun," he says with a tilt of his head. "How was your day, Celeste?"</p><p>I laugh dryly. "You're in all my classes, <em>Dray</em>, I'm sure there's nothing new I could tell you."</p><p>"Humor me," he says simply, his hands resting casually on my ankles.</p><p>"Okay, <em>fine</em>. I woke up at 6:30, did some Muggle Studies, and took a nice shower. It was hot, like burn your back off and lose all feeling in your tits hot," I say sarcastically, pretending not to notice the way his hands gently rub up and down my calves, occasionally squeezing the muscle much like a massage.</p><p>"Go on," he urges, his lips twitching to fight the smirk that threatens to take over. "I kind of like the image of you in your shower."</p><p>I roll my eyes. "You want details? Fine. I washed my body, because, you know, I'm sanitary. Do you wanna know the scent? Of my body wash? It's walnut vanilla. It's the kind that soaps up really easily, which is nice, because then I can spend less time actually cleaning myself and more time singing in the shower."</p><p>"You sing in the shower?" he asks with a soft laugh, eyes glittering up at me.</p><p>My face warms slightly. "Maybe. Sometimes. Whatever. I didn't wash my hair today," I continue, leaning back on my palms. "Wash day isn't 'til Sunday. You wanna know the scent of that, too? My shampoo? It's blackberry. I think there's a tiny amount of plum, but it's mostly blackberry."</p><p>"You're a sarcastic little shit," he says, abruptly squeezing both my legs. I gasp—he smirks.</p><p>"I'm just doing what you asked me to," I snap back while his hands go up to the tops of my knee-high socks, fingers slipping under them. "Where was I? I showered, I had breakfast. I was pretty hungry this morning, so I had some crepes. Damn, the elves here make a <em>mean</em> apple-cinnamon crepe. I'd never think to have an apple-cinnamon crepe for breakfast, but here we are n—what are you doing?"</p><p>I frown down at Draco who has pushed his chair back and is currently standing on his knees in front of me, an amused look on his face. My legs dangle uselessly from the table, though they tense when his hands suddenly go to my socks and slowly drag them down to my ankles.</p><p>"Go on," he says, heavy eyes amused.</p><p>"What are you doing?" I laugh simply when he takes my legs and swings them over his shoulders, hands gripping my thighs. My stomach flutters at the swift motion, but I keep my face unimpressed.</p><p>"You're a smart little girl," he responds calmly, pressing a kiss inside my leg right off the side of my knee. "You can figure it out."</p><p>"Don't call me a little—a little girl," I scoff firmly, though my voice falters for a moment when his cold rings press against my burning skin. "Merlin, you <em>really </em>want to eat me out, huh? That's borderline obsessive, babe. Like, seriously, did someone slip you some Amortentia? Cause, like, I'm flattered, but just chill the f-<em>fuck</em>...out..."</p><p>He's kissing up the inside of my thigh, lips hot and feverish, soft but domineering as they tickle my skin. My legs tense, and it takes all my willpower not to tighten them around his neck. I keep them as loose as possible, unaffected, hardly noticing what's going on right below my belt. His hands reach around the sides of my legs to grasp the tops of my thighs, occasionally squeezing, his rings so cold.</p><p>"Go on," he murmurs. "What happened after breakfast?"</p><p>"Is this part of the game, or something?" I laugh slightly, flexing my legs trying not to squeeze them close. "It's, uh, an odd time to <em>play</em>, Draco. Broad daylight, in a library, anybody could walk in."</p><p>"Nobody ever comes back here," he says, kissing the inside of the middle of my thigh, glancing up at me with a mild smirk when I shift uncomfortably, my core already aching. "I've spent countless hours studying History and fucking girls like you on this exact table, darling, and not once have I been interrupted."</p><p>I quirk a brow at him.</p><p>And then I reach down and grab him my his tie, grabbing a fistful of his shirt as well, and I pull him up to his feet, my legs wrapping around his hips as he places his hands down on the table on either side of mine. He looks slightly startled, but he laughs softly when I lean back and pull him in with me, ankles locking over his tailbone.</p><p>"Girls <em>just like me</em>?" I ask challengingly, wrapping his tie around my fist to pull him in closer, smirking when he chokes slightly. "You'll be hard-pressed to find a girl <em>anything</em> like me."</p><p>I tug him in abruptly, smashing my lips against his. He makes a muffled noise of surprise, but he responds instantly. He lifts me up slightly so he can slip his hands under my skirt, grasping my ass with those strong hands of his. His hips roll against mine while his lips kiss me aggressively, hungrily, like he's running out of breath and I'm his only source of oxygen. Draco leans forward, making me nearly fall back. I press my hands down on the table to hold me up, but my palm lands on a loose piece of paper and makes me slip back.</p><p>He catches me, arms around my back. My hands go up to his hair, tugging on it as he tilts his head to kiss he deeper, rougher. When his hand gives my ass a harsh pinch, I suck in a sharp breath and abruptly tug on his hair, making him groan softly against my mouth.</p><p>I pull away, our lips brushing against each other while we catch our breaths, panting hard. His fingers curl at my back, his heavy eyes watching me so intensely and so up close that I have to close my own to properly calm down a bit. He laughs softly at this, a cheeky little sound that makes my blood boil but lips flit up just slightly.</p><p>And then I lean back in, this time pressing my lips under his jaw. He instantly tilts his head to the side, exhaling softly while I press slow, teasing, hot kisses down his jaw. I inhale deeply as I make my way down his neck, taking in the scent of his cologne and the faint green apple from his hair. When my lips find his pulse next to his throat, he curses softly and brings a hand down to tightly grip my hip.</p><p>"So did you pick this table knowing you'd try to <em>fuck</em> me?" I whisper softly against his neck before placing my lips back over his pulse and sucking on his skin gently.</p><p>He laughs lowly, hands going to my thighs to rub up and down the top of them, fingertips brushing against my panties. "Something like that," he says in a husky voice, index finger slipping into the band of my panties, pulling it back, and letting go to let it snap against me.</p><p>"Oh? Didn't want anyone walking in, did you?" I tease, scraping my teeth over his skin and smirking when he inhales deeply. I suck over that same patch of skin, feeling his pulse thump fast and hard against my tongue while he hands squeeze my thighs.</p><p>"Uhuh..."</p><p>"Well, I don't mind an audience," I murmur, pulling away to admire the small bruise I've placed on his neck, "but that's <em>very</em> considerate of you." I lean back in to pepper his skin with more small bruises, but he's faster.</p><p>His hand goes to my jaw, thumb on one side, fingers on the other, and the heel of his palm nearly touching my throat. I make a muffled noise when he holds me tight and forces me away from his neck, angling my head up to look at him. His eyes are eerily light, crystal clear and piercing. His lips are flushed and parted, and his tongue pokes out to wet them slightly. His features are carved out of ice, and I commend the sculptor with the ice pick who took his time on Draco's face, finishing him off with high cheek bones and perfect little hollows beneath them.</p><p>He leans in to press a rough kiss to my lips, nails digging slightly into my thigh. When he pulls away, his hair all messed up, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and a foreboding smirk on his face, my stomach flips.</p><p>And then Draco leans back in, this time brushing his lips against my ear. "Beg for me, Celeste," he whispers in a raspy voice, my eyes instantly fluttering shut. His hand moves across my thigh near my panties, feeling at the material until his thumb brushes against where it's already so damp with my arousal. He pushes his thumb against it, making my back arch and a gasp shoot out of my mouth. He laughs softly—"I know you want to. Give in, darling, beg for me. Ask me to fuck you raw and hard. Tell me how much you need me."</p><p>"Not happening," I hiss, gripping his hair for dear life as his thumb brushes against me again, resisting the urge to moan.</p><p>"What if I tell you what I plan on doing to you the second you beg?" he asks, shifting his hand so his four fingers rub up and down against me. He then pauses, quickly switching hands so that his right hand rubs me over my panties and his left hand wraps loosely around my throat. "Will that help convince you?"</p><p>I swallow thickly, and I just <em>know</em> he feels it against his head. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to my lips, gently rubbing circles against me while my legs grow tighter around his hips and my eyebrows knit together tightly. A muffled noise leaves my lips, making my whole face turn degrees warmer than it already is.</p><p>"I'll take that as a yes," he says softly.</p><p>"Draco," I exhale breathily, biting down on my lip hard as his hand tightens on my neck.</p><p>"Yes, <em>chérie?</em>"</p><p>"We're gonna be..." His hand tightens again, and an embarrassing, low noise comes out of my mouth. "<em>Fuck</em>. We're gonna be late to Herbology, and we have that t—" I jolt when his fingers abruptly press against me, pulling at his hair. "That <em>test</em>."</p><p>He doesn't say anything, but his hand drops form my neck. He leans in to press his lip to the side of my neck, tickling me slightly and making me let out an exhale of a laugh. His hands go back to rubbing up and down my thighs as he murmurs, "Are you sure you don't wanna skip? Cause I can think of something better we can do...if you ask for it, of course."</p><p>I close my eyes, lips parting slightly as he hips at my neck with those hot lips of his. But then I furrow my brows and sigh heavily, gently pushing him away from me.</p><p>"I'm not begging," I say in a voice that isn't very convincing, loosening my legs from around his hips, "and I'm not missing this exam. C'mon, pack your shit up, and—<em>and stop smirking at me like that!</em>"</p><p>"Fine," he shrugs, a clearly amused grin on his face as he steps back with his hands up in surrender, "whatever you want, princess."</p><p>I roll my eyes and hop off the table, knees wobbling slightly. He instantly steps in to grab my hips, but I smack his hands away and turn around to avoid the smug look he's probably giving the back of my head. He steps up beside me, nudging me with his arm to move me out of his way as we both quietly collect our books and shove them into our bags.</p><p>"Is my hair a mess?" he asks, glancing at me with bright eyes.</p><p>I look at him and stifle a laugh at just how messy it is. "A little," I admit, slinging my bag up over my shoulder before propping one fort after the other on my chair to fix my socks. "I like your hair better when it's messy."</p><p>"That's stupid," he says bluntly, making me roll my eyes. "Did you leave me a hickey?"</p><p>"Yup," I say brightly, turning to face him with a cheeky grin as he pats at his neck trying to find it. I reach up to poke it, right next to his throat.</p><p>"I can't cover that," he says with a frown, fiddling with his collar, trying to cover it up.</p><p>"Good," I say with a shrug, "it makes you look prettier. Now can we get going? Or do you need to fix your makeup?"</p><p>"Shut it," he says with a roll of his eyes, pushing both our chairs in before walking around the table and towards the entrance while I follow behind. He glances over his shoulder, maybe to see if I'm coming with him, making me smirk at him slightly. "Are you coming, by the way?" he asks as he looks back ahead, glancing down at his watch. "This weekend?"</p><p>"Hm?" I respond absentmindedly, distracted with fixing my shirt and tucking it back in properly.</p><p>"Hogsmeade. A bunch of people are going this weekend. You coming?" he asks again, this time several feet in front of me.</p><p>"I—<em>slow down</em>," I huff, gripping the straps of my bag and jogging slightly to catch up with him. He glances at me with a smirk as I struggle to keep up with his absurdly long legs—I think he's speed walking on <em>purpose</em>. "Damnit, Draco, can you walk like a normal person?"</p><p>"I <em>am</em> walking like a normal person, idiot," he says calmly. "You're the dumb bitch who walks slow as fuck."</p><p>"I'm not a slow walker," I scoff, shaking my head. "I'm the person who gets annoyed in hallways stuck behind slow walkers. You're just...abnormally fast."</p><p>"Yeah, well, I take my time when it counts."</p><p>"Ew," I say with a scrunch of my nose while he snickers.</p><p>"You didn't answer me, by the way," he says as we pass Madam Pince at the desk, both of us giving her a wave while she looks at us suspiciously from<br/>over her cat-eyed glasses. "You coming this weekend?"</p><p>"Oh, to Hogsmeade?" I ask uneasily, thinking back to how Graham asked me out on a fucking <em>date</em> a little over an hour ago. "Like, on Valentine's day?"</p><p>"Yeah," Draco shrugs, forced to slow down to my pace as we walk out into the hallway and join the thick throngs of students bustling about to get to their next classes. "A bunch of us are going as a group, like the team, the rest of the guys, and the girls in your dorm, so I figured you're probably going. Are you?"</p><p>"Why do you ask?" I preen curiously, glancing up at the tall blond through my lashes.</p><p>He scowls at me. "I'm making conversation, Celeste, <em>damn</em>. Would you like me to rescind my polite question? I'll rescind it, here—"</p><p>"Oh, shut up," I roll my eyes, giving his arm a shove that doesn't make him budge even the slightest bit. "To answer you, I don't know if I'm going."</p><p>"You should come," he shrugs.</p><p>I lift my eyebrows. "<em>Why</em> should I come?" I ask suspiciously, a disgruntled feeling boiling in my gut. <em>Not again</em>. "Malfoy, <em>please</em> tell me you're not asking me out. On <em>Valentine's Day</em>. On a <em>date</em>."</p><p>Draco's head shoots up. He slows down to a stop before turning his head to look at me, making me stop as well. I frown at him with confusion while he glares at me with a combination of exasperation, pure shock, and mild anger.</p><p>"Are you fucking with me?" he asks, tilting his head at me as his eyebrow furrows. "Merlin, <em>fuck,</em> no. No offense—I mean, I don't care if you take offense or not—but...oh, <em>Godric,</em> no," he recoils away from me. "Who the hell do you think I am? Damn, you gotta be pretty conceited if you think <em>I</em> would ask <em>you</em> out on a date—"</p><p>"Okay, <em>okay</em>, I get it," I laugh with a shake of my head, my face struggling to choose between grinning with both humor and relief or scowling because <em>ouch</em>, who <em>wouldn't </em>want to ask me out?</p><p>Maybe I am a <em>little</em> conceited.</p><p>"Ugh," he shudders, walking next to me again, "maybe <em>don't </em>come this weekend. Disgusting."</p><p>"Aw, now you're just being excessive," I say, biting back a smile.</p><p>"I think I was being polite. Sugar-coated it for you, y'know?" he snickers. I feel him turn his head and direct his sharp gaze at me, the entire side of my face warming under his look. He then bumps his shoulder against mine. "Are you gonna cry?"</p><p>I grin. "Y'know what? I think I'll come this weekend. <em>Just</em> to spite you."</p><p>"You're a living nightmare."</p><p>"Thank you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what is the best gift on valentine's day?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. DO YOU WANT TO FUCK ME?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>juuuust a little valentine's day fun. there's a lot i would change looking back at this chapter, but frankly, im just not in the mood to do it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>February 14th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"You came," Graham says across from me, a look of surprise on his face as he looks up at someone standing behind me.</p><p>I shift in my seat to glance over my shoulder, instantly spotting Celeste. She glances at Graham briefly before looking away to dust the snow off her shoulders and gently patting at her hair. I lift my eyebrows when I scan her—there isn't even a <em>speck</em> of red or pink on her. She's wearing a long black overcoat, her gloved hands undoing the the golden buttons to reveal. Her entire outfit is black—a tight turtleneck, a tight skirt, and sheer stockings with little black boots. Her locket is out and proudly displayed, and when she takes her coat off and tucks it over her arm, I see her nails painted a matching gold.</p><p>She looks up, her eyes darting to me for a moment. Her plum-colored lips turn up into a small smirk.</p><p>"Hey, Celeste," Graham says, grabbing her attention again. I shift back to sit normally, taking a sip of my Butterbeer, while he says, "Come sit here! I think we can make some space."</p><p>The booth is long, but it's cramped, especially because half the people sitting on Graham's side are bulky Quidditch players. He shoves them down, making space hardly big enough for a toddler. Celeste steps forward a little, peering skeptically at him before gesturing to the space beside me.</p><p>"No worries," she says lightly, sitting down next to me and hanging her coat over the corner of the booth. "There's plenty of space right here."</p><p>"Oh," Graham says, ruffling his hair with an odd smile. "Okay, cool."</p><p>She shoots him a short smile before turning to glance at me. I raise my eyebrows at her before turning to glance back to the center of the table where Warrington and Verona are in a heated debate about whether The Montrose Magpies (Scottish Quidditch team) should've won the last match or not (theres heavy debate about whether or not one of their beaters committed a foul) when Celeste's silky, irritatingly alluring voice beckons my attention.</p><p>"You look <em>festive</em>," she teases as a waiter walks by to drop off a whole round of drinks for the table.</p><p>I roll my eyes and look back at her. "Blame <em>Pansy</em>," I say sourly, glancing down at the thin, dark red sweater she managed to shove me into. "She threatened to spike my drink with Amortentia if I didn't wear red or pink. How the hell did <em>you</em> manage to get out of it?"</p><p>Celeste smirks slightly dragging a cup of steaming hot cocoa towards her. "I didn't."</p><p>"You're not wearing red," I point out with a frown, scanning her up and down. "<em>Or</em> pink."</p><p>"I am," she says lightly, pushing her curls over her shoulder as she takes a small sip of the cocoa. "You just can't see it."</p><p>I give her an odd look, but she just laughs softly and looks past me to where Warrington and Verona look like they want to strangle each other. I shake my head and turn back to look, seeing Pansy, next to me, turning bright red as Verona shakes her jacket off, seemingly overheated, to reveal the low cut tank top. I snort when Pansy turns away, eyes closed, face flushed, shaking her head as she whispers to me—</p><p>"I'm so fucked." Pansy shakes her head, gripping my shoulder so abruptly it makes me jump. "Draco, I'm <em>fucked</em>," she repeats with wide eyes as Verona shouts something about how the Magpies are the picture of moral integrity.</p><p>"Don't tell me you're catching feelings," I tease maybe a bit too loudly, resulting in a pinch to my shoulder.</p><p>"Say it a bit louder, why don't you?" she hisses, jolting slightly when Verona tugs on her sleeve to get her attention. She widens her brown eyes at me before turning eagerly towards Verona, her hand giving me arm one last squeeze before letting me go.</p><p>"Adorable," Celeste snorts dryly from beside me. "Hey, Draco?"</p><p>"Hm?" I ask, glancing at her from over my Butterbeer as I bring it up to my lips.</p><p>She smiles at me sweetly, tilting her head as her perfectly manicured hand comes up to brush my shoulder. "Can you move your fucking ass down?"</p><p>I look at her blankly before I finally notice Blaise standing behind her, nodding as he listens to Graham say something. He's punching her arm repeatedly, and the smile on her face looks more like a grimace as she glared at me.</p><p>"Could've asked nicely," I say with a roll of my eyes, shifting down as far as I can.</p><p>She slides down beside me, but then Blaise sits down and rams into her side so hard, she lets out a soft groan and topples into my side. I glower at her as she curses under her breath and straightens up as best as possible, our arms squished together. She moves hers to rest behind mine, but I hate how it feels, so I shift mine behind hers. Celeste frowns, moving her arm back again, but I just push it back in front.</p><p>"Stop that," she complains with a scowl, shoving at my arm. She's seated at an angle, what with Blaise spread out like the inconsiderate little twat he is. She shoves her arm back under, nestled comfortably against the booth.</p><p>"You wanna be under me that bad?" I ask challengingly, glancing down at her with my eyebrows raised and parted lips turning up in a crooked smirk.</p><p>She obstinately opens her mouth to argue, but then my words seem to finally hit her. I smirk as she freezes, her neck craned up to look at me. Maybe I'm<br/>hallucinating, or maybe her cheeks are slightly pink as she says, "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Here," I say, biting back a grin as I turn to squish her behind my back, hearing her squeal softly as I press my shoulder against her chest to pin her to the booth, feeling her squirm behind me. "Is that comfortable? You comfy? Feel good?"</p><p>"Stop!" she says, wriggling her right arm out from behind my back, though she just ends up stuck with her elbow bent and fist against my shoulder. "Get off me, oh, my <em>goodness</em>. You're so fucking heavy, Draco, I <em>can't</em>."</p><p>"Are you calling me fat?" I laugh, glancing off my shoulder while her hand smacks at my arm. "Ouch, Celeste. I might cry myself to sleep tonight."</p><p>"Good," she says sourly. "Maybe you'll burn some damn calories."</p><p>"Y'know, I'm comfortable," I say simply, sighing casually and leaning back further against her while she lets out a long string of curses, stomping her foot on the ground in an attempt to get to mine. "You make a good cushion."</p><p>"Oh, <em>fuck </em>you."</p><p>"Yeah?" I stop moving, turning my head a little to get close to her face. Her eyes widen slightly as she leans back, making me grin slightly as I lean in close to her ear. "You wanna?" I whisper teasingly, and that's when she finally finds all the strength in the world to shove me off her.</p><p>"You suck! Blaise, <em>help!</em>"</p><p>"That's your job, sweetheart."</p><p>"What are you doing?"</p><p>We both freeze, heads snapping to the left to see Blaise glancing between us with a mildly repulsed expression. He picks at a plate of chips, quirking his eyebrows at us.</p><p>"Oh, Im just sitting," I say casually, slapping my hand down on Celeste's thigh (she jumps and curses me out, but I ignore her).</p><p>His eyes drop down to my hand on her thigh, so I awkwardly clear my throat and lift my hand back up to ruffle my hair, my arm smushing against her face (she curses me out again; I ignore her again).</p><p>"On top of her?" he asks, eyeing the way my back smushes her against the booth.</p><p>"She makes a nice throw pillow."</p><p>"Blaise," Celeste says in a whiny voice. I glance over my shoulder to see her pouting at him, making me roll my eyes and discreetly pinch her. She grins briefly, but she's quick to wipe it off and bring back that whole <em>damsel-in-distress</em> look. "Tell him to get off, he's <em>heavy</em>."</p><p>"She's fat-shaming me," I say, looking at her, mocking a look as if I'm highly offended. "Your cousin is an asshole, Blaise."</p><p>"Get off my cousin, Draco."</p><p>"Sure thing," I grin, shifting off of Celeste's torso. She groans slightly, stretching her arms and back out, before I'm back leaning against the stall, our arms squished together uncomfortably.</p><p>Blaise shoots us both harsh glares, black eyes eyeing the literally nonexistent space between us, from the way our elbows brush against each other whenever Celeste picks up her cocoa or I my Butterbeer, to the way our legs stick together even though hers are crossed and mine and pressed together as tight as it gets (which isn't so comfortable for my friend in my pants. I'm getting overheated).</p><p>"Can I help you?" I ask coolly when he continues staring. I sip at my Butterbeer as he slowly tears his eyes away and leans forward to say something to Graham. I then glance over at Celeste, who's looking across the table and listening in on the conversation Pandora and Warrington are having with a grin on her face, cradling her hot cocoa near her face while the steam wafts up. I lean in slightly, murmuring, "I can't believe you <em>told on me</em>," with a laugh of disbelief.</p><p>Celeste doesn't look at me, but a smug smirk takes over her face. She shrugs carelessly, saying, "You deserved it."</p><p>"You're a snitch," I say with a slight laugh.</p><p>"And you're a Seeker."</p><p>"What?" I frown.</p><p>She turns to look at me, her eyebrow quirked. "It's Quidditch humor, idiot."</p><p>—</p><p>"Hey!" Verona shouts, standing in the middle of the dorm. "Shut your fucking mouths!"</p><p>Pansy leans in from beside me, bumping her shoulder against mine to whisper, "She's so hot."</p><p>I lean back in, whispering with a grin, "You're so whipped."</p><p>We're sitting in the sixth year girls' dorm. There aren't as many of us—some people stayed behind at Hogsmeade, some people are in their own rooms studying, and some people have abandoned the group for a Valentine's Day fuck. The rest of us (me, Pansy, Blaise, Celeste, Graham, Pandora, Verona, Adrian, Miles, and the other two sixth year girls, to be more precise) are sitting in this dorm as we usually end up after a party or Hogsmeade trip, a couple bottles of Firewhiskey passing around the misshapen circle.</p><p>"Hey, Bletchley," Verona points at Miles who was busy blabbing to one of the sixth year girls (Kailani Fern) about the products he used after washing his hair, "shut your trap."</p><p>He instantly smacks his mouth shut.</p><p>My eyes catch across the circle where Graham and Celeste sit together leaning against a bed. Graham's arm is around her shoulder, and he looks absolutely ecstatic to be in this position with her. Celeste looks mildly bored, though, her legs curled beneath her, one hand resting in her lap, the other picking at her stockings.</p><p>"Okay, ready? Here's the deal," Verona says, running a hand through her purple pixie cut as she turns in a circle to look at us all. "In honor of this god-awful holiday, here's the theme: sex and love."</p><p>Miles whoops loudly in response, earning him a couple chuckles around the room and a slight glare from</p><p>"Anyway," she continues, walking over to her spot next to Blaise, "it's truth or dare, but every time you turn down either a truth or a dare..." A wicked grin crosses her face. "<em>You strip</em>."</p><p>My eyebrows rise slowly as everyone in the circle reacts to her words, Verona smirking as she plops down. Kailani and Elvina Ashe, the fourth sixth year girl, whisper to each other excitedly, while Miles lets out a disgustingly loud belch and laughs just as loudly. Pansy snickers from beside me while passing me the Firewhiskey.</p><p>I smirk as I take a small sip from it, my eyes by default landing directly across from me at Celeste and Graham. My Quidditch captain is grinning, cracking his knuckles (and practically capturing Celeste in a headlock from the way is arm is wrapped around her shoulders) while Celeste looks entirely unbothered, simply picking at her nails with a patient look on her face.</p><p>She looks up suddenly, though. I'm caught with the urge to glance away, but I keep watching her, even as she smirks at me slightly.</p><p>"Blaise, truth or dare?" Kailani Fern asks, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning into Miles.</p><p>"Truth," Blaise calls out, currently fishing his gloves out of his jacket to slip them on—no doubt to give him extra layers to take off if he has to. I'm best friends with a coward.</p><p>"Do you...believe in true love?" Kailani asks with a shrug.</p><p>Blaise snorts as if that's the most ridiculous thing he's ever been asked. "Definitely not."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"You can ask me next time I pick truth," Blaise responds simply.</p><p>Thirty minutes into the game, most of us have shed at least a thing or two. I ended up taking my coat off (Pansy, the little fucker that she is, dared me to suck each and every one of Graham's toes one by one, saying that because <em>some</em> people have that as a kink, it applies to the sex and love theme. I hate her beyond measure), but the rest of me is fully clothed.</p><p>"Celeste," Verona says, her mouth muffled and covered by her hand as she chews on some chips and dip (Im not sure who brought it or when, but I appreciate it), "truth or dare?"</p><p>Celeste's only chosen dates so far, and so I've watched her thus far French kiss Miles (I think I saw her grimace and wipe her mouth very thoroughly afterwards), lick dip off of  Elvina's fingers (sour cream and onion, she nearly gagged, but took it like a champ), and recount in excruciating detail what her first time was like (not very good, apparently).</p><p>So this time, she takes in a short breath, hesitates, smiles deviously, and says, "How about <em>truth</em>, this time?"</p><p>"Okay, it's gonna be a <em>fuck-marry-kill</em>, okay?" Verona says, clearing her throat and shifting slightly. Celeste nods while I feel Pansy beside me lean into me to get a better look, making me snort slightly before I lean back so she can see better. "Fuck, marry, or kill...Pansy—" Pansy squeaks (I can't wait to make fun of her later), "—Graham, and Draco."</p><p>I stiffen slightly, but then I quickly relax my body. Pansy turns to look at me, suddenly no longer flustered and instead giving me an amused look.</p><p>"What?" I murmur, quirking a brow as the others in the circle laugh at Celeste's given truth.</p><p>"Nothing," Pansy says, looking away with an odd kind of smile.</p><p>I roll my eyes and look up to watch Celeste. My heart is pounding embarrassingly fast, and it's even more embarrassing how much I want to hear what she has to say—what are the chances she chooses to kill me? Probably pretty high, now that I think about it.</p><p>Celeste looks up at Graham, her eyes squinting slightly as she absentmindedly runs her nails up and down her leg. She lets out a soft exhale of a laugh before turning her head to look at Pansy. Celeste instantly grins while Pansy stifles a laugh beside me, both girls seemingly having some nonverbal conversation before Celeste's dark eyes move over to me. I pause for a moment before bringing the Firewhiskey up to my mouth, watching her unflinchingly while the burning liquid passes my lips. She tilts her head at me, her lips twitching up into a mildly amused smirk before she turns her head towards Verona.</p><p>"Honest answer?" she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners.</p><p>"Well, duh," Verona snorts.</p><p>Graham puffs his chest out, a look on his face like he thinks he's gonna like what he's gonna hear.</p><p>"Okay," Celeste says brightly, scanning the room. Her eyes choose not to focus on any one person, but the bottle of Firewhiskey in her hand as she fiddles with it. "So if I had to fuck, marry, or kill Pansy, Graham, and Draco..." She grins and shakes her head, like she <em>knows</em> she's gonna regret not stripping. "Marry Pansy, kill Graham, fuck Draco."</p><p>The reaction from her admittedly small crowd is uproarious, people jeering at either Pansy or Graham or me, but I'm busy staring at Celeste with a dumbfounded look on my face. I glance over at Graham who's frowning, looking completely utterly betrayed, and it takes all the effort in the world not to laugh at my Quidditch captain.</p><p>He leans in toward Celeste who looks like she's trying to avoid his gaze. "You'd kill me?" he asks, running a hand through his hair. And then he freezes, puffs his chest up, and drops his voice an octave to add, "I mean, that's cool."</p><p>I cough back a laugh, but Celeste hears it and instantly snaps her head forward to look at me. I smirk slowly—I'm not sure if I'm surprised or not that she chose to fuck me. Celeste rolls her eyes, though a small smile finds her lips, and nestled back against the side of the bed next to Graham, who looks butthurt but trying to play it off casually.</p><p>"You'd marry Pansy?" Verona asks coolly, her eyes momentarily going to Pansy (who is squeezing my arm so tight, her nails are leaving crescent shaped marks even through my red sweater).</p><p>"Oh, yeah," Celeste responds without missing a beat, her face lighting up with a grin as her glittering black eyes fly over to Pansy who has the <em>smuggest </em>look on her face. "Have you met her? Totally wife material. An absolute badass. Killer looks. Shit, Panz, I think I'm crushing," she finishes humorously, her hand fiddling with her locket as she laughs softly.</p><p>I can't help but grin myself as Pansy responds with, "Y'know what, Cel? I think we'd be a swinger couple."</p><p>I choke on my spit while Celeste gasps and widens her eyes.</p><p>"You're so fucking right!"</p><p>"Okay, wait," Miles chuckles, all eyes going to his as the excited chatter dies down. "What <em>I</em> wanna know his how you came to the conclusion of killing Mr. Montague here and fucking Mr. Malfoy. Care to elaborate?"</p><p>"Mm," I pipe up, sitting up a bit straighter, capping my Firewhiskey, and leaning forward with my forearms on my knees to look directly into Celeste's eyes, a smug smirk on my face, "I'd <em>love</em> to know more about that."</p><p>Celeste clenches her jaw, glaring and smirking at the same time as she glances between my eyes. "Oh, get that haughty look off your face, <em>Dray</em>," she says in that one voice of hers, that silky, smooth yet raspy, teasing one. "You're not that special."</p><p>"Ouch," Miles mutters, earning a couple snorts and humorous exhales around the room.</p><p>"Oh, yeah?" I laugh challengingly, well aware of Blaise glancing between us curiously. "So you <em>don't </em>want to fuck me?"</p><p>"No, I—" Celeste pauses, her lips parted and brows furrowed as she thinks hard.</p><p>I grin as the excited mumbling grows louder. "So you <em>do</em> want to fuck me? Merlin, <em>Cellie</em>, pick one already."</p><p>"That's not what I meant," she says with a huff and a roll of her eyes, glancing up at Graham. "Oh, quit looking like a kicked puppy. Al I thought was, well, I've been there and done that," she says, turning her chin up a bit as she gestures lazily at Graham, "and, well..." She gestures at me, adding, "I <em>haven't </em>been there, and—"</p><p>"And you <em>wanna</em> do me," I interrupt with an uncontrollable grin while her glare harshness. I lean back, picking my Firewhiskey back up while laughing lowly. "Celeste Zabini wants to fuck me, everyone, write it down on paper."</p><p>"Is it too late to change my mind?" Celeste asks wearily while Miles jeers and the sixth year girls laugh loudly. She sighs and rests her head back on the mattress. "Should've stuck with the tried and true."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's the stupidest thing you've ever done?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. AND THEN THERE WERE TWO</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the valentine's day festivities continue and take a certain turn</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>February 14th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>As the game progresses, we eventually lose a few players.</p><p>Blaise, who tends to get knocked out and tired easily, turned in first, nearly walking into a wall on his way out the dorm and back to our own. Miles left after a while too, though he left with Kailani Fern to find a closet or something to do it in. Verona and Elvina Ashe wanted to go to sleep, so they kicked us out, leaving us in the hallway of the girls' dorms, leaning against walls and doors trying not to be too loud (and definitely failing).</p><p>So now it's me, Pansy, Adrian, Graham, and Draco sitting at the end of the hallway opposite the door, each of us holding Firewhiskey in our hands. Pansy at one point disappeared into our dorm to return with some Alihotsy (met by cheers which were in turn met by angry and cranky shouting from Verona to shut up), and so now between my fingers I hold a joint, feeling blessed to be young and high.</p><p>As for our clothing status, we're surprisingly not naked. I shed my coat (lick dip off of someone's armpit. What the hell, Adrian?) and shoes (fake an orgasm. I'm bold, but not <em>that</em> bold).</p><p>"Whose turn is it?" Graham asks from beside me, leaning in much closer than necessary to take the blunt from my joint, seemingly not noticing the look I give him as he does so. "Draco's?"</p><p>"Mm," Adrian says, mouth muffled by the Firewhiskey. He then claps Draco, who sits beside him, on the shoulder hard enough that it makes the blond jolt. "Malfoy here hasn't had a turn in a bit."</p><p>"Truth or dare, Draco?" Pansy asks, leaning back against the wall all on her own, her legs outstretched between the rest of us.</p><p>Draco groans slightly as he stretches his back, my eyes dropping to his torso. I stare at him unabashedly, the alcohol and Alihotsy in my system taking away what little shame I normally have as I ogle him freely. He lost his thin red sweater a while back, which I <em>almost</em> miss, because though I wouldn't tell him, red might be his color. But I don't <em>really</em> miss it, because now I get a perfect view of his perfect chest and stomach and abs, strong and muscular but lean from his Seeker position and whatever workouts he might be doing.</p><p>When I look back up at his eyes, he's looking directly at me. He smirks, a smug look in his eyes, but I couldn't care less, so I smirk right back and discreetly lift my bottle at him like a toast.</p><p>"Truth," he says without taking his eyes off of me. I don't look away from his gaze, but I can see his finger lazily tracing the lines of his abs, and I'm hit with a sudden urge to do that myself.</p><p>Graham "slyly" wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. Somehow, his overly masculine cologne and scent of mild sweat is more overpowering than even the Alihotsy. I cringe slightly, my shoulders tense, my eyes still frozen on Draco's.</p><p>"Truth?" Pansy confirms, pauses, and then laughs lowly. "Oh, have <em>I</em> got a good one. Tell us the story of your first kiss. Who it was, where it was, how it happened."</p><p>Draco freezes instantly.</p><p>I raise my eyebrows at him as a look of pure dread washes over his face. Pansy laughs off to my left as if she already knows the story—which wouldn't surprise me, but it definitely intrigues me even more. What's so damn funny? I smile slowly, sitting up a bit straighter, grimacing when my hand brushes against Graham's skin. He's shirtless too, and he's muscular and all, but I just <em>can't</em>.</p><p>"Fuck," he mutters, running a hand through his blond hair and messing it up so that the soft, thick locks stick up all over the place. He rubs his face, looking absolutely stressed, before his hands drop down to his belt. My stomach flips instantly as I watch him quickly unbuckle it, my mind going back to that night in the common room. "I'm taking my belt off."</p><p>"Accessories don't count!" Pansy says quickly, leaning away to swat at Draco's arm.</p><p>"A belt isn't an accessory!"</p><p>"Yes it is," she scoffs, before furiously pointing at the fluttering, golden dragonfly earrings she wears (courtesy of me). "You were the one who didn't let me take these off, remember?"</p><p>"Fuck," Draco groans, throwing his head back to hit the wall with a loud thud.</p><p>I laugh softly, earning me a glare from him. "You could always take your shoes off," I point out, glancing him up and down briefly, "or you could just tell us the story."</p><p>"I'll tell the story," he snaps, sinking down low against the wall and unbending his knees, extending them over's Pansy's and towards me, "but it does <em>not</em> leave this room, are we clear?" he finishes, crystal eyes piercingly glancing between the four of us.</p><p>"We're in a hallway," I point out cheekily when he looks at me, smiling at him when he glares.</p><p>"Fine. It doesn't leave this hallway, okay?"</p><p>"So if tomorrow I see, I don't know, Pandora in this hallway," I say, mocking a look of confusion as I tilt my head, "can I tell her?"</p><p>"I'm going to hurt you."</p><p>"Do it. Ooh, we'll make that your next dare."</p><p>Graham laughs beside me. "You're funny," he says, squeezing my arm, and instantly the smile slips off my face and is replaced by a scowl. Draco notices, glancing between us with a growing amused smirk.</p><p>"Thanks," I say flatly.</p><p>"Any day now, Malfoy," Adrian huffs, taking a hit from the joint.</p><p>"Fine, I..." He groans softly, covering his face with his arm while his free hand plays with his bottle. "It was second year. I was in the library with Blaise because we were supposed to be studying for a test or something. It might have been finals, I don't remember, though—"</p><p>"Quit stalling, Ferret Boy," Pansy says, earning her a middle finger.</p><p>"Fuck you. You suck, you know that?"</p><p>"Uhuh. Go on."</p><p>"Whatever. Anyway, I was upset because I had just learned that Pansy had her first kiss over winter break." Draco winces, as if recounting this story physically hurts him. His arm drops from his face, and I instantly get distracted as he starts lazily scratching at his stomach, saying, "So I kept complaining about how I hadn't had my first kiss yet, and how bloody absurd it was that <em>Pansy</em> had hers before me—she was ugly back then, mind you," Draco says, looking specifically at me as I snap my eyes back up to his, "so—"</p><p>"Hey!" Pansy interrupts, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You're the same bitch who had a crush on me in second year!"</p><p>My jaw drops instantly.</p><p>"You liked Pansy?" I nearly squeak, my hand gripping my bottle so tight, it might shatter. A grin slowly spreads across my face while Draco buried his face in his hands and lets out a long stream of curses. "<em>Pansy?</em>"</p><p>"Can I finish my story or not?" he groans, lifting his head up a bit. I almost let out an <em>aww</em> when I see how red his face has gone, but I choose to spare him even more added humiliation. "Pansy, I'm gonna kill you."</p><p>"You sure you don't mean kiss?" I let out in a teasing voice before I can stop myself. Pansy snorts humorously. Adrian has had his fist shoved in his mouth this past minute, his eyes wide as he looks around in disbelief. Graham laughs next to me. I stop smiling.</p><p>Draco snaps his head up to glare at me. I lift my hands up in surrender, shrugging smugly. "<em>Anyway</em>," he says, glancing around the room daring anyone to interrupt with another humiliating factoid about him, "I was complaining about not having my first kiss, and—" He hesitates, glancing at Pansy. "Don't make me do this."</p><p>Pansy smirks at me, making me lift an eyebrow. It can't be <em>that</em> bad.</p><p>"Fuck," he groans, hiding his face again. He says in one go, mumbling quickly, "Blaise was really mad, y'know? He was trying to study, I was rambling about kissing, and he got so annoyed that he just grabbed me and kissed me all of a sudden and then went straight back to work."</p><p>No. Way.</p><p>"Did I hear that right?" Adrian asks in a wobbling voice, looking close to tears as a muffled laugh leaves his lips. "Did you just say th—?"</p><p>"Who's next?" Draco grunts, his hands tugging at his blond hair, head still bent over while I gaze at him blankly.</p><p>Graham murmurs from beside me, "Blaise was...your first...k—?"</p><p>"Pansy? Is it Pansy's turn?" Draco interrupts in a weak voice.</p><p>"I've kept this a secret for so long," Pansy snorts carelessly, picking at her nails with a smug grin.</p><p>"Next topic!"</p><p>"<em>Wow</em>, Dray," I finally chime in with a teasing voice, smirking when he lifts his head up to look at me, an utterly devastated look on his face. "So not only did you have a crush on our very own <em>Pansy Parkinson</em>, in the same year, <em>you kissed my damn cousin?</em>"</p><p>"I didn't kiss him," he insists, lifting his head up to look at me with crazed eyes. "<em>He</em> kissed <em>me</em>."</p><p>"I bet you kissed back."</p><p>"I didn't even know <em>how</em> to kiss!"</p><p>"Oh, so you <em>wanted</em> to?"</p><p>His head hits the wall with a loud thump as he rubs his face, an aggravated noise leaving his lips. I laugh softly, sinking down against the wall and stretching my own legs out over Pansy's, my left leg slightly touching Draco's.</p><p>"Someone ask Pansy," I say while stifling a laugh, shifting slightly away from Graham.</p><p>"Truth or dare, Panz?" Adrian grunts, leaning over to toss his empty Firewhiskey bottle with the rest of the finished bottles.</p><p>"Dare," she says instantly, pulling her legs out from<br/>under mine and Draco's. "Make it good."</p><p>"Okay..." Adrian frowns, eyes drifting off as he thinks. And then he inhales a sharp breath, eyes lighting up and darting back to Pansy. He grins slowly, saying, "Oh, have <em>I</em> got a good one."</p><p>"Hit me," Pansy says, mouth muffled as she shoves some jelly slugs in her mouth.</p><p>Adrian's eyes slide over to me, making me frown slightly as he smirks. "Snog Celeste for...three minutes."</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>I turn to look at Pansy right when she turns to look at me. There's a jelly slug hanging out of her mouth and another one right in her hand ready to be shoveled into her mouth. Her brown, monolidded eyes look at me with surprise, and her lips start twitching slightly. My own threaten to grin, and I can't help the snort that comes out. Smacking my hands over my face, Pansy erupts into a fit of shrieking laughs that no doubt wake up some of the first years all the way down the hall while I double over with my own silent laughter.</p><p>"I can't believe we haven't kissed before," Pansy says in a shaky voice, her eyes watering slightly as she shifts to sit on her knees.</p><p>"I can't believe <em>this</em> is how we're gonna have our first kiss," I sniff, brushing a tear from my own eye as I bite back another fit of silent, racking laughter.</p><p>"I can't believe you guys are actually gonna kiss," Draco says in a low voice, catching my attention.</p><p>I turn my head to look at him, smirking when I see his face no longer red, his embarrassment forgotten, and instead slightly flushed and eager as he sits up a bit straight and leans back, clamping his lips together. He smirks when he sees me too, parting his lips and running his hand through his silvery locks a couple times.</p><p>"They're not gonna <em>kiss</em>, they're gonna <em>make-out</em>," Adrian corrects with a slight punch, though he misses because he's distracted glancing between Pansy and me.</p><p>"For three minutes," Graham adds in a dazed voice. "You should make it five."</p><p>"You can't change it <em>now</em>," Pansy rolls her eyes, brushing her lap off and crawling towards me, pushing her bangs out of her eyes.</p><p>"Why not?" Adrian contests. "You haven't even begun yet, so I can still change it. Unless one of you wants to back out. I wouldn't mind watching either of you take your top off."</p><p>I wrinkle my nose as Pansy sits back down beside me, both of us turned towards each other. "Why are guys so viciously horny all the time?" I mutter loud enough for Adrian to hear.</p><p>"I have no idea," Pansy shrugs, reaching up to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. I'd be lying if I said that didn't make my face warm slightly. "But let's give them a good show, yeah?"</p><p>"Two more minutes can't hurt," I shrug, trying so very hard not to shift my eyes just a couple inches to the right to look at Draco, because I just <em>know</em> the look on his face is gonna make me wanna hide. "Someone set a timer."</p><p>"Got it," Adrian says. "Now snog, already."</p><p>Pansy rolls her eyes before leaning in, one hand on the side of my face, the other gripping my thigh to stabilize herself, and presses her lips to mine.</p><p>My heart thumps loudly in my chest as I hear Graham cheer next to me, and I'd roll my eyes, but I'm too distracted by the fact that Pansy is a really good kisser. Her mouth tastes like Alihotsy and sugar as she gently moves her tongue against mine, lips soft and warm. My hands move on their own, one snaking behind her head to tangle with her hair, the other on her waist pulling her in closer.</p><p>"Holy shit," I hear Adrian whisper, making me laugh softly against Pansy's lips.</p><p>My hands go down to her hips to pull her in. She instantly swings a leg over my legs and straddles my lap without breaking our kiss. My hands move to her back, but she grabs my wrists and pushes them up against the wall on either side of my head. My breath hitches, I feel her smirk, and Graham whistles lowly beside us. Pansy tilts her head to deepen the kiss a little. It's intense but somehow still soft. I tilt my head forward a little as I slip my tongue into her mouth, struggling to get out of her grip. It's a bit odd for me to have my wrists pinned down, specifically by a girl.</p><p>I usually top.</p><p>But my pulse is pounding really fast, and Pansy is really good at this and is really attractive, so I let my arms go limp. She instantly moves to hold my wrists in one hand, the other hand coming down to the side of my face.</p><p>And then her hand trails down further to my torso, brushing lightly over my stomach, tickling over my chest, and then she's massaging my breasts. I arch my back instantly, my kissing growing sloppy as I focus on not letting out an embarrassing noise, but she squeezes one of my breasts so hard, I let out a soft groan.</p><p>She laughs slightly at me, making me grin a bit, but then her hand is in my neck squeezing slightly on either side of my throat.</p><p>Pansy let's go of my wrists to bury her hand in my hair. My hands instantly go down to her ass, squeezing her so tight over her jeans that she makes a little muffled noise of surprise and lifts herself up a bit.</p><p>"I need to use the bathroom," I hear Adrian clear his through followed by the sound of pounding footsteps and the door at the end of the hallway slamming shut.</p><p>Pansy and I laugh again, though I end up choking on my spit when she accidentally and abruptly squeezes my throat.</p><p>"Oh, shit," she squeals, grinning as she pulls away and bites back another laugh, "sorry, babe." She lets go of my neck and clears her throat.</p><p>"Oh, it's cool," I respond in a light voice, rubbing my neck, feeling my face turn so warm as I remember the two guys sitting in this very hallway with us watching rather intently.</p><p>I turn my head slowly to see Graham about a foot away, gaping with blank eyes at us. He looks completely lost, face slightly pink and lips flushed. He clears his throat when he seems me looking, rubbing his eyes.</p><p>"That was—that was hot," he says with a laugh, clearing his throat again and sitting up straight to puff his chest out.</p><p>"I agree," Pansy says, making me look at her and grin. "You're a damn fine kisser, babe."</p><p>"We should do that again," I (kind of) joke, nodding at her while she rolls her eyes and slips off my lap.</p><p>"Will you let me eat you out next time?"</p><p>"Totally."</p><p>"We have a deal."</p><p>I glance over at Draco right as the door swings back<br/>open to reveal Adrian, a bounce in his step. My eyes shoot back to Draco in half a second though, because the way he's looking at me is beyond intoxicating. He's slouched slightly, one hand on his muscular torso lazily tracing the lines of his abs. His white blond hair is all messed up and ruffled, sticking up all over the place as if he's just woken up or has just had sex. His eyes are heavy, hooded, looking at me somehow both intensely and lazily. They're crystal clear, piercing as though he can read my thoughts. And his pink, flushed lips are smirking slightly as he tips his Firewhiskey into his mouth.</p><p>"Enjoy the show, Malfoy?" I ask coolly, beyond glad that it's impossible to see when I'm blushing.</p><p>He shrugs slightly, moving his bottle back down beside him. When I follow his movement, my eyes catch on his pants. I smirk—he's a little hard. I've gotten him turned on and frustrated enough times to know that he isn't fully hard and in dire need to use the restroom like Adrian did, but he's so obviously turned on.</p><p>"It was alright," he says lightly, bringing his other hand up to reveal the joint he's been holding. He takes a long drag and exhales slowly, the smoke wafting over to me as he passes the joint over to Adrian. "Now you just need to kiss Pucey, and you'll have made out with every person in this hallway."</p><p>I laugh softly, tossing my hair over my shoulder. "What can I say? I get around."</p><p>"Wait," Graham says from beside me, making me frown and look over at him. He's frowning too, dark eyes glancing between Draco and me, "you and Draco have...?"</p><p>"Made out?" I supply, quirking a brow as I lean over to take the joint from Adrian. "Yeah, just don't tell Blaise, or he might throw a hissy-fit."</p><p>Draco snorts, making me grin.</p><p>Graham is scowling. "You didn't tell me that you've kissed Draco," he says, watching me take a drag from the joint.</p><p>I blink at him blankly, pulling my hand away to exhale softly right in his face, smirking when his scowl deepens. "I've kissed plenty of guys without telling you," I say lightly.</p><p>"And girls," Pansy pipes up.</p><p>"And girls," I agree, nodding. "Y'know Marietta Edgecomb, from Ravenclaw? She acts like a total brown-noser, but she loves a good choking."</p><p>Pansy whistles lowly, making me snicker.</p><p>"Do you have a problem with that, or something?" I ask, glancing away and leaning over to hand Pansy the joint. As I straighten back up, my eyes catch on Draco. He's eyeing Graham and me up curiously.</p><p>"No, I just..."</p><p>"Wait," Adrian says, voice muffled as he chews on some chocolate cockroach clusters (hey, don't knock them 'til you've tried them), "are you guys, like, dating?"</p><p>"<em>No</em>," I scoff with a laugh, glancing up at Graham who says nothing. I frown. "Right, Graham?" I ask pointedly.</p><p>"No, yeah, right, we're not," he says, clearing his throat, his thick brows knitted together tightly. "It's just...why'd you come to Hogsmeade today? When I asked you the other day, you said no."</p><p>"<em>Attendre</em> [Wait]..." Draco says, catching my attention. He's squinting slightly, piercing eyes looking at me closely. "<em>Il t'a invitée</em> [He asked you out]?"</p><p>Graham glances between us frantically. "What'd he say?"</p><p>I look at Draco, rolling my eyes as I respond, "<em>Oui, juste avant que je me présente tard à la bibliothèque </em>[Yes, right before I showed up late at the library]."</p><p>Draco's jaw drops. "<em>Pas moyen</em> [No way]."</p><p>"What are you guys—? Whatever," Graham huffs, grabbing my arm tightly to make me turn and look at him. I scowl, swatting at his hand. He loosens his grip and says, "How many people have you kissed?"</p><p>"Why do you care?" I ask incredulously, glancing at Pansy for support, though she's busy looking at Graham with sheer disgust so intense it nearly makes me laugh. "Didn't I see you snogging Elvina literally last week?"</p><p>Graham huffs. "Well, I'm sorry, b—"</p><p>"No, don't be," I say, ripping my arm out of his grasp. "Snog whoever you want. Seriously, fuck whoever, man, and I'll fuck whoever too."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"<em>Il t'a demandé de sortir pour la Saint-Valentin</em> [He asked you out for Valentine's Day]?" Draco interrupts incredulously, his voice shaking as he tries not to laugh, eyes all wide and crazy.</p><p>I grin. "<em>Ouais. Dans un placard à balais. Il venait de me faire baiser </em>[Yup. In a broom closet. He had just fucked me]," I say, giggling slightly when Draco's jaw slowly drops.</p><p>"<em>Quel romantique</em> [What a romantic]," he snorts sarcastically rolling his eyes.</p><p>"What are you guys saying?" Graham snaps. "Are you talking about me?"</p><p>"Nope," I lie smoothly. "Is this conversation over?" I ask, looking at Graham with quirked brows. "Can we continue the game?" I don't wait for him to respond, as I simply face back forward, seeing Draco turning pink as he tries not to laugh, and smirk. "Someone ask me."</p><p>"Truth or dare, babe," Pansy asks.</p><p>"Truth, I guess."</p><p>"Mm," Pansy responds, thinking hard. "Okay...I know you have a small crowd to choose from, but if you were to have a threesome with two of us, who would you choose?"</p><p><em>You and Draco, easy</em>.</p><p>"I'm taking my shoes off," I say instead, gripping Graham's shoulder to help me stand up while I feel my face get warm.</p><p>"Aw, why?" Adrian snorts, watching as I kick my ankle boots off and toss them to the pile of all our discarded clothes, sitting back down on my knees. "It's okay to admit you wanna have a threesome with me," he teases with a cheeky wink, making me grin.</p><p>"Yeah, right. You all have massive egos, and I'm not about to feed them," I say dryly, rubbing my hands up and down my thighs.</p><p>"<em>Même moi </em>[Even me]?" Draco asks with a teasing pout, his eyes scanning me. "Ouch."</p><p>"Even me?" Graham asks, making me jolt suddenly, fearing that he's somehow translated what Draco has said. But then he's looking at me so offended that I roll my eyes and respond—</p><p>"Especially you, sweetheart."</p><p>"Graham," Draco clears his throat, "truth or dare?"</p><p>"Dare," Graham responds glumly.</p><p>Draco's eyes go to me, and instantly I know that I won't like the next words coming out of his mouth. He smirks, saying, "Kiss the most attractive person in this hallway."</p><p>"<em>Je vais te tuer </em>[I'm gonna kill you]."</p><p>"<em>J'aimerais te voir essayer</em> [I'd like to see you try]."</p><p>"What the fuck are you guys even saying?" Pansy asks, smoke coming out of her mouth.</p><p>"We're shit-talking you, Panz," Draco says sweetly right as Graham grips my jaw and turns my head to kiss me.</p><p>He's normally a decent kisser, but high on Alihotsy and drunk on Firewhiskey, it's all sloppy and rough in the worst way. I like rough usually—I like it when guys grab my jaw or neck or arms or just <em>me</em> and are rough with their lips and tongue and leave bruises, but Graham is <em>just</em> rough. He's holding my jaw uncomfortably, his lips are practically pressing into my bone, and his tongue is shoved all too far down my throat.</p><p>When he pulls away, I'm gasping for breath for all the wrong reasons.</p><p>I glance up at Draco, whose brows are furrowed and eyes are mildly concerned, and say, "<em>Aidez-moi</em> [Help me]," in an exhausted voice.</p><p>"Hey, Graham," Draco says instantly, casually looking at his captain, "I think we're all out of Firewhiskey. You have some in your room?"</p><p>"Yeah," Graham says, a bright grin on his face as he gets up. "I'll go get it."</p><p>I peer at Draco curiously while the blond watches Graham walk away. When the door snaps shut, he glances over at Adrian and says, "Switch with Celeste."</p><p>Adrian, in the middle of biting down on a chocolate frog, freezes. The frog writhes in his grip, but he just looks at Draco blankly. "What?"</p><p>"Switch with her."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Just do it."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"So that I don't punch you, dumbass," Draco scoffs exasperatedly, rolling his eyes.</p><p>I glance over to Pansy in surprise to see her already looking at me. She gives me an impressed look, glancing to Draco and back at me with a suggestive roll of her brows. I roll my eyes at her right as a grumbling Adrian gets up and sits down where Graham was.</p><p>I glance at him and then look up at Draco. He looks at me expectantly, gesturing over at the space beside him. I feel my face warm slightly, but I just shrug and crawl over to sit beside him.</p><p>He instantly wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his side, making me gasp.</p><p>"Thanks," I mutter, ignoring Pansy and Adrien's suggestive "ooh"s.</p><p>"Yeah, whatever."</p><p>—</p><p>"Okay, I'm turning in," Pansy yawns, stretching before getting up to her feet. "Will you two clean this up?" she asks, gesturing to the pile of bottles before bending down to grab her discarded clothes.</p><p>"Sure," I say softly, watching her walk past Draco and I to get to our dorm. "Night, Panz."</p><p>"Night, night, my loves," she yawns again.</p><p>"Sleep tight," Draco mumbles beside me right as she disappears into our dorm.</p><p>"And then there were two," I murmur, glancing up at Draco who sits beside me to see him already looking at me with glittering eyes. "Have you read Agatha Christie?"</p><p>He frowns. "Who?"</p><p>"Oh, never mind," I wave him off, "I forgot you don't read Muggle novels."</p><p>He's silent for a moment, eyes glancing between my own and my lips. I'm still in my skirt and sweater, and he's still wearing his pants, but the way he's looking at me makes me feel so naked.</p><p>"I can't believe Graham has a crush on you," he says after an extended moment, smirking slightly.</p><p>"Neither can I," I sigh, rolling my eyes.</p><p>"I mean, has he met you? Actually had a conversation with you?"</p><p>"Hey," I pout jokingly while he grins at me wickedly.</p><p>"Just kidding. Well, not really, b—"</p><p>"No, but you're right, though," I frown, letting my head fall to rest on his shoulder. "Is this okay? I'm too tired to hold my head up on my own," I mumble. Alihotsy has always made me more comfortable with nonsexual physical touch, to the point where it's kind of embarrassing. "Anyway, you're right, I'm a total bitch to him."</p><p>Draco's slightly tense, but he slowly relaxes his shoulder. "Maybe he's into that," he snickers softly.</p><p>"Mm. Maybe."</p><p>"You tired?"</p><p>"A bit."</p><p>"You gonna go to sleep?" he asks. I can feel his head turn to look at me, but I'm busy looking at his hand in his lap.</p><p>"I don't think so. Kind of in the mood to stay up," I respond.</p><p>"Same," he says. "Hey, Celeste?"</p><p>"What's up?"</p><p>"Truth or dare?"</p><p>"Dare," I say, lifting my head up to look at him.</p><p>He's looking at me challengingly, eyes suddenly dark grey and stormy, bolts of white electricity running through and cracking them. They're heavy and intense, and his lips look so soft and kissable, a small cut in his lower one from gnawing too hard that I want to suck on.</p><p>"Beg," he whispers.</p><p>I smile softly, tilting my head up so my lips brush against his. I watch as his eyes flutter shut, smirking before pulling away without kissing him.</p><p>"You know that daring me to beg won't work," I say softly, my hand rest on his thigh and gently rubbing it.</p><p>"I know," he says, opening his eyes slowly. "I just want you to take your sweater off."</p><p>I smile slightly. "As you wish," I say teasingly, sitting up on my knees. I carefully pull my turtleneck out from under my skirt, well aware of Draco watching carefully. My fingers slip under the hem of it before I arch my back to stretch and peel the right material off my skin and over my head, tossing it towards the pile of our clothes. I bring my hands up to fix my hair while Draco's eyes rake all over my torso, from the skin in my stomach to the shadow over my collarbones to the red bra I wear.</p><p>It's simple and hardly there. Honestly, it's rather risky. It's two little triangles connected by a thick band over my ribs and thin straps over my shoulders. It's made is mesh, two thick strips of lace up the middles to cover my nipples and nothing else. It's the least supportive thing I own, but <em>damn</em> does it make me look good.</p><p>"I told you I was wearing red," I say slyly, my own hand sliding up my torso to brush gently over my breasts.</p><p>"Pansy's gift," Draco says, eyes heavy and distracted as they admire me. "I'll have to thank her."</p><p>His eyes then trail up to my golden locket, looking at it carefully. "You attached to that locket?"</p><p>I glance down, picking it up and fiddling with it under his gaze. "Yeah, I guess," I say with a shrug. "There hasn't been a day I haven't worn it, except..."</p><p>"You weren't wearing it that day in Diagon Alley," he says, frowning slightly. He reaches out to my chest, brushing his knuckles over my bra most likely on purpose. "Can I?"</p><p>"Mhm," I respond, and he picks the locket up in his fingers, turning it over to look at it carefully. "I lost it, somehow. My, um, my mother found it right before break ended," I lie, frowning as I recall it all. The way I'm fairly sure my mother took that locket from me, the way my parents were in Knockturn Alley the same day and Father again on the last day, the way my mother never returned it until the last day.</p><p>"It's not the Dark Mark, is it?" he asks, leaning in slightly. He then shakes his head. "I thought it was, but...too many snakes."</p><p>"Is he really back?" I whisper before I can stop myself, knowing fully well the answer.</p><p>The Dark Lord is not a frequent topic of conversation in my family. We've only discussed him once, and that was when my father was telling me the story of when he and Mother left the country for America while she was pregnant with me. They left while the Wizarding War was brewing, when both sides were gathering ranks. And they were approached not by the Dark Lord himself, but by some of his closest confidants asked to join. They declined, and maybe they would have been killed if they hadn't a "real" reason to decline—that my mother was pregnant with me, and they were moving anyway.</p><p>We've never discussed whether they would've have said yes otherwise. Or whether they agree with Him. I've come to those conclusions myself, that they would have said yes, and while they might not agree with his methods, they agree with his ideology, that Muggles and Muggleborns are undeserving of a world of witches and wizards.</p><p>I'm fairly sure the Dark Lord is back. I'd heard of the Dark Mark at the Quidditch game in the summer of '94, and then Harry Potter and Dumbledore coming out with their stories of a portkey and returned Dark wizard and all his cronies—Draco's own father being one of the listed—at the beginning of this past summer. But every news source in the world scoffed it off.</p><p>But I'd noticed my parents' behavior change since then. And it surprised me when they told me we were moving back to Britain, made me wonder if it truly was just so I could finish my OWLs while they could work, or whether it had something to do with <em>Him</em>.</p><p>Draco tenses, his eyes hard. "Why are you asking <em>me?</em>" he practically spits in a low voice, letting my locket drop back down to my sternum.</p><p>I lift my eyebrows. "I was just asking, Draco," I say calmly, bringing my hand up to touch his forearm.</p><p>"Why? Why are you asking stupid things?" he scowls, eyes looking panicked.</p><p>"Nothing, I just..." I glance off, sighing deeply. "Don't you remember that conversation we listened in on?"</p><p>"What conversation?"</p><p>I roll my eyes. "The <em>only</em> conversation, stupid," I mutter, earning me a glare. "On New Years. Your parents, and my parents, they were talking about...well, they were talking about <em>Him</em>. And, well, they were trying to get my parents to join him..." I say tentatively, cautiously raising my eyes up to see him glaring at me fiercely. "...Weren't they?"</p><p>"How should I know?" he responds in a calm voice, but his eyes are ice and piercing and are slashing me up and down where he looks. "I know as much as you do. I <em>heard</em> as much as you did."</p><p>"Okay," I say quickly, glancing between his eyes while my pulse thumps quickly in my throat. I swallow thickly, taking in the way he glares at me harshly, and I try for a slight laugh. "Sorry, it must be the, um, the Alihotsy. Takes away my filter."</p><p>He looks at me carefully, scanning me up and down. Slowly, the crease between his brow relaxes before he mutters, "You don't have much of a filter to begin with."</p><p>I smile tentatively. "Exactly. Makes me worse."</p><p>He furrows his brows again, cold eyes making me want to smirk. And then he rolls them and looks away, setting his head back straight as he leans forward to grab a bottle of alcoholic seltzer, the kind that tastes more like flavoring than anything, but is fun to drink.</p><p>"You're not <em>all</em> that bad," he says after a moment of silence, taking a sip of drink before offering it to me.</p><p>"That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," I tease, gladly taking the bottle and tipping some into my mouth. It's the Bertie Bott's edition, so ever sip tastes like something different. Butterscotch, this time.</p><p>"That's not true," he scoffs, glancing back at me and snatching the bottle back from me. "I told you that I think you smell really good."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows at him slowly, my ego expanding within me. "I don't think you did," I say lightly.</p><p>"Yes, I did," he responds irritably, taking another sip and instantly recoiling. "Ew, cherry tastes like medicine. I told you, though, I remember. You were talking about showering or whatever, and then you said something about shampoo, and I said 'I know, it smells really good.' Blackberry, right?"</p><p>I gape at him, feeling myself slowly grin. "I don't remember this happening, Draco," I say carefully, tilting my head at him.</p><p>He pauses, eyes wide. "Oh, crap," Draco then mutters, rubbing his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks flowing pinker than they already were from his intoxication. "Fuck. Well, I'm telling you now. Whatever, it's your turn to ask me."</p><p>I grin, taking the bottle back from him. "Truth or dare, Dray?"</p><p>"Don't call me that," he snaps. "Dare."</p><p>"Dare..." I hum, pretending to think about it before smirking devilishly. "Beg for me, babyboy."</p><p>"Wow, don't call me <em>that</em> either," he huffs, grunting softly to stand up right in front of me with me on my knees. I look up with big, eager eyes while he smirks down at me softly, unbuckling his belt in front of my face. "You wanna help me take this off, darling?" he asks cheekily.</p><p>"Sure," I chirp, smacking his hands out of the way. He jolts when I carelessly unbutton his pants and drag the zipper down, making me smirk as I purposefully brush my knuckles against him.</p><p>He mutters something under his breath, stepping back to finish taking his pants off. "It's cold," he complains with a scowl.</p><p>I grin at him. "You can keep your pants on, it's okay," I say, reaching past him to move our pile of clothes back to us.</p><p>"Can I actually?" he asks, already buckling his pants back up.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm a little cold too," I say with a shrug.</p><p>"Oh, okay, you want your sweater?" he asks, reaching down for if.</p><p>"No, it's okay."</p><p>"I thought you said you're cold."</p><p>"I am, but I'm having fun watching you stare at my tits," I tease, my grin only growing when he rolls his eyes and sits down with a huff.</p><p>"So no more stripping?" he asks, quirking a brow.</p><p>"I'd rather not get naked in a hallway, so, yeah, no more stripping," I concede, stifling a laugh when I see how hard he's struggling to keep his eyes on mine.</p><p>"Fine. Truth or dare?" he asks.</p><p>"Dare."</p><p>"Sit on me," he says simply, looking at me with heavy, casual eyes that make my stomach flip.</p><p>"Easy," I say softly, my ears warming slightly. It's the Firewhiskey, I decide as I move to straddle his lap, my black skirt rising up a little.</p><p>His hands go to my legs, warm and strong, rings cold as ever, and rub soothing up and down the sides of my thighs. I lean in a little to loosely wrap my arms around the back of his neck, butterflies erupting in my gut at the way he looks at me so casually but darkly, the epitome of sex and nonchalance all in one. His eyes drop down to my chest, and he grins and leans his head back against the wall, unashamedly admiring me.</p><p>I lick my lips before asking, "Truth or dare?"</p><p>"Dare," he says, his lips barely moving.</p><p>"I dare you to..." I trail off, unsure of what to say. When I look at him, my mind goes blank. He's watching me so intently, like I'm the most entertaining thing he's come across in days. He carefully bends his knees so that I can lean back against his thigh, my finger absentmindedly tracing the hard lines of his abs.</p><p>"Go on," he urges, his eyes dropping to my red bra.</p><p>"Kiss me," I say, his eyes darting up to mine. "Anywhere you want that's <em>not</em> my lips."</p><p>He smirks slowly. "That's a difficult decision," he says in a raspy voice that has goosebumps appearing all over my skin. He drags his fingers up my legs, under my skirt to take his nails back down, over my sides and arms, barely skimming over my chest, cupping my face. "I know you really like it when I kiss you here," he says, eyes on mine while he taps the spot right at the end of my jaw behind my ear. "Right?"</p><p>I press my lips together. I'm usually so good at acting unaffected, but there's so much in my system right now that the best I can do is keep from responding that he's right.</p><p>"Or I could kiss your neck," he muses, tapping me right over my pulse before dragging his fingers down, keeping intense eye contact with me. He brushes my collarbones, saying, "Your collarbones, your shoulders..." His finger picks up the strap of my bra, pulling it up and letting it snap back down.</p><p>"Oh," I whisper quickly as I jolt, my face instantly getting warm.</p><p>He smirks, dragging the strap down. His eyes flicker down to my chest as he gently pulls one side of my bra down, glancing back up to make sure I'm okay. I give him a slight nod, and then he's tugging my other strap down until they both hang loosely near my shoulders, the material of my bra bunched up beneath my exposed breasts.</p><p>"Fuck," he groans, the bulge in his pants grow harder right beneath me. "Just <em>one</em> kiss?"</p><p>"Maybe..." my voice comes out breathy and strained, "maybe two is okay."</p><p>He exhales softly, hands cupping me. I close my eyes—the look on his face is just too much for me to handle—feeling his thumbs gently flick against my hard nipples. I grip his arms tightly, nails digging into his skin, silently begging him to hurry up. He listens to my nonverbal pleas, leaning in to latch his mouth to one of my nipples.</p><p>I gasp softly, eyes closed tight. His mouth his hot and wet, tongue brushing against my nipple as he sucks delicately. My hands go up to his hair, tangling with his white locks and pulling at them while also pushing his head closer to me. He lets go and blows softly over my skin, making me jolt as it suddenly feels cold.</p><p>"Merlin, you're sensitive," he whispers before kissing my breast and moving on to pay attention to my other.</p><p>"Blame the Alihotsy," I mumble.</p><p>He does the same with my other nipple, sucking gently. He bites down carefully and drags his lips away, making me muffle a whimper by biting down on my lower lip, though I know he could still hear it from the way he smirks slightly when he placed his second kiss.</p><p>"You look like you want more," he says in a husky voice as he pulls my straps back up and fixed my bra, definitely brushing his hands against my breasts on purpose.</p><p>"Oh, no," I say weakly, keeping my eyes closed to avoid the smug look on his face. "That was...awful. Never want that to happen again."</p><p>"Yeah? Open your eyes, <em>chérie</em>."</p><p>I listen, instantly snapping my eyes open to see a hungry gleam in his. I swallow thickly, my panties suddenly feeling beyond damp with my own arousal.</p><p>"Truth or dare, Celeste?" he asks in a quiet voice, my name sounding like sugar from his lips.</p><p>"Truth," I say, dazed as my chest tingles slightly in excitement.</p><p>"Remember when you were asked who you'd have a threesome with?" he asks with a quirked brow, making dread settle in my chest. He smirks slightly, saying, "Tell me what your answer was."</p><p>I shake my head. "Absolutely not."</p><p>"Tell me," he insists, squeezing my thigh.</p><p>"Nope. I'll pass. Ask me something else."</p><p>"Oh, c'mon," he groans, a slight grin on his face. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."</p><p>My face gets beyond warm as I look at him, chest heaving slightly, his eyes dark and ravenous, his pants tenting right beneath my very wet panties.</p><p>"Fine," I say clearing my throat. "My answer was...you and Pansy."</p><p>He clamps his lips together, very obviously biting back a grin. I roll my eyes and cover my face with my hands, hair falling down like a curtain to shield me from his teasing, smug gaze.</p><p>"Aw, don't hide from me," he taunts, hands traveling up and down my sides. "That's <em>adorable</em>."</p><p>"Oh, shut up," I scoff, lifting my head back. "I had to choose from <em>four</em> people. I mean, Pansy is a no-brainer, because, well—I don't even have to explain that. But then it was between you, Graham, and Adrian. And, y'know, Graham might be my current hook-up on call, but he's been really pissing me off lately with that pesky little crush he's developed, and Adrian is nice, but I've heard he's vanilla, so the only logical conclusion w—"</p><p>"You're rambling," he interrupts calmly.</p><p>"I was explaining myself," I huff, crossing my arms with a scowl.</p><p>He smiles slightly. "Fine. Then if you had to pick two people out of the entire school, who would you pick?"</p><p>My face heats up hotter than it's ever been. I shrink back, leaning against his legs while playing distractedly with the hem of my skirt, trying to think of a believable answer while Draco watches me carefully. His hands are on my legs, squeezing my thighs tightly, and then he's suddenly laughing lowly.</p><p>"No way..." he says in a raspy voice. "No fucking way..."</p><p>I huff. "My answer wouldn't change, okay?" I say snappily, showing up at his grinning face.</p><p>"No <em>damn </em>way."</p><p>"Oh, shut it. And don't you dare tell anyone."</p><p>"Aw," he laughs, his hand coming up to push my hair out of my face. "Are you embarrassed, princess? It's okay, I get it, I'm attractive and all that. I'm sure there are plenty of girls who would make the same decision."</p><p>"Shut up," I complain sourly, but it just makes the insufferably smug look on his face grow.</p><p>"You really want Pansy and me to fuck you at the same time?" he asks in a husky voice, my stomach flipping at the though.</p><p>"<em>No</em>," I scoff defensively. "I didn't say I <em>want</em> to, I'm saying that if I <em>had</em> to—"</p><p>"You want to," he interrupts knowingly, his piercing gaze making me want to shrink away. He doesn't let me, though, his hands going to my waist and pulling so fast to his chest that I nearly fall. My hands land on his bare shoulders, enjoying the way his skin is so feverish. "I'm sure we could arrange that," he muses, eyes heavy and hungry as they eye up my lips.</p><p>I gulp. "What?" I ask, unsure if I've heard him right.</p><p>"Me and Pansy, fucking you at the same time," he says casually, like we're talking about studying for History or something. His eyes gleam mischievously. "I don't think it'd be too hard to get that to happen."</p><p>
  <em>Really?</em>
</p><p>I inhale sharply, pulling away from his chest. "Whatever. Let's move on."</p><p>"As you wish," he hums, still smirking.</p><p>"Truth or dare?" I ask, rubbing my face like that'll make it any less hot.</p><p>"Truth."</p><p>"Do you have a crush on anyone right now?" I ask curiously, tilting my head at him curiously.</p><p>He inhales a sharp breath, wincing as his eyes drift off. "Uh, no," he says rather unconvincingly, making me grin slowly.</p><p>"Oh, that's <em>such</em> a lie," I laugh, wiggling slightly on top of him and grinning when he bites back a groan. "Who is it? Do we know her?" I gasp dramatically, making him snap his eyes back to me with mild concern. "Don't tell me you still like Pansy."</p><p>"<em>No</em>, I don't still like Pansy," he snaps with a scowl, giving my thigh a slight pinch that makes me yelp softly. "I'm not answering this question."</p><p>"So you <em>do</em> have a crush on someone."</p><p>"...I guess."</p><p>"C'mon, tell me," I urge with a slight pout, eager to find out so I can hold it over his head and torment him. "You can <em>trust</em> me."</p><p>He looks at me incredulously. "Sure," he drawls with a roll of his eyes.</p><p>"Oh, <em>c'mon</em>. We're friends," I say in a light voice, wincing as I add, "kind of."</p><p>"We're not really friends," he points out with a quirk of his brow.</p><p>"Yeah, well, we have a bunch of mutual friends," I wave him off, seeing him smile slightly. "I think we're pretty close," I tease slyly, burying my hands in his hair and tugging slightly on his blond locks. "I mean, we've gotten rather close <em>quite</em> a few times. We're close right now."</p><p>"We're shirtless."</p><p>"Exactly!" I laugh slightly, watching him bite back his own grin. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I've seen more of..." I gesture wordlessly at his groin area. "More of <em>you</em> than Pansy and Blaise—unless you and Blaise did more than ki—"</p><p>"Hey!" he interrupts, jerking his knees up to make me bounce a little on his lap.</p><p>I fall forward into his chest but quickly push away to look at him eagerly. "Well?" I say, my hands on his shoulders. "Just tell me, Dray."</p><p>"Don't call me that."</p><p>"Tell me, Ferret Boy," I grin.</p><p>"You're not helping your case," he snaps with a fiery scowl.</p><p>"I can't help it, you're so cute when you're angry," I tease, giving his cheek a quick pinch.</p><p>He sighs softly, gently pulling my hand away from<br/>his face. He squeezes my hand tightly before letting it fall down between us. "If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh," he says in a low voice, eyes stern as he looks at me carefully. "Okay?"</p><p>I inhale through my teeth. "I don't make promises when I don't know if I can keep them."</p><p>He rolls his eyes. "Fine, you'll probably laugh anyway. Can you at least promise not to tell anyone? Not even Blaise or Pansy."</p><p>I frown. "They don't know?"</p><p>"Nobody knows."</p><p>"Wow," I say, my hands slipping down to grab his belt loops, "I feel kind of special. I promise I won't tell them, or anyone," I say honestly as he reaches up to push my curls out of his face. "But I reserve <em>all</em> rights to make fun of you."</p><p>Draco's lips twitch up into a small, fraction of a smile. "I'm gonna regret this," he says softly, eyes resting heavily on my own lips.</p><p>"Probably, but go on."</p><p>He sighs softly, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Granger."</p><p>I'm silent for a moment, wondering if I've heard him wrong. My smile slowly slips away as I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, thinking, <em>There's no way in hell...</em></p><p>"Did you just say—?"</p><p>"Yep."</p><p>"So you have a crush on—?"</p><p>"That's right."</p><p>"Y—?"</p><p>"Yes, Celeste," he interrupts impatiently, snapping his eyes open to glare at me viciously, "you heard me right. I have a crush on..." His flare dwindles away as he seems to struggle getting the name out.</p><p>"Granger," I finish, completely dumbfounded.</p><p>He just sighs.</p><p>And then I grin slowly, seeing him eye me up wearily. "Are you telling me that your dream threesome would be with me and <em>Granger?</em>"</p><p>"I fucking hate you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>bet ya didnt see that coming</p><p>QOTD: what's something you wish you knew more about regarding the wizarding world?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. POISON</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>draco and celeste have yet another study session</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>March 19th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Maybe we don't need to study for this," Celeste says lightly, a slight pout on her lips as she glares down at her notes. "Maybe we'll somehow remember everything Binns has ever said tomorrow."</p><p>"Yeah, right," Pansy snorts.</p><p>"I'm done with this," Blaise sighs from where he's sitting on his own bed, slamming his textbook shut and tossing it onto the floor in front of his nightstand. "If I fail, I fail. I'll live."</p><p>"I won't," I grumble from my own bed.</p><p>"Yeah, well, I'm going to sleep, so if you're gonna stay up, get the fuck out," he says, flopping over in his bed and pulling his covers up over his head in one fluid movement. "Like, now."</p><p>"Uh, oh," Celeste tuts. She and Pansy are sitting on the ground leaning against Blaise's bed. She smirks, glancing up at me to say, "Looks like Blaisey is a bit cranky. A kiss should lighten him up, don't you think, Dray?"</p><p>Everyone in the room freezes. Pansy's jaw is dropped in an irritating grin.</p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>, Celeste," I groan, climbing out of my bed and messily shoving all my books and notes back into my bag.</p><p>"<em>Never</em>."</p><p>"So she knows the story, huh?" Blaise mumbles from beneath his thick blankets.</p><p>"Mhm," Celeste quips brightly, standing up as well and carefully placing her History of Magic textbook back in her bag before slinging it over her shoulder. She looks up at me with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, saying, "I'm surprised you're not more upset about that."</p><p>"He wasn't the first guy I kissed, and he definitely wasn't the last," Blaise snorts, throwing his covers off his head. "He sucked. Didn't move a single muscle. I mean, I took him by surprise, but <em>damn</em>. Anyway, get the fuck out of my room."</p><p>Celeste stares at him with a stunned expression while I roll my eyes.</p><p>"You're into g—?"</p><p>"Get <em>out!</em>"</p><p>With that, Pansy, Celeste, and I are hurrying out of the room while Blaise throws a bunch of pillows at our heads, knocking on into the back of mine and messing my hair up. Pansy goes off into her own dorm, telling us that she's gonna test her luck for tomorrow, and to have fun sucking each other's dicks, at which Celeste laughed and I flipped her off.</p><p>"I'm gonna go change really quickly," Celeste says as she drops her bag onto the floor next to a sofa, glancing up at me with bright eyes. "You still wanna study for History? Or should we move onto Ancient Runes?"</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but she interrupts me, already on her way to the girls' dorms.</p><p>"We'll do Ancient Runes—Im tired of talking about the Statute of Secrecy."</p><p>And then she disappears behind the door, leaving me standing in the middle of the common room with a blank look on my face. I sigh softly, rubbing my face harshly as I walk over slowly to the little table near the side of the room where we keep all the coffees and the teas, quickly whipping up two coffees. I keep mine black, but in Celeste's, I put two sugars and just a bit of milk the way I know she likes it.</p><p>Studying so frequently with her has led me to learn all sorts of odd bits about her habits—she can't drink coffee if there isn't any milk or cream in it, and if there's more than four sugars, she acts like she's gonna throw up. Sometimes she'll take tea instead of coffee, but <em>never</em> chamomile and only if she knows she won't have to stay up too late. She also simply can<em>not</em> be wearing shoes while she's focusing very hard—she says that the pinching feeling in her toes makes it hard for her to concentrate; I say that she's stupid. She <em>has</em> to talk out loud when she's studying. Sometimes I'll walk in on her studying by herself, and she'll still be holding a conversation with empty air about the properties of monkshood. I've tried all that can be done to get her to shut up, from threatening to hex her to <em>actually</em> hexing her, but she never stops. Figures.</p><p>I walk over to the coffee table in front of the fireplace, carefully setting the hot coffees down on two coasters before sitting down on the ground leaning against the sofa. Another odd thing about her—she can't sit normally. She can't sit straight like a regular person on a chair or a sofa. She ends up sitting upside down or sprawled all over the place or on the damn floor despite all my insistence that she sits regularly so I can see her notes. I've given up though, so the floor it is.</p><p>I open my bag and pull out my Ancient Runes textbooks (there's <em>multiple</em>), my notes, some blank parchment, ink, and a quill, setting them<br/>down on the coffee table before opening a textbook up on my lap.</p><p>I sit for a moment, not moving a single muscle, just listening to the sound of the crackling fireplace and the occasional creaking of the lanterns hanging on rusted chains above me. The tiredness seeps into my bones steadily, and everything in me just wants to slump over and fall asleep right here.</p><p>But I just sigh, picking my coffee up and taking a small sip from it while reaching into my bag to grab the letter my owl, Argent, delivered to me this morning. I didn't have a chance to read it, or maybe I just didn't want to.</p><p>I hear the door creak open and gently shut followed by the sound of muffled footsteps on the carpeted floor. I carefully place the letter into the pocket of my robes and glance to the side when Celeste walks around the sofa and sits down beside me with a soft huff, my eyebrows lifting when I see what she's wearing. She's in a long, fluffy, dusty-pink robe, complete with the belt tied at her waist and a hood in which her dark curls rest. She's wearing slippers, though she's already kicking them off to reveal a pair of fluffy grey socks.</p><p>"Is this for me?" she asks with a bright smile, leaning forward to pick up <em>my</em> cup of coffee.</p><p>I open my mouth to stop her, but then I decide this could be entertaining. Smirking, I lean back with my elbows on the sofa to watch as she brings it up to her mouth, closing her eyes as she takes a quick sip. She's already swallowing it and taking another one when her eyes shoot open in a panic. Celeste turns to look at me, her cheeks puffed out a bit as she holds the coffee in her mouth, a frantic squeal leaving her muffled mouth.</p><p>"That's mine," I say calmly, biting back a grin.</p><p>She slowly raises my cup back to her mouth, looking at me carefully, and I quickly realize what she's about to do.</p><p>"Oh, don't you <em>dare</em> spit it back into my cup," I scoff, grabbing her wrist and pulling my cup away from her, setting it down on my coaster. "Just <em>swallow </em>it, dumbass. The longer you hold it, the worse it'll taste."</p><p>She pouts, cheeks puffed out.</p><p>I let out a short laugh, bringing my hand up to her face. I run my hand over her lower lip, saying, "Just swallow, sweetheart," with a cheeky grin. "You know what they say—spitters are quitters."</p><p>She scowls at me, but she gulps the coffee down. Instantly, Celeste recoils, bringing her hand up to her face.</p><p>"How do you drink that shit?" she asks, leaning forward to grab her <em>own</em> coffee this time, a pinched look on her face. "Honestly, it tastes like hell in a mug. You can't possibly have a soul <em>and</em> genuinely enjoy black coffee—unless you're one of those people that pretend to like black coffee because you think it makes you cool? It doesn't, hate to break it to you," she mutters sourly, glancing at the coffee in her mug suspiciously.</p><p>I look at her with mild amusement, a hand in my hair just playing with the locks as I wait for her to finish her never ending rambling. "Are you gonna thank me?" I ask coolly, looking at her closely with a small smirk.</p><p>"For what, trying to poison me?" she asks with a scowl.</p><p>"Poison you?" I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Please, if I was trying to poison you, I wouldn't be so obvious as putting it in your coffee. Anyway, it's not my fault your sorry ass couldn't tell you were holding black coffee."</p><p>She glares at me from over her mug, slowly tipping it into her mouth. I quirk a brow as I watch her take a small sip followed by a longer one. When she swallows and pulls the mug away, she <em>moans</em>, and I mean <em>really moans</em>, making my eyes widen as she throws her head back.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, that hits good," she groans slightly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."</p><p>"You're welcome," I clear my throat, sipping on my own coffee as I eye her up. "Nice, um, nice outfit," I snicker slightly. "I didn't peg you as the kind of girl who'd own a pink fluffy robe."</p><p>"It's Tracey's," she says with a roll of her eyes. "I couldn't find mine, and it's <em>freezing</em> out here. Should we get started?" she asks, glancing down at my lap where my Ancient Runes textbook sits.</p><p>I fucking hate Ancient Runes.</p><p>We're up for who knows how long pouring over it. Honestly, I feel a bit bad for Celeste. She seems to be pretty good at it, but saying that I <em>suck</em> at the subject would be an understatement. More than half the time, she's really just reteaching me the basics, and though she seems unbothered, I know she's really good at acting one way but feeling another; I also know that if I was in her position, I'd be so ticked off.</p><p>"Draco," she says in an odd voice from over my shoulder, peering down at the parchment I'm writing on.</p><p>I glance up at her, back down to my quill, and then back up when I register the frown and confused furrow of her brows.</p><p>"Yeah?" I sigh in defeat, already knowing I'm doing something <em>way</em> wrong.</p><p>She looks up at me, wincing slightly, and says, "I think you've mixed your fours and sevens up."</p><p>I look at her blankly, searching her dark, glimmering eyes for any sign of a joke. And then I deflate, a great gust of air leaving my lips as my chest sinks in and head drops so I can examine my parchment. It's a great mess of runes, little drawings and sketches scattered all over the place. If anyone looked at this, they'd think I was just doodling in class.</p><p>"Are you telling me I don't even know my numbers?" I ask quietly, dropping my quill onto the parchment and watching hopelessly as it drips a great drop of ink onto it. "I'm <em>that</em> shitty at Runes? That I don't even know the <em>numbers?</em> Oh, <em>fuck</em> me," I groan, throwing my head back against the sofa and pulling on my hair.</p><p>"It's alright," I hear her say as my eyes shut. There's some rustling, the sound of her crumpling my parchment up and tossing it into the fire. "It's late, you're probably just too tired."</p><p>I laugh dryly, rubbing my face while my pulse pounds rapidly, blood rushing past my ears growing increasingly faster and louder. My stomach twists at the sound of Celeste messing with the parchment, the rustling sound setting me on edge. Merlin, if I can't even figure out which rune is a fucking <em>four</em> and which rune is a fucking <em>seven</em>, I can kiss the idea of passing all thirteen of my OWLs goodbye.</p><p>"Can you stop?" I snap, opening my eyes to look at Celeste.</p><p>"What?" she frowns, shuffling the parchment against the coffee table to stack them up straight.</p><p>"That <em>noise</em>, stop making that <em>noise</em>," I huff irritably, closing my eyes again. My chest hurts a little as if heaves up and down rapidly, so I part my lips to suck in a deeper, sharp breath. I let out another shaky, dry laugh. I can feel Celeste looking at me, probably watching me closely with those dark eyes, an unimpressed or irritated look on her face, but I can't open my eyes again.</p><p>"I'll make you another coffee," she says, and then I hear her stand up.</p><p>Her arm brushes against me, and then there's the sound of dull footsteps against carpet that make me screw my face up tight and curl my hands up into fists. I'm hit by a wave of nausea at the thought of not passing the Ancient Runes OWLs. It's not even something I've honestly considered before, because it's simply not an option for me. Even getting a simple Acceptable isn't an option—it's either all Outstandings or just don't bother.</p><p>I'm up and halfway across the room before I even realize it, all my books and ink and quill left behind, but I couldn't care less, because my heart is pounding too fast and too erratically and I just need it to <em>stop</em>.</p><p>"Draco," I hear Celeste call after me when my hand is already on the doorknob. "Where are you going? You left all your th—"</p><p>I don't hear the rest of it, because I've already slammed the door shut and am storming down the hall to my room, patting my pockets for a key. I stop at the door to my dorm, jamming the key in and fiddling with it to get the door unlocked. The longer I take, the more frustrated I get, and I'm so close to just kicking the damn thing down when I finally hear the click.</p><p>I force myself not to slam the door open and shut when I walk in, not wanting to wake any of the other boys up. I close the door as quietly as possible, slipping into the bathroom, the lights and exhaust fan turning on instantly. I lock the door and turn to see my reflection staring back at me, taken aback by how dead I look. My hair is a mess, my skin is paler than usual, and there are heavy purple bags under my eyes. My hands tremble slightly at my sides, so fast their reflection almost blur, so fast it makes my heartbeat seem relaxed.</p><p>And then suddenly my clothes feel too restricting, like my tie is getting tighter by the second, choking me, my father's hand tightening around my throat, and his voice is in my head echoing the same words I've heard over and over.</p><p>So I struggle to pull my robes off, tossing them to the floor, and then I'm undoing my tie and letting it fall and unbuttoning the top few buttons of my shirt, except my throat is still tight, the walls of it shrinking in on each other to the point where I can hardly breath. There's something painful growing in my chest, trying to force its way out of the closed passageway of my throat. And when I finally manage to suck in a short sip of air, it comes back out as a strangled sob.</p><p>My senses are on edge, the fine hairs on my arms standing up. There's this terrible feeling crawling down my neck, like I'm completely exposed and someone is about to come up behind me and finish me off with the Killing Curse. I lean over the bathroom counter, elbows resting on the marble top and hands buried in the hair at the back of my head. I grit my teeth, eyes squeezed shit, and rake my nails over the back of my neck, feeling like I might throw up.</p><p>A chill passes over my back. I stand up, staring my reflection dead in the eye, and take a step back, but I nearly slip on something on the floor. I glance down to find the letter sitting under my shoe, the Malfoy crest glaring up at me where it's stamped into the dark green wax seal.</p><p>My fingers shaking, I move my foot and bend down to pick it up, gently dusting it off.</p><p>Before I can think better of it, I'm opening it carelessly, tearing the material of the envelope and marring the perfect lines of Father's signature to pull out the letter inside it.</p><p>
  <em>Draco,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I asked Professor Snape to send me a transcript of your grades for the last semester as well as your rank in your class. We received it a week ago, and since then I've been pondering how exactly to word this letter, since clearly nothing else I've ever said to you has incentivized you to focus on your studies.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          You have an Exceeds Expectations in Astronomy and Transfiguration. Last year, you were second in your class. Last semester, you were third.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          I don't know if there is something distracting you or keeping you from exceeding and excelling in your studies, but I don't care what it is. It's your responsibility to cut it out of your life, and that's exactly what you will do if you have any sense at all or care at all about your future and your family's name. I don't want to feel disappointment when I talk about you to my peers, Draco. Do you think the Mudblood is receiving Exceeds Expectations? Or the Zabinis' girl? Because they are both ahead of you, and they are most definitely receiving all Outstandings.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          Do you feel no shame knowing that the spawn of dirt is surpassing you? They're both girls, Draco, silly little girls, and you're letting them get ahead. You should be embarrassed of yourself. I know I am.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          I've said all this to you plenty times, but it's clear none of it is getting to your head. When you turned twelve, I wanted to send you to Durmstrang. It's a sensible school for worthy young men and women, no distracting little whores or Mudbloods running around. Your mother managed to convince me otherwise, but believe me when I say that I will not hesitate to send you there if you don't finish the school year with thirteen Os in your OWLs. It's obvious you're hopeless in your grades, so I expect your exams to make up for it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>         As of now, you're not welcome to come back for the Easter holidays. Maybe I'll change my mind if I see you acting like a man rather than a foolish boy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lucius Malfoy</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's the first thing you would do if you woke up tomorrow morning in hogwarts?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. TAKE CARE OF ME</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this bad boy is abt 10k words</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>CELESTE ZABINI<br/></em></strong>
  <strong>
    <em>March 19th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>I wait ten minutes for him to come back.</p><p>The look on his face was haunting. All of a sudden, he looked both younger and older at the same time. He looked like a tired young boy in desperate need of being tucked in and told to sleep well, his hair all ruffled and sticking up, his flushed pink lips pressed together. And he looked like a weary man, silver eyes lit with dread, fear, regret, the lines near them and by his lips deepening just slightly, his brows creasing and forehead wrinkling in worry, and somehow he was dead but alive at the same time.</p><p>I'm never really sure what to do in situations like this. In all honesty, I haven't been in situations like this very often. It's what happens when you move around so often—you don't get the chance to get close enough to someone that they'll break down right in front of you. I don't know what's happened to him, though, but I do know he wouldn't <em>dare</em> break down in front of me if he could help it.</p><p>So I made him more coffee, because I know coffee, and I love coffee, and I understand coffee, but then he got up and walked away without a word.</p><p>And now it's been ten minutes of me waiting for him to come back. Maybe he had to use the bathroom so badly that he went through a quarter-life crisis and couldn't wait to explain himself without bolting off. Maybe he had to throw up. Maybe he's not coming back. He's probably gone to sleep.</p><p>I clear my throat, oddly uncomfortable sitting here all by myself waiting for him to come back. I get up, picking up the two empty mugs placing them in the side table where all the coffees and teas are, knowing they'll magically get cleaned. And then I pick all my things up one by one, slowly, stalling a little as I wonder if he'll come back and we'll resume our study of the runes without a mention of his previous odd behavior.</p><p>But then my bag is backed and sitting on the sofa, and it's still just me in this astonishingly cold common room listening to the crackling fire and creaking chains above me.</p><p>I turn to pack his things up, extra careful with his textbooks as I slip them into his bag, making sure not to bend his parchment as I slide the whole stack in, capping and uncapping and recapping his ink bottle three times to ensure it doesn't leak onto his textbooks, slipping his quill into the front pocket so his textbooks down snap it in half. And then I stand there, holding his heavy bag in my hand, contemplating whether I leave it here for him to find tomorrow morning or go to his dorm now to give it to him.</p><p>
  <em>Is he asleep?</em>
</p><p>Probably not, nobody falls asleep that fast. I doubt he ran off so randomly just to sleep.</p><p>
  <em>He probably doesn't want you to bother him.</em>
</p><p>No, he probably doesn't, but I find myself walking across the common room towards the boys' dorm hall anyway.</p><p>It's right as I'm reaching for the doorknob that the door swings open to reveal him standing there, burning with an intense energy that makes me freeze, his eyes cold and hard and turning me to ice when they lock onto mine. He looks good. He looks really good. His hair is messy, his tie is missing, and his shirt is half unbuttoned. There's a wild, crazed look in his eyes, something almost animalistic. But he's rigid and on edge, looking ready to either fight or flee in a moment's notice.</p><p>"Draco," I say with a tilt of my head and a slight smile. I lift his bag up in my hand, watching his eyes dart down to it and back up to my face in a flash. "I was just bringing you your—"</p><p>He doesn't let me finish my sentence before he suddenly grabs me by my wrist and pulls me into the hall. I gasp, dropping his bag in shock as I stumble in, tripping over my own feet. He then slams the door shut and pushes me up against it, my wrists in each of his hands pinned against the door.</p><p>I pant through my parted lips, staring up at Draco with shocked eyes. It's like the coffee is only hitting me <em>now</em>, a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins and making my pulse thrum erratically next to my throat. My eyes are stuck on his, because the look in them is exhilarating. They're filled with anger, desire, hatred, and lust, and his pupils are crazy. They contract into tight little spheres before blowing out all the way, his silver eyes nearly turning black, and then they grow tight again.</p><p>He's breathing hard through his nose, fingers gripping my wrists so tightly that his short nails start digging into my skin. And he's close, close enough that if I tilted my head up and forward just a bit more, I could brush my lips against his. Close enough that I can smell that bittersweet green apple on him, his fading cologne on the collar of his shirt, and that faint hint of what's just <em>him</em>, his musk.</p><p>He then drops my wrists to rest both his forearms over my head against the door. He straightens up so he isn't bent down to press his face close to mine, but he leans in closer, his lips near my forehead. I tilt my head up, my hands hanging uselessly at my sides, as he lets out a heavy sigh to see him with his eyes closed and mouth turned down into a slight frown. He breathes heavily, lips parting so that his warm breath washes against my skin, sending chills down my body.</p><p>"Draco," I murmur softly, feeling fatigued and excited at the same time as I furrow my brows up at him. "What are you doing?"</p><p>"Shut up," he whispers in a soft voice.</p><p>I scowl. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Merlin, Celeste, just <em>shut up!</em>" he says in a harsher voice this time, his face morphing into an angry scowl while his fist pounds the door right next to my ear, making me jolt and instantly snap my mouth shut. "You just never—you never <em>shut the fuck up</em>."</p><p>I glare up at his porcelain face, tempted to either punch it and watch it shatter or kiss it and feel myself melt into him.</p><p>"You're a dickhead," I say simply, my voice quiet but firm. "Can I go now? I don't know what you're brooding about, but I doubt trapping me against a door is gonna do much to help."</p><p>"Oh, my goodness," he laughs tiredly, rubbing his eyes, "you can't even let me <em>think</em>."</p><p>"What the hell do you even need to—?"</p><p>I cut myself off when he opens his eyes and swiftly moves one of his hands to wrap around my neck. His grip is loose, but it makes all the air in my throat and lungs disappear, leaving me standing there with wide eyes and slightly offended lips staring up at his intensely furious eyes. I swallow thickly, and I know he can feel it on his hand, just like I know he can feel just how fast my pulse is thumping.</p><p>His other hand goes down to my side, pulling on the belt of my robe so it comes loose. He then slips his hand in, rubbing up and down my side, strong and big and warm, and his touch is just rough enough that it makes my knees weak. His head dips down into the crook of my neck where he presses a gentle kiss to my collarbones. His lips are feverish and hot. I can tell he's holding back from being rough on me.</p><p>I carefully bring my hands up to rest on his chest, gripping his half-unbuttoned shirt for dear life and feeling the hard lines of his muscles underneath. My eyes flutter shut as he trails kisses down my shoulder, hand pushing my robe down to my elbows to reveal the thin, satiny pajamas I wear, a simple tank top and pants. His hand on my neck tightens slightly while his other slips under the hem of my tank top to grab my waist, my breath hitching softly.</p><p>His kisses trail back up my shoulder, my collarbone. He moves his hand off my neck to my disappointment, but it goes to my hair, fingers tangling with my curls before he pulls harshly, my mouth falling open with a small, startled noise, my eyes flashing open, and my head tilting up.</p><p>Draco's feverish lips leave searing burns up the side of my neck, his tongue occasionally swirling against my skin or his teeth scraping gently and making me shiver. Then he's nibbling down my jaw, flicking his tongue against my earlobe, and suddenly his lips are on mine.</p><p>He kisses me hungrily, head tilted to deepen the kiss, hot lips molding against mine. His tongue dives into my mouth and brushes against mine while I kiss him back with just as much fervor, my eyebrows furrowing and my hands sliding up to wrap my arms around the back of his neck. It's like something in my chest was building up, a great, tall, teetering tower of tension, and now that his lips are on mine, it's come crashing down through the floodgates.</p><p>Draco tugs on my hair, his hand on my waist holding me tight enough to leave bruises, nails scratching against my skin, pulling me up against him. I groan softly when he pulls my hair especially hard, nearly folding in on myself at the feeling.</p><p>His hand under my top moves up slightly, his fingertips brushing against the underside of one of my breasts. He instantly pulls away from our kiss, his hand frozen in my torso and his eyes snapping down to my top.</p><p>"You're not wearing a bra," he says, licking his lips and eyeing the way my peaked nipples look again the thin satin. "Good," he then chuckles darkly, leaning back in to press his lips to my neck, his hand sliding up to tease my nipple.</p><p>I make a soft, muffled noise as his mouth kisses my neck and fingers pinch at my nipple, arching my back into his touch while my panties grow increasingly wetter. His teeth gently bite down n my neck, eliciting a gasp from my lips that turns into a strangled cry of some sort as he twists at my sensitive nipple, alternating between harsh and gentle touches. His lips latch around a sweet patch of skin, sucking on it gently, while his tongue brushes against it.</p><p>"Draco," I choke out, my eyes heavy and closing once more.</p><p>"Let me fuck you," he whispers against my neck before blowing cool air over where he's left a small hickey. Those words make me lose what little of my self control I had left, and I let out a small whimper in response, pulling at his hair, silently begging him to do just that. "Let me touch you, Celeste, make you feel things you didn't know you could feel..."</p><p>His hands go to my thighs, silently telling me to jump. I do just that, and he wraps my legs around his hips before pinning me against the door, erection pressing against my panties. I gasp, throwing my head back to reveal my throat to him. He presses wet, hot kisses over my pulse, slowly thrusting his hips into me. His hands are on my thighs and ass, squeezing tightly, making me wish we didn't have so many layers between us.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, I hate you," he groans into my neck, a hand coming up to tug on my robe.</p><p>I carefully move my arms away from his neck to let him slip the robe down. It falls to the floor where he kicks it away, and instantly the cold air hits me. I'm already covered in goosebumps, though, and the cold doesn't really matter when he's pressed so close to me, radiating angry heat.</p><p>"I can't even think straight when you're around," he laughs dryly while my arms loop back around his neck, "because I'm too busy thinking about fucking you...pounding into you, making you scream underneath me. Thinking about how it'd feel to hear you tell me that I <em>own</em> you. Using you like my own, personal little..."</p><p>My face warms as I let my head drop to rest my forehead on his shoulder, my eyebrows furrowed and lips parted to pant softly while he slowly grinds against me.</p><p>"<em>Please</em>, Celeste."</p><p>My eyes shoot open.</p><p>He grunts softly, hot breath fanning against my neck with ever slow, torturous thrust. "You win," he says in a strangled voice, hands squeezing my thighs. "Please, let me fuck you. I need—I need—" He cuts himself off with a pant, his chest heaving and nearly touching mine. When he speaks again, his voice is breathless and strained. "Let me make you come, Celeste, Merlin, <em>please</em>. Fuck, I-I'll make you feel so good, I promise."</p><p>He pulls his head out of my neck to look at me, and his eyes make my stomach flip. I look at him wonder, taking in the way his crystalline eyes look at me pleadingly, as if in this moment, my body is all he needs in the world.</p><p>And then Draco laughs softly, a pained, humorless laugh, his blown eyes glancing off as he murmurs to himself, "Am I even doing this right? I don't even know how to beg right, I can't even <em>beg</em> right, I can't..."</p><p>He's begging.</p><p>There's no way he's begging.</p><p>I frown. "Are you okay?"</p><p>He looks at me blankly, searching my eyes for perhaps a sign of a joke. And then he slaps his palm down next to my head, making me flinch while he sighs harshly and exasperatedly. "Am I <em>okay?</em>" he repeats incredulously, piercing eyes making me shrink away slightly. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I tell you that I—I <em>beg</em> for you to let me give you the best fucking of your life, and you ask—?"</p><p>"Okay," I interrupt, blinking blankly.</p><p>He pauses, tilting his head at me so his silky locks fall into his eyes. "What?" he asks harshly, looking at me with confusion and incredulity.</p><p>"Okay," I repeat, clamping my lips together, anxiously twisting the hair at the back of his head. And then I shrug, saying, "So, fuck me."</p><p>"What?" he repeats, eyebrows furrowing.</p><p>"Are you deaf? I said—"</p><p>I interrupt myself with a loud gasp when he suddenly pulls me off the door and starts walking down the hallway, his lips smashing against mine. I make a muffled noise, leaning back a little as he stops at his own door, kissing me hungrily while one hand supports me and the other hand digs through his pocket.</p><p>"We can't do it in your dorm," I say breathlessly.</p><p>"Shut your mouth."</p><p>I go quiet, which is pretty new for me, but <em>not</em> because he told me to (though I'll admit that gave me butterflies), rather because I don't want to risk waking my cousin and the other boys up. I wrap my arms around his neck tightly, savoring the warmth of his chest against mine and burying my face in his neck while he quickly unlocks the door.</p><p>He carries me in, hands holding me tightly while he slowly and quietly closes the door. It's dark in the room, but I still find myself squeezing my eyes shut, like that'll help make sure Blaise doesn't catch us in an incriminating position.</p><p>Draco walks fast, and when I sense light behind my closed eyes, I open them to see we're in the bathroom. Draco sets me down on top of the counter, but he doesn't even give me a second to adjust or take in my surroundings before he's suddenly pressing his lips to mine again, hands slipping under my tank top and grabbing at my skin, scraping his nails down my back to make me groan softly. He pulls away with his teeth dragging against my lower lip.</p><p>I watch him crouch down to where his discarded robes lay. Glancing around, I see his clothes all over the place as well as a letter torn to shreds sitting next to me on the counter. I frown curiously, but before I can catch a single word, he's tapping his wand and the torn shreds of paper vanish.</p><p>"<em>Muffliato</em>," he says, pointing at the bathroom door.</p><p>Without sparing me a glance, he strides over to the shower, quickly turning it on and turning the heat all the way up. And then he walks back towards me, a hungry gaze in his eyes.</p><p>"They won't wake up, if that's what you're worried about," he says in a husky voice, probably noticing the way my brows are furrowed. And then he smirks darkly, hands dropping to his belt to unbuckle it. "And even if they do, I say we let them listen."</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but he's quicker.</p><p>"Shut up," he says with a shake of his head, darkened eyes looking at me gravely. "I don't want to hear a damn word out of your mouth unless I ask for it, do you understand?"</p><p>I smirk. "My silence is earned, Malfoy."</p><p>He sighs heavily, an oddly serene look on his face. His hands still tremble slightly, but they clamp down on my knees and spread them apart so he can stand between my legs in one fluid motion. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, and the smirk on my face melts away without any resistance when he looks up at me, so casual and nonchalant but hungry and dark.</p><p>Draco leans in and kisses me. It's a slower kiss, but it's just as rough, demanding, and needy. His hands are on my hips, squeezing me tightly and slipping under my tank top to caress my skin, touch rough, like I'm something he owns and adores. I melt into his hands, squeezing my legs shut on either side of his hips. I lean forward, desperate for him to deepen the kiss, desperate for him to give me more.</p><p>He pulls away, one hand sliding up my tank top to massage my breasts, the other coming up to my face to grab my jaw. I cry out as he forces me to turn my head, struggling to wrangle my head out of his grip, but he's too strong. My hands pull at his hair, scratch at the skin at the back of his head, but he simply gives my nipple a tight, painful pinch, making me muffle a gasp and stop resisting.</p><p>"Where do you think I should start, hm, Celeste?" he asks in a raspy, erotic voice, hot breath over my ear. "I think maybe we need to settle on a safe word first. What do you suggest?"</p><p>I can't bring myself to respond, losing myself in his touch. My head tips back a bit, mouth falls open, and eyes flutter shut as he massages my breasts skillful. My breath grows more and more ragged in response.</p><p>"Answer me," he then snaps, his hand in my jaw forcefully shaking my head.</p><p>"Colors," I gasp out, eyes squeezing shut. "I use colors. Green, yellow, and red. Like Muggle stoplights."</p><p>"Yellow is slow down?" he confirms, his grip on my jaw shifting to hold my chin tightly while his lips press kisses that are so soft and gentle in contrast.</p><p>I nod. "Red means stop everything, no matter what. Yellow means...slow down, just a little, that I'm starting to reach my limit. And green means keep going," I say in a quiet but clear voice, feeling Draco's thumb drag over my lower lip as I speak. I'm astounded by how my voice is shaking. My heart thumps so loud and fast in my chest, I'm surprised I'm even functioning at all.</p><p>He doesn't respond. His hands go to the hem of my tank top, pulling it up. I raise my arms to let him pull it off, watching him throw it down to the ground before turning to look at me. His eyes are on mine for a moment, silently conveying all the terrible, dirty things he wants to do to me, and I'm struck with a nauseating wave of desire and fear that makes my legs tremble and panties dampen.</p><p>And then he's leaning in, forcing me to lean back and rest my weight on my forearms and elbows. He peppers kisses all over my chest, hands moving up.  and down my sides. I sigh softly, leaning my head back to rest against the mirror, while his hot lips suck harshly on my collarbones, nipping slightly and scraping his teeth against my skin. He works his way down before his mouth touches one of my breasts, an appreciative hum vibrating against my skin.</p><p>His hands tug at the waistband of my pants. I manage to lift my hips up just enough to let him pull them down, breaking away from me for a moment to tug them off and drop them to the floor. Before I can even blink, he's back up against me, mouth latched to one of my nipples.</p><p>I cry out instantly, arching my back and biting down on my lip to muffle any other embarrassing noises. He sucks on it, mouth hot and wet and tongue easing the hardened peak to soften for him while one of his hands hold my hips down against the hard surface of the counter and the other fondles my other breast. His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin, making me gasp and jerk my legs, but he doesn't care. He nibbles gently, bites down, drags his teeth against me, all while ignoring my moans and cries and frantic movements.</p><p>And then he switches, mouth latching to my other breast and hand fondling the one that now feels so sore and used by his mouth. I breath heavily, my chest rising and falling dramatically while I try with all my might to keep my eyes open, because I've never seen a sight as erotic as Draco Malfoy sucking at my skin so enthusiastically.</p><p>His hand goes down to one of my thighs, holding my legs close to him, and then he rotated his hips against mine. I make a strangled groan, letting my head fall back against the mirror again and screwing my face up tight while I wish he was wearing less clothes.</p><p>When he's satisfied with his work on my breasts, he starts peppering kisses all over my torso.</p><p>"Color?" he asks huskily, blowing air over my sore nipples.</p><p>I whimper and jerk, abs tightening. "Green," I say shakily. "Draco—"</p><p>"Keep talking, Celeste, and I'll put your pretty mouth to better use."</p><p>My face flushes warm as he continues kissing down my stomach. He glances up at me when he reached my panties, smirking darkly when he sees the breathless expression on my face. His hot lips kiss me over the trim of my panties, and the. his burning tongue drags a line over my skin, making me convulse. He holds my hips down, though, chuckling darkly.</p><p>"I figured I might as well return the favor first," he say, adjusting my legs so that they rest over his shoulders and down his back. "Are these expensive?" he asks, his thump tracing my panties over my hips.</p><p>I nod. "Yes," I say in a breathy voice, "<em>very</em>, so don't you <em>dare—</em>"</p><p>I gasp loudly, scandalized, when he buries his fingers into my panties and tears them off with one fluid motion, letting them fall down to the ground and leaving me bare naked on his counter. My hips sting where the material snapped against my skin. I scowl at him, but his next words wipe that right off my face.</p><p>"Don't look at me like that, Celeste," he growls, fingers digging harshly into my thighs, "you <em>know </em>I'll hurt you. And don't even try to tell me what to do. Not if you know what's good for you."</p><p>My mind briefly goes to the running shower beside us, how we're wasting water, but then he's kissing my inner thighs and all my resolve and sensibility washes away into the drain with the wasted hot water. He nips at the soft skin, sucking at it harshly and scraping his teeth against it. I hold myself with one arm while my hand reaches down to his silvery blond hair, gripping it tightly while my stomach churns and chest tightens in anticipation.</p><p>He looks up at me mischievously when I make an impatient sound and dig my heels into his back in an attempt to push him closer to me.</p><p>"<em>Sois patiente, princesse</em> [Be patient, princess]," he says in a deep voice, breath washing against my sensitive core. "<em>Je te promets que je te donnerai tout ce que tu veux. Mais où est le plaisir si je ne te taquine pas d'abors</em> [I promise I'll give you everything you want. But where's the fun if I don't tease you first]?"</p><p>His voice is so raspy and seductive in French, lulling me and urging me to follow his each whim and wish. I make a soft noise of protest, but watch otherwise quietly as he kisses the insides of my thighs, clearly enjoying how it makes me squirm.</p><p>And then Draco <em>finally</em> does it. His mouth latches to my core, and I let out a sigh of relief as his tongue strokes upwards. My hand grapples at his hair while his hands tighten at my thighs, his eyes closed and brows slightly furrowed while he eats me out. I moan breathily as he moves his tongue far too slowly, teasing me as the tip of it traces my folds and skips over my clit. I grind my hips down against his mouth, desperate to get more from him.</p><p>He complies, fully standing in his knees and tilting his head to get a better angle on me. I clamp my lips shut to muffle a moan as he tongue laps me up hungrily, every motion only making me grow wetter as it spurs and spiraling in my gut, like a growing hurricane that threatens to unleash into a flood at any given moment.</p><p>Since winter break ended, all the stress that I'd been feeling before has only increased by tenfold. The pressure and the stress on my shoulders has been piling on slowly but surely—the responsibility to score perfect marks on all thirteen OWLs while maintaining my schoolwork and grades and all the academic clubs I've been forced to enroll in, not to mention all the secret conversations and lies I've been catching my parents in, even if they don't know. And I suppose I didn't realize quite how tense it all has been making me until this moment, because as Draco devours me, I feel like a tightly wrapped spool unraveling, a mess of loose string trusting him to take care of me and make sure I don't get too tangled.</p><p>His tongue finally glides up to my clit, and when it does, I let out a strangled sob of relief, grinding my hips against his mouth while his tongue flicks and presses against my clit. Everything in me is begging for a release, to let go of my worries and stress for one night and let him devour me, throw me around, use me fit his pleasure and my own, but something in my stomach holds back, won't let me let go. It's when his hands, warm and a little tough, fingers adorned with cold rings, absentmindedly rub my thighs that I finally seem to let go.</p><p>"Fuck!" I call out as the one arm that keeps me up fails me, making me drop onto my back. I arch my back and tug at his hair, ignoring the dull throb in the back of my head from hitting the mirror, because the exploding feeling between my legs is so much better.</p><p>Draco continues eating me out even as I orgasm all over his face, making it feel all the more better. My legs shake, rising slightly off his back, and my stomach tightens. Even when it's over and my muscles start to loosen, his tongue is still lapping around my sensitive clit, making me spasm and jerk slightly.</p><p>"Draco," I gasp in a strangled voice, my vision starting to blur and turn white as his skilled mouth overstimulates me. "I-I can't," I whimper, my voice breaking slightly on the last word, yet at the same time, my heels dig into his back to pull him closer and my hands in his hair push his head closer to me.</p><p>He doesn't say anything, because he doesn't tear his mouth away from me for even a second. His only response is a tight squeeze of my thigh, saying without even a whisper that he doesn't <em>care</em> if I can take it. It hurts so good, pleases so bad, and every lightning bolt of pain that strikes up my core is coupled with a great wave of ecstasy, and before I know it, I'm coming all over again on his tongue for the second time.</p><p>My face burns at how it hardly took five minutes.</p><p>Draco wraps his lips around my clit and sucks harshly, and I gasp and jolt, fearing he might go for a third serving, but then he pulls away with a soft exhale.</p><p>"Merlin, you taste better than I could've imagined, <em>chérie</em>," he groans, carefully standing up and easing my legs off of his shoulders to hang limply on either side of his hips. He then chuckles darkly when he sees me, laying uselessly on the bathroom counter, head slumped against the mirror, eyes drowsy, and lips parted to let out my soft pants. "Look at you. Are you tired, darling? That's a shame. I'm not done with you yet."</p><p>"Draco," I whisper, and the rest of my breath comes out in an exhale that deflates my body, too worn to say anything else.</p><p>His hands rub up and down my thighs before moving up to my waist. He leans forward, wrapping his arms around my back before carefully sitting me up. I wrap my arms around his shoulders to keep myself steady, sitting at the very edge of the counter hardly balancing on my tailbone. I slump forward, my breasts pushing against his chest while he rubs my back, kissing my shoulder.</p><p>"Color?" he asks, scraping his nails over my back.</p><p>I inhale deeply, scrounging around mentally for what energy I have left that I haven't released through my two back-to-back orgasms. "Green," I say after a moment, my legs trembling a little.</p><p>"You're a good little girl when you want to be, aren't you?" he hums softly. Draco pulls away slightly to look at me, his eyes dark. His hand goes to my chin, tilting it up. "I think we might even get along in a different universe."</p><p>My stomach flips. "Maybe," I say back with a slight grin, still panting, moving my hands down to finish unbuttoning his white shirt, "but I don't think we'd be <em>nearly</em> as fun if we liked each other."</p><p>He smirks softly, silver eyes scanning my naked body up and down, lingering especially on my breasts and my thighs. He lets go of me to slip his shirt off, tossing it to the floor.</p><p>"Turn around," he then orders in a grave voice, no room for argument. When I don't listen at first, he gives me a harsh glare, hands gripping my thighs. I slip down from the counter, knees wobbling as my feet press flat against the tile. His hands move to my hips, turning me around so that my back presses to his chest, both of us looking at our reflection in the mirror.</p><p>His arm wraps around my torso, pulling me taut against his chest. I melt slightly at the feeling of my back pressing against his hard, muscled torso, my hands gripping his forearm and feeling the muscles twitch slightly under my finger tips. His other arm wraps around me as well, except it goes lower, parting my thighs slightly. When his fingertips graze against my folds, I gasp softly.</p><p>"You're so wet for me," he says huskily, silver eyes boring into mine, his lips gleaming with a sheen of my own arousal. He licks his lips, humming soft in approval. "Dirty little slut...I shove you around and choke you and tell you to shut up, and that turns you on, doesn't it?" he laughs cruelly, crazed eyes flicking down to my breasts and back up to my wide, apprehensive black eyes. "Answer me," he snaps when I don't, his hand harshly slapping my clit.</p><p>I whimper, my stomach tightening and body pulling away from him, but his left arm is wrapped tightly around me. I nod quickly while I try to remember how to speak. "Yes," I exhale, my face burning with humiliation at how uncharacteristically submissive I'm acting.</p><p>"<em>Pathetic</em>," he looks at me with disgust.</p><p>My core clenches and nerves scream for more at that, and it's almost disgusting how much more it turns me on, but it also makes my blood boil slightly as I glare at his idiotically attractive reflection.</p><p>"I'm sorry, weren't <em>you</em> the one begging for me to let you fuck me just twenty minutes ago in the hallway? But <em>I'm</em> the path—"</p><p>He interrupts me by grabbing my jaw, squeezing my cheeks so tightly my teeth almost pierce the tissue, making my eyes start to prick from behind. He shakes my head violently, my hair falling into my eyes, before letting me go just strike my cheek with his palm—not so hard that it leaves a lasting sting, but hard enough that it makes my head jerk and me gasp in surprise. His hand then grabs me by my hair, pulling it back hard to force me to turn my head over my shoulder to look at him.</p><p>"I won't warn you one more time, Celeste," he seethes quietly, her crystal eyes boring into mine angrily, making the faint pain in my cheeks fade away because of how distracting they are. "Act up again, and I won't hesitate to make sure you can't move a damn muscle by the time I'm done with you, and then I'll leave you here covered in your own cum and mine for your cousin to find tomorrow morning. Imagine how pathetic <em>that</em> would be."</p><p>I glare at him, sucking in a harsh breath when he gives my hair another harsh tug, so aware of how naked I am and how clothed he is, how he could do anything he wants at all to my body, and I'd gladly let him.</p><p>"Don't look at me like that," he laughs darkly, tilting his head closer to mine, his arm pulling me closer against his chest and his hand tightly gripping my waist. "I may have begged, Celeste, I may have <em>lost</em>, but I promise, I'll have you on your <em>knees</em> begging for my dick, begging for me to fuck your face like the naughty little girl you are." My stomach flips at the thought, and I know he sees it in my face, because he smirks and leans in closer, hand still gripping my hair tightly. "Maybe not tonight, but soon enough, <em>ma chérie</em>."</p><p>He then leans in closer, his mouth pressing to mine. His tongue slips into my mouth and roughly brushes against mine, making me groan softly and lean back into his chest, eyes fluttering shut. All too soon, he's pulling away.</p><p>"<em>Ouvre les yeux</em> [Open your eyes]," he whispers, and instantly I'm doing just that. He looks at me carefully, a stern expression on his face. "I need you to be a good girl, just for tonight. I need to be in control, Celeste," he sighs softly, his eyes adopting a distant gleam that reminds me of the way he looked back in hallway, angry and uncontrollable, and for a moment, I'm concerned, but it's gone just as soon as it comes. "Just for tonight. You can be a brat as much as you want tomorrow and every day after, but...Can you give that to me? Can you give me control?"</p><p>I bite down on my lip, wanting so badly to say <em>no</em> or something snarky. But the idea of Draco being in control for a night, free to use my body however he pleases...the idea of a night where nothing is expected of me, where I have no stresses of my own, a night where all I have to do is follow directions and let my body be used a vessel for pleasure...is freeing.</p><p>"Okay," I croak out, the single word making my throat ache as I force it out.</p><p>Draco clenches his jaw, his hardened eyes looking at me with disbelief and something else that tells me it's taking all his willpower not to bend me over and take me in an instant.</p><p>"Who's in control here, Celeste?" he asks in a soft, resting voice.</p><p>I don't say anything, mouth clamped. He gives my side a pinch that makes me jolt. "<em>You</em>," I force out, feeling my mind and body battle each other, half of me wanting to give up control and just have a night of pleasure and no responsibility, the other half reminding me that <em>control</em> is the only thing keeping me sane and stable. This could either be the best or worst decision I make in my life.</p><p>"I am <em>what</em>, Celeste? I want to hear you say it," he says with a dark smirk, his hand in my hair turning my head forward to look at our reflection once more before letting go of me. His arm around my waist tightens, and his free hand drops back down between my thighs, teasing tracing the soft skin where my thighs meet my pelvis.</p><p>I huff softly, letting my hair hide the sides of my burning face while I admire our reflection. His head is in the crook of my head, turned to watch me look at our reflection. His arm around my body is so muscular, and the veins on his teasing hand bulge, his rings glittering under the light. Steam pours out from over the top of the glass shower, not enough to fog the mirror up, but enough to cling to my skin.</p><p>"You're...in control," I concede softly, my lips parting with a breathy moan as he moves his fingers to my core, gently tracing me.</p><p>"Are you gonna let me take care of you, <em>chérie</em>?" he asks near my ear, his voice somehow serious and tantalizing at the same time, a slight smirk on his lips.</p><p>I shiver at the thought of Draco <em>taking care</em> of me. "Yes," I say softly before I can stop myself, my eyes dropping from my own to where his fingers move slowly to tease. "Take care of me, Draco."</p><p>He doesn't hesitate to do just that.</p><p>I moan softly, tilting my head back to rest it against his chest while his skillful fingers work at me all too slowly. He's teasing me, I know, and I love it and hate it at the same time. His fingers circle my entrance, lathering up my arousal and dragging up to just below my clit before dipping back down again. When his fingers finally touch my clit, I jolt.</p><p>It feels sensitive, <em>raw</em> from coming twice from his mouth alone, and even though his touch is tantalizing, a whisper of a ghost, I whimper at the feeling, digging my nails into his arm.</p><p>And just like that, he switches from gentle to rough in less than a second.</p><p>I gasp loudly, my mouth dropping open to let out a great series of breathy groans as he starts rubbing my clit roughly, laughing darkly into the crook of my neck at my cries and moans of both pain and pleasure. I claw at his arm, surely drawing a little blood from his skin, but he only holds me tighter and rubs me faster. My legs give out on me, trembling slightly with my knees loose, and if he let go of me, If simple crumble to the floor. Occasionally I flex my legs, but it just depletes my energy more and more.</p><p>His hand pulls away from me, but it comes right back with a light smack. I whimper, my heavy eyes opening wide to look at him in our reflection, seeing him already watching my face. He doesn't smirk, he doesn't smile, he looks at me with some kind of ferocity that makes me squirm.</p><p>His hand is rubbing me again, and then a finger is slipping inside of me. I moan softly, my walls clenching around his single digit, the sound of the slick arousal against his hand mingling with the sound of the hot, running shower. He pumps his finger in and out a few times before curling it inside of me, thrusting it against my G-spot. I gasp, my eyes starting to fall shut again at the repeated motion.</p><p>Draco halts his movements instantly. "<em>Si tu fermes les yeux, j'arrêterai</em> [If you close your eyes, I'll stop]," he warns, his hand resting between my thighs.</p><p>I open my eyes instantly, looking at him frantically with pleading eyes. He smirks just slightly, heavy eyes looking at me intensely, and instantly resumes the movement of his hand. This time, he slips two fingers in. I groan loudly, my nails digging so hard into his arm that when I move my hand away, I can see little red crescent moons in his skin, a tiny bit of blood starting to form. He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he doesn't even seem to notice as he continues thrusting to fingers against my G-spot, his lips on my neck.</p><p>"Fuck," I half moan half sob, arching my back against him as he sucks harshly in my neck, his lips forming a bruise. He scrapes his teeth against it, eyes glancing up to meet mine, holding mine absolutely captive by how they're practically on fire.</p><p>Draco then smirks against my neck when he pushed a third finger into me. I simply gasp, my mouth staying open and my eyes wide while I stare at his reflection, even more turned on by the fact that I can watch his fingers fucking me <em>and</em> I can see <em>him</em>, the way he looks at me like there's nothing else he'd rather be doing. And then his thumb comes up to rub against my clit while his three fingers push against that perfect spot inside of me, and I turn into a moaning, writhing, panting mess, mumbling words that even I can't hear and clawing at his arm desperately to get him to both stop and speed up.</p><p>"<em>Comment tu te sens, chéri</em>e [How does that feel, darling]?" he mumbles against my neck, his arm around my waist moving up so he can massage one of my breasts, his other hand never faltering from<br/>it's rapid pace. "<em>Bien</em> [Good]?"</p><p>I nod enthusiastically, one of my hands covering his thats on my chest, and my other hand gripping the wrist of that which fucks me into oblivious, fucks me and teases me so hard and good that I can't speak, think, function, rendering me to a useless vessel capable only of breathing, moaning, whimpering, and writhing.</p><p>"Use your words," he whispers hotly against my ear, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of it. "You have such a pretty voice. Be a good little slut, tell me how good it feels. Tell me how badly you want to come."</p><p>"It feels—" I interrupt myself with a gasp as he presses his thumb against my overstimulated clit rather harshly, seeing him smirk darkly at my reflection while pinching a nipple between his fingers. "Oh, Merlin," I moan softly, "oh, it feels so good. <em>So</em> good Draco. I need—I need—"</p><p>I muffle a moan as I feel my orgasm approaching, biting down on my lip so hard I taste blood as the nerves between my thighs explode for the third time this night, all over his fingers and his hand while he continues finger fucking and rubbing me through my orgasm. He doesn't stop until I go completely limp against him, my head rolling onto my shoulder and my mouth falling open to let out soft pants. My eyes flutter shut, but I open them instantly to look at him.</p><p>His eyes are almost entirely black, looking at me with rage and hunger, and I can't tell if he's just angry or angry at <em>me</em>.</p><p>"Are you too tired to go on?" he asks, an edge in his voice. His arms still hold me up, and they're stiff like it's taking him everything to keep from pounding me right this instant.</p><p>I open my mouth and hesitate, feeling my sore clit and core throb. I shake my head, then, saying, "No."</p><p>He's moving before I can comprehend everything that's taken place this night. His hands grip my hips and turn me around so quick I nearly get whiplash, and then he's pinning me against the counter and smashing his lips against mine hungrily, hands traveling up and down my sides and grabbing my my hips and waist and breasts like they can't decide what they want to do. His touch is forceful and rough in the best possible way, telling me how much he needs and wants me without uttering an actual word. I'm tired, though, my body spent from the three mind-numbing orgasms he's just given me, so I can hardly move. My arms rest limply over his shoulders, and I can barely kiss back, though he doesn't seem to mind at all as he leans into me and kisses rougher, one hand going up to my hair and pulling at it while he groans lowly against my lips.</p><p>That's when I finally notice his erection, hard and practically throbbing, pressed up against my thigh.</p><p>Mustering up what's left of my energy, I trail my hands down his muscular chest, admiring his strong stomach and the hard lines of his abs with my fingers. I feel them contract and flex under my touch when my hands go down to his muscles hips, feeling that distinct v-line. My hands fumble clumsily with his belt, pulling it out of his pant loops and tossing it to the floor as best as I can when he's pressed so close to me.</p><p>One of his hands goes down to my wrists to stop me, but I just bite down on his lower lip to distract him. He groans lowly, bucking his hips against my thigh before placing both his hands on my ass, squeezing and massaging tightly. I make a small, muffled noise against his lips while unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. Despite how sore I already I am, I'm desperate to have him inside me, fucking me until I pass out in his arms.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, Celeste!" he groans loudly, tearing his mouth away from me when I abruptly stuck my hand into his pants and grab him from over his boxers, giving his erection a tight squeeze. "Merlin, you're just..." He trails off, panting heavily as he loses himself in thrusting against my palm. He groans again, a deep, rumbling noise that I can feel down to my core, his hands gripping the edges of the counter on either side of me so tight that I fear the veins in his arms may just pop. "Fuck. You're needy for my dick, aren't you?" he laughs breathily, eyes closed and lips parted to let out his heavy breaths. "You can't wait to have me inside you...fucking your wet little pussy until you're crying..."</p><p><em>You're right, I can't</em>.</p><p>His hand comes up to grab me by my throat, making me choke in my spit and widen my eyes in fear. His hand squeezes my neck hard on either side of my throat, making sure I can still breathe, but not much more than shallow breaths as tension builds up in my chest.</p><p>Draco rests his forehead on my shoulder as he lets out a groan through gritted teeth. He buries his head in my neck, biting down on one of my hickies so hard that my eyes start to water. I pause for a moment, feeling him stiffen, but then I slip my hand inside his boxers to wrap my hand around his actual erection. My open palm rubs it up and down while he grinds against it, his teeth now clamped down on my shoulder. I cry out softly when he starts to break my skin, but the pain feels so damn good.</p><p>"Stop," he snaps suddenly, ripping my hand out of his pants. He straightens up, one hand on my hip pinning me against the counter and the other hand gripping my wrist tightly near my face. He glares at me venomously, making my stomach drop in fear. "You don't get to touch me without asking, you filthy <em>whore</em>. Now get in the shower and wait for me. I'm gonna fuck you until you're full of my cum, and then I'm gonna fuck you again so you remember tomorrow morning whose pussy this is."</p><p>And then he lets me go and turns around to take his pants off. I nearly crumple to the floor because of both how weak I am and how his words have my brain melting, but I manage to stumble over to the glass shower, giving him one last glance over my shoulder before pulling the door open and stepping inside.</p><p>The shower is spacious, the hot water coming down on my skin and practically burning me while steam rolls off the walls, nearly clouding my vision. The hot water loosens my muscles even more to the point where I can't trust myself to stay standing, so I lean against the wall opposite the shower head, shivering at the feeling of cold tile against my back.</p><p>Not even a minute later, the door is swinging open and shut. Draco stands before me in all his naked glory, back turned towards me as he steps into the stream and lets it devour him in its hot, wet clutches. I watch water drip down his muscular back and make his silvery blond hair turn a darker shade before he turns to face me.</p><p>My breath hitches.</p><p>He looks like a statue of ice, each detail carved to perfection. His jaw and abs are chiseled, not a single flaw to be spotted. His thighs are muscular, water dripping down them. His veiny arms look like they could choke me until I go unconscious, and his ringed, flexing hands look like that's exactly what he wants to do. And his erection. Rigid and long, a vein running up its side, looking at me angrily.</p><p>"Nervous?" he asks cockily, stepping up to me so just his back is under the stream of water, a dark look in his eyes and an angry smirk on his face.</p><p>"Of course not," I respond smoothly.</p><p>"You should be. Jump."</p><p>My hands go to his shoulders before I jump. He catches my swiftly, roughly pushing me against the tile wall and knocking the air out of my lungs. His hands grip the sides of my thighs tightly as I lock my ankles behind his back and dig my heels into his tailbone, desperate to have him push inside of me already. He doesn't, though, much to my disappointment.</p><p>One of his hands goes up to my neck, squeezing it loosely while he leans in to kiss me hungrily. I kiss back just as hungrily, tasting my own arousal on his lips. I moan lowly, he makes a guttural noise from the back of his throat, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying a hand in his hair.</p><p>His hand in my neck drops down to his erection. I pull away to watch him pump it a few times, swallowing my spit thickly. He then comes closer to me, teasingly dragging his tip up and down against my pussy. I arch my back and cry out slightly, squirming to get more friction, to feel him in me.</p><p>"Please," I gasp out, all my shame washing down the drain, all my sensibility gone with my first orgasm, all my embarrassment shoved aside. I look up at him while he gives me an insufferable smirk, one I'd love to slap right off his face. "Oh, <em>please—</em>fuck, I just, I just—<em>fuck</em>, Draco."</p><p>His hand skims up my torso, briefly brushing against my breasts, my neck, and stopping at my parted lips. His eyes are distracted as he rubs my lower lip, and then suddenly he's shoving his fingers into my mouth and pressing down on my tongue, making me widen my eyes in shock and choke violently.</p><p>"<em>Please, please, oh, please,</em>" he spits at me mockingly, scoffing slightly as his thumb wraps under my chin to grip my jaw harshly, shoving my head back against the tile. "You better use your damn words, <em>chérie</em>."</p><p>My core clenches around nothing as I choke on his fingers. He pulls them out just to smack me across my face, making me whimper pathetically. He wipes my spit on my chest, giving my nipple a harsh pinch that makes me gasp.</p><p>"I—" I choke on my words, swallowing thickly while he watches me menacingly. "I—Fuck me, Draco, <em>please</em>, I need it," I sob, my fingers tightening in his hair as I watch his face grow grave, his hand on my hip definitely forming a bruise. "I-I need you so bad, <em>now</em>."</p><p>He clenches his jaw at me, hand readjusting himself to line up against me before going back up to my neck. My eyes water slightly as my shoulder aches. I got a glance at it in the mirror—it doesn't look like a whole bite, but there's little dots of blood that look a little deep. The ache feels good, though.</p><p>"Color," Draco demands in a growl, not even a question.</p><p>"Gr—"</p><p>He pushes into me with one fluid motion.</p><p>I gasp loudly, my nails digging into his back. He doesn't give me even a second to adjust to his size, his length and his girth, before he's already snapping his hips against me. He thrusts a couple times quick and rapidly, but then he suddenly slows down, the look on his face telling me that's taking all his willpower.</p><p>My mouth drops open with a silent, never ending moan as he pulls out until just his tip is inside me. He then pushes in so slowly, so slow that I can feel the way is each and every inch stretches me out in a way that hurts just as much as it feels good. I let out a sob of pleasure, clenching tightly around him while he moans lowly.</p><p>Draco presses himself closer to me while continuing that torturously slow pace of fucking me in and out, his head in the crook of my neck and his torso so close to mine that every time both of us inhale deeply, my breasts push tightly against his chest.</p><p>"Faster, please," I pant, scratching my nails down his back. "Dr—"</p><p>"Shut up," he snaps.</p><p>He then adjusts himself slightly so that the next time one of his slow thrusts hits me, it hits me perfectly against my G-spot. I let out a loud moan, my stomach tightening as I throw my head back against the tile, wishing he'd speed up. But the slow feels good too in a way that's different from fast. It's torturous for both of us, so good but not enough, but it lets me savor the feeling of his thick cock stretching me out. He's a tease, to both me and himself.</p><p>"Celeste," he moans in my ear, only making me grow wetter at the sound of my name coming form his lips in such a sinful, sultry way. "Shit...you know how good you feel? Wrapped around me, wet and soft and—ah, <em>fuck</em>, do that again," he gasps, hand in my neck squeezing so hard a tear drops from my eye.</p><p>I clench around him again tightly, though I don't have to try to do it because every time one of his slow, purposeful thrusts hits my G-spot, my pussy convulses and spasms around him happily.</p><p>He lazily picks his head up from in the crook of my neck, eyes instantly landing on the tear below my eye. He smiles slowly, cruelly, squeezing my neck even tighter before leaning in to kiss my cheekbone right over that little tear, his hips automatically starting to speed up.</p><p>"Feel better than I could ever imagine," he groans groggily, almost like he's drunk. His hips snap against mine abruptly, making me gasp. "Fuck, I love all your little noises."</p><p>And then he bottoms out. I shout loudly as he abruptly starts thrusting into me like a madman, no inhibitions at all, just him fucking me quick and hard like it's the last thing he'll ever do and he's running out of time to do it. His mouth goes down to my shoulder where I'm bleeding slightly, sucking on the slight blood on my skin to muffle his loud groans that accompany my strangled moans.</p><p>"Such a good fucking girl," he grunts into my hair, giving my beck one last harsh squeeze before moving his hand down to support my thighs, "taking my dick like this. You want more, princess? I know you want more."</p><p>He ruts himself into me relentlessly, hitting my G-spot over and over again so hard and so fast that soon my loud cries and sobs and moans turn into nearly silent, breathy little gasps as I melt into him, finally, <em>finally</em> letting myself go. My shoulders relax, the stress of my OWLs momentarily shoved off of them. My tensed back muscles for a moment feel no pain as I choose to forget all the assignments I have to complete this weekend, all the clubs and extracurriculars I have to keep up. I squeeze my legs around him and wrap my arms around his neck, resting my head over his shoulder and closing my eyes as I forget everything with my parents, forget why I'm stressing, forget what stress even <em>is</em>, and let myself dissolve into him, let him take care of me while I just enjoy.</p><p>"I'm gonna fill you so damn full of my cum, you won't be able to walk for a week."</p><p>His fingers bruise my thighs as he pounds into me, moaning so sinfully in my ear. My breasts bounce with every violent thrust, brushing against his hard chest. I feel dangerously full of him, like he might rip me open. I squeeze around him, hearing him groan in that sultry way of his, breath washing against my ear. His voice shakes slightly, like it's close to breaking, and I can tell that he too is just <em>so</em> close to letting himself go and losing himself in just this.</p><p>My breaths short and choppy form how fast he's fucking me, I shift my head to rest the side against my arm that's over his shoulder. My lips brush against his ear sloppily as we both move, but I press a soft kiss there before moaning for him, showing him how good he's making me feel. I lick a hot stripe up the side of his neck while his nails dig into the sides of my thighs.</p><p>And then his hand moved to between my legs to rub my clit, making the explosive feeling in my nerves only increase. It's a matter of seconds before I'm coming all over his dick, gasping and crying out and convulsing, my muscles shaking with tremors. He goes stiff, his dick twitching inside of me as he lets out a guttural groan and shoots out hot stripes of cum inside my body. I clench around him, desperate to milk him of his last drop.</p><p>Thirty seconds later, when we've both orgasmed, me for the fourth time tonight, we're still in the same position.</p><p>My legs are wrapped around his hips, my arms around his neck, my head resting next to his. His hands grip my thighs tightly, his head near the crook of my neck. We both pant heavily, his hot breaths washing against the side of my face. He's still inside of me, twitching every time my sore walls clench around him.</p><p>
  <em>We didn't use The Charm.</em>
</p><p>It's okay. I'll just drink the Morning After Potion tomorrow. It tastes foul, but after tonight...it'll be worth it.</p><p>Draco winces softly as he pulls out. He doesn't let go of me, though. No, he actually presses himself closer, still breathily heavily with his lips against my neck. I can feel his hot cum starting to drip out of me, but he seems to have other ideas.</p><p>Two of his trembling fingers press inside of me. I'm sore, but I just hum softly as it happens, feeling him plug me so no more of his cum can leak out. He curls his fingers slightly, slowly thrusting them, fucking his cum deeper inside of me until I'm a moaning mess again.</p><p>He then pulls his fingers out of me and lifts his head up, prompting me to pick mine up as well. His eyes are tired but bright, looking at mine carefully before dropping to my lips. I feel him brush his two fingers against my lower lip, so I part my mouth slightly, letting him push his fingers into my mouth. I groan softly at the taste of his cum and my arousal mingling together on his fingers, sucking at them gently to savor the taste.</p><p>"Celeste," he whispers softly, his fingers still in my mouth.</p><p>I open my eyes to look at him, that concern from before finding its way back when I see the completely lost look on his face. His eyebrows furrow slightly. His beautiful, beautiful grey eyes look fractured, a kaleidoscope of light, little bolts of white lightning across light and dark grey storm clouds. His pink lips turn down just slightly into a frown, and I lift my own hand up to touch his lips, see if he's real, if he's there.</p><p>And then he blinks, and when he opens his eyes, they're made of ice again, impenetrable by even the hottest fires. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: favorite celeste or draco quote so far?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. YOU FEEL HEAVENLY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>draco has a lil fun in the library</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY<br/>March 29th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>I prefer studying on my own, usually.</p><p>It's just that I've never met anyone who can keep up with me. It's not that I think I'm smarter than everyone—well, I do—but the way I study requires nobody holding me back, requires a rigorous pace and a certain structure, and I usually just end up getting frustrated with other people. I guess I <em>have</em> found one person who can keep up with me, but it seems we're both avoiding each other.</p><p>But sometimes Pansy and Blaise convince me to study with them, so today I'm sitting near the <em>front</em> of the library with the two of them, our heads buried in Care of Magical Creatures textbooks while we study for the massive examine that large oaf decided to spring on us all of a sudden.</p><p>I can't seem to concentrate, though, and this time, it's not because of either Blaise or Pansy.</p><p>I've spent this last week and a half just on edge, my heart thumping just a touch too loud or a touch too fast, my chest a little tight even when I loosen my tie and unbutton my shirt, my stomach feeling nauseous like I haven't eaten in days <em>and</em> like I've eaten too much, the hair at the back of my neck standing up like someone is watching me. My brain is constantly replaying that night every time I blink or try to fall asleep, and the last thing I want is to relive it.</p><p>As good as it felt, the last thing I want to relive it, because then I'll have to relive <em>all</em> of it.</p><p>My throat tightens as I stare at the same image in my textbook, watching the black and white sketching of a Porlock graze on a field of grass. One hand grips my quill and the other my notes, and I'm supposed to be looking through them and reviewing everything, but I can't think straight.</p><p>I sleep around a lot, I won't even deny it. But these last few days, I've been going crazy; as Blaise so nicely puts it, I've been "fucking every living, breathing, walking thing with a hole and a pair of tits." Just desperate to find something, someone that proves to me that that night with <em>her</em> ten days ago wasn't anything <em>special</em> or <em>new</em> or <em>better</em> than any I've ever had. There's no denying that it was a raw, angry fucking, no emotion other than rage and a desire to release stress, but it was like <em>nothing </em>I've ever had.</p><p>Maybe it's something with her body, the way her thighs are so thick and soft but strong, perfect to rest over my shoulders, the way her breasts fit perfectly in my hands, the way she responds to every little touch so sensitively. Or maybe it's because of her bratty attitude, maybe I got a high off of being able to tame just for a night the she-devil in her. I knew the day I met her that she's as malicious as a cruel god, and yet though I begged first, I had her wrapped around my finger for the night, and I've never felt anything more exhilarating right now.</p><p>That sense of <em>control</em> that I've been seeking for so long—I had it that night. I had control, I was in charge of <em>everything</em>, and though my heart was beating loud and hard, it was steady, rhythmic. It wasn't panicked, frantic, erratic.</p><p>It terrified me. As soon as I had that feeling of full control in my clutches, I forced myself to let it go, because it terrified me how good and powerful that night made me feel, and the stress came piling back on my shoulders and back once more. So I've spent nearly every night after trying to recreate that with anyone who isn't <em>her</em>, because I just know that it can't be because of <em>her</em>. Something was different that night, but I can't let it be <em>her</em>. I can't let it just be the one person, the <em>one person</em> who had all the power in the world to make my blood boil like none other.</p><p>She who angers me like none other can't possibly be the same person that makes me regain my footing on the world.</p><p>"Hey, you made it!" Pansy cheers happily from<br/>across the table.</p><p>I glance up from my textbook, frowning slightly as I watch her. She's glancing up at someone walking up from behind me, a bright smile on her face as she moves her mess—she's <em>always</em> messy, whether she's sleeping or eating or studying, another reason why I typically refuse to study with her—to the side to make space.</p><p>"I thought you had Charms Club," she then says, shooting a glare at Blaise when he reaches over and steals her textbook. "Dumbass."</p><p>"I did," a voice laughs softly from behind me, making me freeze and the hair on my arms stand up, "but it got cancelled last minute, so I thought I'd join you guys."</p><p>I glance up in time to see Celeste walking around the table to sit next to Pansy, heaving a rather heavy looking bag over her shoulder. She places it onto the table with a soft sigh, brushing her curls out of her face with her forearm before sitting down. She looks good, better than I feel, at least. There isn't a single bit of her uniform out of place, and her curls are as wild yet dignified as ever. I'd even go as far as saying she looks well-rested if it weren't for the heavy purple bags under her eyes that she's almost completely covered with make-up.</p><p>I quickly look back down at my textbook before she can look at me.</p><p>"Hey, Blaise," I hear her say softly as she slams her textbook down onto the table and opens it up.</p><p>"Hey—you good, there?" he responds, a slightly worried edge to his voice.</p><p>Without turning my head away from my book and notes, I lift my eyes up at Celeste to see her absentmindedly rubbing her shoulder, her distracted eyes lingering on her messy notes as her eyebrows stitch together.</p><p>"Hm?" she responds distantly.</p><p>"Your shoulder," Blaise continues, pushing Pansy's textbook back towards her after hitting down a few things. "You've been rubbing it all week. And walking funny."</p><p>"She got railed, duh," Pansy responds dryly.</p><p>Celeste snaps her head up, making eye contact with me. My eyes widen slightly, unable to look away from her dark, gleaming ones, as her mildly panicked look holds me captive and turns me into stone, unable to move a single one of my muscles or blink or look away.</p><p>But then she blinks and breaks her stupor, harshly elbowing Pansy. Pansy rubs her side and scowls at Celeste before her face drops in realization and quickly morphs into an apologetic wince. Pansy then turns her head just slightly to look at me, the sorry look on her face turning into a devious smirk.</p><p>She knows.</p><p>Of <em>course</em> she knows. Pansy an all-knowing bitch of a god.</p><p>"Ew," Blaise recoils, his small, dark eyes scanning something on his parchment. "I'd rather not hear about your sexual adventures, so let's change the subject."</p><p>"I didn't get <em>railed</em>," Celeste huffs back, her voice, smooth and low even with irate, sending chills down my body. "I fell down one of those moving stairs," she lies rather believably, even adopting en embarrassed tone that makes me glance back up at her to see her already looking at me, a convincing pout on her lips while her thick brows furrowed and black eyes search my face. "So now I have the hips of an elderly woman, and my shoulder...it's just a scratch."</p><p><em>A bite</em>.</p><p>I can't believe I bit her. I can't believe I liked it.</p><p>I can't believe <em>she</em> liked it.</p><p>"Why don't you visit Pomfrey?" Blaise asks, snatching her notes right out of her hands to glance between them and his own.</p><p>Celeste gives him an unimpressed look. "Okay, <em>rude</em>, first of all," she huffs, snatching her notes right back and moving them out of his reach. "And, I don't know..." she shrugs, eyes slowly trailing back to mine. She doesn't smirk, smile, make any suggestive move when she says, "I guess I don't really mind the pain. Hey." That last word is directed to me. No, her last <em>words</em> are directed to me.</p><p>My mouth goes dry. I clench my jaw at her, my fingers squeezing my notes, and then I'm suddenly standing up, my chair nearly toppling over. Three pairs of eyes lift to watch me curiously while I start shoving my books and notes back into my bag, heart thumping turbulently.</p><p>"What're you doing?" Blaise asks, sounding irate.</p><p>"You guys talk too much, I can't concentrate," I say simply, slightly unnerved by how calm my own voice is when my hands are starting to tremble slightly. "I'll be in the back of the library if you need me. Don't wait for me to come to dinner, I might skip."</p><p>"Dr—"</p><p>"Bye."</p><p>I swing my bag over my shoulder, walking away calmly but briskly while my pulse thumps violently next to my throat. For a moment, I fear that it might burst open, so I place my hand over it, feeling my skin pulsate against my fingertips, and I press down like that might do anything at all.</p><p>My stomach churns as I walk past shelves upon shelves, noticing students pick their heads up tos re who's rushing past so quickly, though I don't stop to look at any one of them. I do falter slightly, though, my pace slowing when I see three Gryffindor students huddled at a table near a window, peering at a textbook and pointing at things while turning to each other with hushed whispers. Brows furrowed, I glare slightly at Granger, though she doesn't notice. Shaking my head slightly, I grip my bag tighter and continue walking, determined to get to my spot at the back of the library where nobody should disturb me.</p><p>And I find Pandora there.</p><p>"Pandora," I say with a frown, freezing next to the bookshelves as I see her sitting down on <em>my</em> table, her blonde hair loose over her shoulders, tie missing, and shirt partially unbuttoned.</p><p>She gives me a flirty smile, waving her fingers at me before hopping down from the table, her rolled up skirt flying up slightly as she lands on her feet. She walks over to me, one hand pressing flat against my chest and the other grabbing my tie, playing with it loosely.</p><p>"I was hoping I'd be able to find you back here," she purrs softly, a sly smile on her lips as she tilts her head up at me, slowly backing up and pulling me along with her hand on my tie.</p><p>I'm tense, a little irritated to find her in my spot. I'm certain I told her, just like I tell most everyone I bring here, that I don't like it when I find others here, but Pandora has a tendency of letting things in through one ear and out the other. But I force myself to relax, feeling my heart pounding erratically and telling myself that this is <em>exactly</em> what I need.</p><p>"Were you?" I smirk, pulling her hand off my tie and placing it behind my neck while my hands go to her hips and pull her body taut against mine.</p><p>Pandora giggles softly, her long nails scraping against my neck as she tilts her head to let her blonde hair fall in her face. "It's been a long time since we last played along," she says in a babyish voice, making me wince slightly.</p><p>I hate when she does that.</p><p>"You're right," I say smoothly, pushing her up against the table, my hand sliding down and back up to slip under the side of her skirt and rub her thigh. "It <em>has, </em>hasn't it? You been thinking about me, Pandora?"</p><p>She nods eagerly, her hand going down to her already unbuttoned shirt, moving to unbutton more of it. "All the time. You're all I can think about, Drakey," she simpers, unbuttoning the rest of her shirt to reveal a black lace push up bra. I've gotten hard at the sight of it so many times before, but today, it's hardly impressive. "I missed you so much. Have you been thinking about me?"</p><p><em>Not at all</em>.</p><p>"Every hour of every day," I lie, giving her a sweet smile.</p><p>She loves it when I sweet talk her, so every time we fuck, I lie through my teeth and tell her all these things that she wants to hear, even though she probably knows I don't mean a damn word of it. I wonder how much of her own blabber she actually means, but I couldn't really care less about that. I need a quick fuck, a quick fix, something to prove to me that Celeste hasn't ruined sex with other girls for me for the rest of my life.</p><p>"You missed me, Draco?" she pants softly when I lean and start kissing and sucking on her neck.</p><p>"So much," I groan out a lie against her neck, sucking harshly against a spot on her collarbone.</p><p>She smells sweet. Celeste smells sweet too, but a kind of <em>bitter</em> sweet, where it's not too overwhelming, where it's more entrancing than anything. Pandora just smells like pure sugar, like melted sugar quills. Sickly sweet, cloyingly sweet. She's just too sweet for me. I need something more, a little sweet to lure me in, a little bitter to keep me on my toes, give me control and put me in my place at the same time.</p><p>I bite down slightly on the soft my tough skin near the back of her neck, hearing her hiss.</p><p>"Ow," she complains in my ear. She then laughs softly, "Careful, silly."</p><p>Disappoint settles in the pit of my stomach. She's not up to pain, it seems. None of the girls I fucked these last couple days seemed to respond to well to pain. A few of them liked it when I choked them loosely, but if I tried to <em>really</em> choke them, the way I did with <em>her</em>, they'd tap my arm and tell me to stop. If I scraped my nails hard against their skin enough to draw blood, they'd tell me to stop. If I gripped their hips and wrists tighter than usual enough to form bruises, they'd tell me to stop. I'd listen, of course, but respect doesn't help much with disappointment.</p><p>"My bad," I mutter, my eyes closing.</p><p>Instantly, my head is flooded with images of that night. The image of Celeste sitting in my bathroom counter, thighs squeezing on either side of my head, my mouth on her sweet pussy eating her out while she moans and whimpers and writhes for me, hand pulling at my hair and head thrown back against the mirror. The image of her leaning against my chest, her eyes watery while she looks at our reflection and watches me finger her, watched me tease her hypersensitive bits and whisper the filthiest things in her ear. The image of her with her legs wrapped around me, back against the wall of my shower, her eyes eager when I push into her, her moans so broken and sinful for me, and then the image of her full of my cum, whimpering when I fuck it deeper into her, not wanting to waste a single drop.</p><p>And her telling me that I'm in control. That she'll let me take care of her. <em>Merlin</em>, hearing that come from <em>her</em> mouth, the same girl who's always had a comeback, a witty remark, a nonchalant response to all my moves...Just thinking about it has me getting hard.</p><p>"Oh, you like that?" Pandora asks, and that's when I realize she's palming me over my pants.</p><p>"Mm—hey, Pandora," I say, my hands slipping her shirt off and tossing it aside while her hands start unbuttoning my shirt. "H—"</p><p>She muffled me by pressing her lips against mine with a kiss. Her lips move slightly sloppily, and her tongue is aggressively in all the worst ways, getting spit everywhere it shouldn't be—outside of our mouths.</p><p>I pull away and resist the urge to wipe my mouth on the back of my hand.</p><p>"What were you saying?" she asks breathlessly, her lips kissing down my chest as she slowly unbuttons my shirt.</p><p>"Let's try something new," I say, my hands on her back scraping against her skin harshly.</p><p>"<em>Ow</em>, what is with you and hurting me today?"</p><p><em>Definitely no pain</em>.</p><p>"Something new?" she then asks, sucking on a spot on my chest, her nails scraping against my skin. "Like a new position, or something?"</p><p>I shiver at the feeling, craving a bit more. I laugh lowly, feeling her tense slightly as my hands rub up and down her sides. "A new position wouldn't be bad, but I was thinking something more..."</p><p>"More..?"</p><p>I hesitate before speaking. "How do you feel about degradation?"</p><p>She pauses. "Like...when you insult me?"</p><p>"Something like that."</p><p>"Not a big fan."</p><p>"Okay," I say smoothly, unaffected—it's not like girls before her haven't said the same thing to me. "What about, I don't know, choking?"</p><p>"I like being able to breathe."</p><p>Ten minutes later, I have her laid out over the table, panting softly while I thrust into her. I feel disgusting, but just like with all the other girls, the only thing keeping me hard and going, pounding into her as fast as I am is closing my eyes and remembering what it was like doing the same to <em>her</em>, pretending it's <em>her </em>beneath me. But I'm constantly reminded it's not her, because the way Pandora responds to all my little movements is too different.</p><p>"<em>Protego Exgravida</em>," I mutter, my hand on my wand before letting it fall back down to the table.</p><p>"Draco," Pandora gasps, making me open my eyes to look down at her, taking her in. Her skin pale with pink undertones, her hair light blonde and pin straight. Her lips are soft but thin, and her eyes are a swampy shade of green. "Can you—?" She cuts herself off with a groan as I continue thrusting into her, my eyes closed again. "<em>Fuck</em>. Can you do the French again?"</p><p><em>Not again</em>.</p><p>"<em>Bien sûr </em>[Of course]," I grunt out, my mind spinning as I try to think of what to say.</p><p>With Celeste, it all comes out naturally. Partially because she too knows French, but also because with her, I know what I want to say. With Pandora, there isn't much to say without really lying, and there's no point lying in a language she doesn't understand.</p><p>"<em>Tu sais que je me sers de toi, Pandora</em> [You know I'm using you, Pandora]?" I mutter slightly, my eyes squeezing tight and brows furrowing. "<em>Tu es juste quelque chose pour me distraire. Et tu n'es même pas douée pour ça </em>[You're just something to distract me. And you're not even good at it]."</p><p>"Mm, <em>more</em>."</p><p>I laugh dryly, my fingers digging into her hips as I snap mine against her harder.</p><p>"<em>Regarde-toi, petite salope pathétique</em> [Look at you, pathetic little bitch]," I huff out, digging my nails into her skin. "<em>Tu me demandes de te dégrader, et tu ne le sais même pas</em> [You're asking me to degrade you, and you don't even know it]."</p><p>She moans lowly, her voice breaking and punctuating with every thrust.</p><p>"<em>Tu ne te sens pas aussi bien que Celeste</em> [You don't feel as good as Celeste]."</p><p>Minutes later, she comes. I don't, but I don't think she's noticed. We get dressed in quietude, my blood burning and breaths harsh as I think hard, seething silently and thinking about just how much I hate Celeste for ruining this for me. The smell of sex lingers in the air, and it's probably all over me. Anyone who walks past me would be able to smell it, so I figure I should stop by my dorm for a shower before heading to dinner.</p><p>The shower. That's where I finally fucked her.</p><p>"Hey, Draco?" Pandora asks curiously when she does her finally button and pats down her hair.</p><p>"What?" I ask flatly, suddenly feeling too tired to pretend to like her.</p><p>"Did you...did you say <em>Celeste's</em> name?"</p><p>I tense, my hand on my bag and my eyes hardening as I stare at her. She glances around awkwardly, waiting for a response, while I think of one.</p><p>And then I laugh slightly, saying, "You must have misheard me. I said <em>céleste</em>. It means heavenly. I was saying that you felt heavenly."</p><p>She beams brightly. "Did I?"</p><p>"Mhm," I clear my throat.</p><p>"Oh," she grins. "Well, I'll see you at dinner."</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>I watch her walk off, a slight bounce in her step, before suddenly deflating. I sit down at the edge of the table, a hand pinching the bridge of my nose and rubbing my eyes while my elbow rests on my other arm. I'm so absolutely, embarrassingly, and wholly screwed, and it's all Celeste's damn fault.</p><p>I sit there for a couple minutes, enjoying the silence, picking my wand up to cast a Cleaning Charm on myself just so I don't smell like sex until I can get a good shower as well as a Cleaning Charm on the table so that the next time I come here to study, it doesn't smell like misery.</p><p>After my stomach starts rumbling rather fiercely, I pick myself up with a sigh and start walking towards the entrance on the far side of the library, my feet dragging slightly. I walk slow, because despite how hungry I am and badly want a shower, I also want to enjoy the peace and quietude of the empty library, everyone having gone to eat, that Pandora had disturbed while I was supposed to be studying. I curse silently when I realize I haven't actually studied yet, which means another night staying up. My mind goes back to my father's letter. I never responded to it, but I doubt that matters. He knows his message has been received.</p><p>I wonder what Durmstrang is like. Maybe I'll like it there.</p><p>"Draco?"</p><p>I blink, and when I open my eyes, Celeste is standing in front of me.</p><p>Her hair has been tied up in a messy bun, and she looks tired. Still, despite the heavy bags under her eyes and sleepless gleam in them, she looks as fierce as ever, an entirely unamused look on her face, her usual mild smirk missing.</p><p>"Celeste," I clear my throat, my pulse jumping up again.</p><p>I want to grab her, push her against these bookshelves, and fuck the living light out of her. Anything to get me that relief again.</p><p>She sighs slightly, crossing her arms. "We have a scheduled study session tomorrow, in case you've forgotten," she says in a cool voice, hard black eyes glancing me up and down.</p><p>I glance down and realize I should've paid attention while getting dressed. My tie is all lopsided, my shirt is buttoned wrong, and it's only half tucked into my pants. It's obvious what I've been doing.</p><p>"I haven't forgotten," I say simply, casually adjusting my grip on my bag while I look at her lazily, as if I'd rather be anywhere else, as if I'm not imagining what it would be like to fuck her from behind while she's whimpering my name.</p><p>"Yeah, well," she scoffs dryly, rolling her eyes irritatedly.</p><p><em>Do that again, see where it gets you</em>.</p><p>"Well, <em>what</em>?" I ask challengingly, furrowing my brows at her and taking a step closer against my better judgement.</p><p>"Well, I just wanted to know if you're planning on showing up," she says sharply, turning her chin up at me. "Seems you've been running away from me every time you see me lately, so I want to know if I'm spending tomorrow night in the common room<br/>with you or in my own dorm."</p><p>I clench my jaw, glaring at her harshly. I take her in, seeing the no-bullshit expression on her face as she glares back at me just as harshly. That submissive little girl isn't here right now, and that's exactly what makes me step even closer to her, entranced by her enigmatic allure. Her eyes dart up and down me when I come closer, but they don't falter or show any hesitation at all when she too takes a small step closer, posture perfectly straight, her lips pursed.</p><p>"I'd like an answer, please," she says coldly, narrowing her eyes at me.</p><p>"I don't <em>run away</em> when I see you," I say in a cool voice, tilting my head at her.</p><p>"Sure you don't," she says in a testing voice, that sultry undertone to it making an appearance. A subtle, dark smirk finds her lips, a pissed off one that makes me smirk right back. "Heard you've been fucking girls left and right lately."</p><p>"Why do you care?" I respond smoothly, another step forward, my pulse thumping so hard against my skin, I'm sure she can <em>see</em> it.</p><p>"I don't," she hums, stepping forward as well, turning the distance between us to just a couple inches. "Just making small talk."</p><p>"Yeah? You don't make small talk, Celeste," I narrow my eyes at her. "Anyway, I heard you've been going off with boys and girls any free chance you get."</p><p>She laughs shortly and dryly. "Let's admit it, that's not anything new for <em>either</em> of us."</p><p>My smirk grows just slightly. "No, it isn't."</p><p>She leans in just slightly, her lips parting as her dark eyes stare me down menacingly. They dart down to my lips, and I make a show of licking them just for her. She clamps her own together, eyes growing slightly dazed. And then she blinks, knocked out of her stupor.</p><p>"So, tomorrow?" she presses coolly, eyes flitting back to mine. "You'll be there? Or are you too scared, Malfoy?"</p><p>"I'll be there."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what color should i paint my nails?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. DEATH AND LOVE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>i hate this chapter</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI<br/>April 1st, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>It's the first day of our spring break.</p><p>I, like many other students, agreed to come hime for one week to see my parents and sleep in my own bed, but for the second week of break, I'll be back at Hogwarts using the free time to study for the OWLs and get a bit ahead on my schoolwork.</p><p>We had dinner at the Malfoys' this time. Lucky for me, my parents had to rush home due to a work related emergency, and they took me with them. I spent the rest of the night in the manor really just walking around and in my room. I've collected so many books, old and new though especially old, over the years that my father spelled a library just fit me under my room.</p><p>It opens up through a little trap door underneath a fluffy carpet, a ladder leading down to it. It's not very big, maybe the size of one of the dorms back at Hogwarts, but it's perfect. All the walls are crammed with books, half of them mine that I've collected, the other half new to me. Some of them are his old books that he no longer reads, and some of them are newer novels recently published. The lighting is dim and perfect, there's seats near the corner that look straight out of an antique shop, and a little carved coffee table that <em>always</em> had coffee, tea, and French baked goods sitting and waiting for me. There's a desk as well in case I want to study down here. It's all kinds of perfect.</p><p>But it's late now, and I'm in bed while my parents have <em>just </em>returned from the Ministry.</p><p>"You still up?"</p><p>I glance up from the book I have open in my lap to see Father standing in my door, a slight smile on his lips. He looks tired, tie all loose and bags under his hazel eyes so purple, but he smiles anyway.</p><p>"Yeah, I thought I'd get a chapter in before going to sleep," I say, putting my book face down and stifling a yawn with my palm.</p><p>He laughs softly. "It's one in the morning, Celeste."</p><p>I bite back a grin. "One chapter turned into five."</p><p>"You really are my daughter," he shakes his head, "but it's a shame you inherited all the traits that keep me from getting any sleep. Can I come in?"</p><p>"Of course," I say, pushing a broken quill between the pages of my book as a makeshift bookmark before setting the book down on my nightstand. "Work emergency handled?"</p><p>He sighs as he walks in, stopping at my desk to bend down and scratch Cheeky behind his ear. "I guess so," he says, sounding older all of a sudden.</p><p>"What does that mean?" I press curiously.</p><p>He looks up at me with a stern gaze, straightening back up before walking over to sit at the edge of my bed. "You know I can't tell you," he says lowly, making me roll my eyes begrudgingly. "I've taken an Unbreakable Vow, Celeste. If I told you anything I shouldn't, I'd—"</p><p>"Drop dead on the spot, I know," I finish glumly, my hand tracing the pattern on my white comforter. I pause suddenly, remembering our last conversation before I went back to school after the winter break.</p><p>Something that has <em>everything</em> to do with the conversation I overheard them have with the Malfoys, everything to do with how they're are being pestered to become Death Eaters. How my father refuses to consider it for even a second, how my mother says it's the right thing to do—that she's thinking of <em>me</em> when she says that.</p><p>"Hey, you said you'd tell me about the Department of Mysteries, though," I say cautiously.</p><p>He inhaled sharply. "I said—"</p><p>"I asked you about it, and you said that maybe you'll tell me at a later time. It's been nearly three months," I say, pursing my lips as I look up at him.</p><p>He looks at me warily. "I cant tell you everything, Celeste."</p><p>"Well, obviously."</p><p>"I can't even tell you <em>most</em> things."</p><p>"That's fine," I shrug, glancing away and at Cheeky who pounces up onto my bed and settles down on my lap. "But tell me <em>something. </em>I want to know what my parents do every single day at work, <em>why</em> they still do it when they have all the money in the world and no real need to make any more."</p><p>He sighs gently, eyes going down to Cheeky as he rubs my chubby cat's back. "Okay," he finally says after a few moments of silence.</p><p>I perk up. "Okay?"</p><p>He nods, smiling somewhat grimly. "The Department of Mysteries...deals with all the things that even the brightest minds can't fully understand. There are five particular divisions to it: space, time, thought, death, and love."</p><p>I furrow my brows.</p><p>"They're all abstract concepts, aren't they?" he says, looking up at me with eyes so dull, my heart thuds. "You can't really <em>see</em> any one of them. They're not tangible, they're not anything you can touch or taste or feel, not even the concept of space. All you can see is the effects of them. So the Department of Mysteries works on deciphering these enigmas of life."</p><p>"What have you guys learned so far?" I ask eagerly, sitting up a little straighter much time Cheeky's disscontempt as he yowls softly.</p><p>Father hesitates, thinking hard. When he sees my confused look, he chuckles softly and says, "I'm trying to figure out what will get me instantly killed for saying and what won't."</p><p>"Oh. Right."</p><p>He sighs softly, smiling, but it turns into a slight frown when he starts talking again. "So the space division—thats where the Department figured out Apparition. It was a problem a long time ago. Witches and wizards were randomly appearing out of thin air, startling themselves and those around them. Without the Department, we never would have figured out <em>how</em> people were doing it and how to <em>control</em> it. The Space Chamber is rather interesting," he says, glancing up at the ceiling where the night sky painted in my ceiling rains an asteroid shower. "There's a replica of the solar system, the planet spinning in time with the real ones, and I often find myself floating when I visit. I wish I could show you it."</p><p>I smile slowly. "That sounds incredible," I say honestly, trying to imagine myself floating in a room that's a miniature replica of the solar system, flying among Pluto and Jupiter while asteroids float past me the sun burns in the center.</p><p>He smiles. "The Time Room is massive. Time Workers managed to figure out Time Magic and turn that into Time Turners there, you know," he says, making me smile slowly. He gets excited about nerdy subjects of magic like this. "Of course, they didn't <em>completely</em> figure out Time Magic. It's perhaps one of the most dangerous and elusive of them all. You know, there's a jar in there filled with light, and if you put <em>anything </em>in there, it would endlessly and rapidly grow young and old and young and old over and over, like a phoenix. That's where they got the magic for the jar from," he says, drawing patterns in Cheeky's fur. "They used phoenix feathers and tears and who knows what else. And at the back of the Time Room..." he hesitates.</p><p>"What?" I prod with a frown.</p><p>"I don't think I can say," he says, and before I can respond, he's moving on. "Then there's the Brain Room. My least favorite. The concept of thought is interesting to me, of course, but the Brain Room is..." He shudders, making me grin. "There's all these brains with tentacles swimming around, and they're rather aggressive, you know. I have a work friend that nearly got her head strangled off while feeding the brains—they eat memories, by the way, it's so grossly fascinating. Legilimency, the ability to magically navigate through the minds of others, and Occlumency, the ability to shield ones mind from intruders and persuasive magic, were honed in the Brain Room," he says.</p><p>Father groans softly as he shifts to face me better, rubbing the back of his neck. I frown, but he smiles when he sees me looking.</p><p>"Then there are the last two. The Death Chamber." Father hesitates, scratching his arm. "There isn't much I can tell you about this one except that it studies death, what happens after, where people may go, the doorways to it, and the places in between the stations of life."</p><p>"Yikes," I murmur.</p><p>He chuckles, the kind of rumbling laugh that's contagious around a dinner table. "Oh, yes. And then there's the Love Chamber. It studies love, of course, which is only the most powerful and mysterious magic of them all. Don't look at me like that," he laughs when he sees the incredulous expression on my face. "Your father isn't just a sap, he's telling the truth. They say that love is just about the only shield to the Killing Curse, self-sacrificing love. It's sad, but sweet."</p><p>"Bittersweet," I mumble, and he nods. "So where do you and Mother work?" He opens his mouth to respond, but I'm quick to interject. "Wait, let me guess—<em>you</em> work in the Love Chamber, and she works in...The Brain Room? Thought?"</p><p>Father smiles bitterly, shaking his head. "I work in the Death Chamber, Celeste," he says in a soft voice, the scar near his lips twitching. "Your mother works in Love."</p><p>—</p><p>The next day, I find myself in the Parkinson manor.</p><p>"Seriously, what the hell is up with you guys?" Pansy asks from her spot sitting at the edge of her bed, frowning as she struggles to wrap a particularly resilient wire around a little gemstone. She's recently adopted a new obsession: homemade jewelry.</p><p>"Nothing," I sigh, fiddling with all the mess and shit on her desk. I pick up an empty box of chocolates, give her an incredulous look, and toss it into her trash <em>right </em>next to her desk.</p><p>Pansy scoffs with a roll of her eyes. "Yeah, right, and Blaise doesn't have a stick up his ass," she snorts dryly, squinting as she holds the blue stone up to see if she likes how it looks with the gold wire half wrapped around if. "So, what, you guys fucked like two weeks ago? I know you're not <em>really</em> friends, but you're not even talking anymore. Any time he walks into the common room, you always seem to have something to study for in our dorm."</p><p>"That's because I <em>do</em> always have something to study for, whether he's walking into rooms or not," I huff snappily.</p><p>Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson are home for spring break, and they managed to rope the boys into doing some chores. They'd ask Pansy, but they seem to be in a fight about something (I asked Pansy what, she says she doesn't remember but refuses to be civil; in conclusion, I love her), so they haven't spoken a word to her since I've arrived. I think I'm still too new here to be forced to de-Gnome the garden with Blaise and Draco, but I'm not complaining.</p><p>I glance out the window, and sure enough, Blaise is practically wrestling with a bright-haired little man.</p><p>"Oh, yeah? Well, weren't you guys supposed to study together the other day? What happened then?"</p><p>I clamp my lips together before speaking in a low voice. "Well, I fell asleep and missed it. He never said anything about it, so I'm guessing he didn't make it either."</p><p>"Celeste," Pansy says in a curt voice that makes me snap my head back to look at her. She's glaring at me, looking slightly fed-up. "I'm not stupid, babe. I've known Draco for <em>years</em>, so I know when he's acting off. Maybe it's only been months with you, but you're no enigma. Tell me what's up, c'mon."</p><p>I sigh softly in defeat, rubbing my eyes.</p><p>"Don't tell me the sex was <em>bad</em>."</p><p>"No," I groan, walking over to sit down next to her in the bed, my arm brushing against hers as I lean forward to prop my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands, "it <em>wasn't </em>bad. It was <em>really fucking good</em>, and that's the problem."</p><p>Pansy pauses, and I can feel her looking at me in disbelief. "Okay, I'm trying here, Celeste, because I love you and cherish you and want you to be happy, but I'm really struggling to see how that's an issue."</p><p>I turn my head just slightly to peek at her with one eye, mumbling glumly, "It was the best I've ever had."</p><p>Pansy squeals excitedly, kicking her feet and clapping her hands before setting her necklace down and shifting slightly towards me. "Tell me! I want details, everything," she insists. She then scowls and shoves at me shoulder. "I can't believe you haven't told me the details yet. Fake friend."</p><p>I roll my eyes. "I'm not—"</p><p>"Either tell me of your own free will or I'll slip Veritaserum into your dinner tonight."</p><p>I blink at at her blankly before deciding not to figure out whether that's a joke or not. "Fine," I sigh, leaning back until I'm laying on the bed, my legs dangling over the edge. I rub my face, biting back a slight smile as images of that night flash through my head. "Well...he made me come, like, four times."</p><p>"Holy <em>shit</em>."</p><p>"Yeah, he—" I stop myself, frowning as I turn my head to look at Pansy who is now laying beside me, her head turned over her shoulder to gape at me eagerly. "Is it not weird for you to be hearing about him like this?"</p><p>"Oh, totally. To me, he's Mr. Anger Issues who used to sleep with dinosaur stuffies until he was eight."</p><p>"He used to <em>what?</em>"</p><p>"Shh!" Pansy laughs, turning onto her side and propping her head up on her chin so she's leaning over me slightly. "We'll come back to that later, I want to hear more."</p><p>"Okay, fine," I roll my eyes. "So...ah, so, we were studying in the common room, and all of a sudden he gets super stressed and worked up, so he just leaves abruptly. I waited for a little, and he comes back all hot and bothered and...next thing I know he's begging me to let him...<em>fuck me</em>," I murmur, my voice slowly growing smaller and smaller as my face grows warm, so aware of Pansy's unblinking brown eyes gazing at me with wonder and amusement.</p><p>"You're blushing."</p><p>"I don't blush."</p><p>"You're blushing now."</p><p>"I'm black."</p><p>She pokes my cheek with her finger. "Your face is warm. Merlin, it was <em>that</em> good?"</p><p>"Shut up," I grumble, my face only growing warmer. "I'm not done, dumbass. So he takes me into the bathroom—yeah, I know, not the sexiest location, but...Pansy, he was so aggressive, and it was...<em>ah!</em>" I say simply, unable to find words in any language to describe it. "He ate me out <em>twice."</em></p><p>"Like a champ?"</p><p>"Oh, yeah. And then he fingered me up against his chest so I could look at our reflection—"</p><p>"That's hot."</p><p>"Right? And there was so much choking and degradation. I hate myself for this, but I think I literally moaned every time he called me either a good girl or a filthy slut," I pout, seeing her grin at me. "I'm a disappointment."</p><p>"So you're <em>that</em> kind of girl, huh?" she teases, giving my cheek another poke. "<em>Kinky</em>."</p><p>I shove her gently before pulling the sleeve of my sweater down a little to reveal my shoulder, biting back a grin when her jaw drops in shock.</p><p>"Is that a—?!"</p><p>"Mhm. Anyway, he fucked me in the shower. Like, really hard and really fast and it was <em>really fucking good</em>, Pansy," I groan, covering my face again as I sob dryly. "What the hell do I do?"</p><p>"Okay," she sighs, "I'm lost. I still don't get why it's such a bad thing that he gave you good fucking sex."</p><p>"Because," I scowl, dropping my hands to look up<br/>at her leaning over me, "now I can't fuck anyone else and enjoy it. Why do you think I spent the last two weeks fucking guys and girls every free chance I got? It can't be that he's ruined fucking for me, Pansy, it <em>can't</em>."</p><p>Pansy looks at me blankly, her eyes searching my face. And then she abruptly breaks out into laughter. It's not her usually shrieking kind, but a more muffled, snorting one as she clamps her hand over her mouth in a failed attempt to stop.</p><p>Entirely unamused, I just glare at her.</p><p>"I'm <em>sorry</em>," she squeaks, eyes starting to water and face slightly pink as she fans herself, "it's just—it's just—that's such an <em>amazing </em>problem to have. Like do you hear yourself? You've found your...your sexual soulmate, bitch! So, what, now sex with other people sucks? Too bad! Just have sex with him!"</p><p>"No!" I blurt, my face burning hot.</p><p>"Why not? Just be friends with benefits with him, easy," she sighs, wiping a tear away.</p><p>"Because!" I say simply, utterly scandalized. <em>Because I'm terrified to give up control again. Because my stress relief can't be dependent on that insufferable, egomaniacal, slut-shaming piece of shit with the body of a god</em>.</p><p>"You're so dramatic, Celeste," she rolls her eyes. "Listen, maybe you were just fucking with the wrong people. Were they vanilla? I bet they were vanilla."</p><p>My eyes drift off as I think. "Well, Graham was into some light choking, but he was too scared he'd hurt me. I don't think he understood that I <em>wanted</em> him to hurt me." Pansy snorts. "Marietta nearly cried when I called her a 'dirty slut.' Had to sit there and tell her it didn't mean anything, worst hour spent of my life. When I suggested she call me that right back to get back at me—" Pansy snorts again, "—she was like, 'oh, I can't be mean.' Yeah, <em>okay</em>, Marietta, you sure had no issue being <em>mean</em> when you were body-shaming your friend behind her back the other day."</p><p>"Oh, my goodness," Pansy says weakly.</p><p>"Then there was this other guy. We were doing it in the abandoned Potions classroom, and I accidentally cut my hand on some broken glass and started bleeding. He freaked out, I said I kinda liked it," I sigh, my eyes drifting back to Pansy to see her smirking at me. "I think that weirded him out. I mean, he still fucked me, but it's not like I came or anything. I had to go to Pomfrey after to make sure my hand didn't get infected. Wasn't fun."</p><p>"Ew," she giggles softly, brushing her choppy black hair out of her face. "Okay," she then sighs, a mockingly serious look on my face, "so what <em>I'm </em>getting from this is that it's not <em>Draco</em> that made the sex so good but the <em>kinkiness</em>. So stop sleeping with vanilla people," she shrugs.</p><p>I snort. "Yeah, easy enough to say, but practically the entire <em>school</em> is vanilla. Now what do I do? Go celibate? And don't say fuck Draco, just don't."</p><p>Pansy shrugs casually, her brown eyes looking down at me lazily. "There's always me," she says calmly, a mischievous hint to her voice.</p><p>I roll my eyes. "Yeah, right," I say dryly, then sighing as I rub my face again.</p><p>She smirks slightly. "I'm not joking."</p><p>I slowly move my hands away from my face, blinking at her a couple times while taking in the expression on her face. Her eyes, lined thickly with black liner, flicker confidently between mine and my lips, twinkling slightly with a naughty gleam. Her lips, a dusty red color, are just faintly turned up in a smirk. She has so many piercings, one in her septum, one in the side of her nose, one in her eyebrow, one in her lip, and several lining her ears.</p><p>"Yeah, right," I repeat in a softer mumble, my mouth going dry.</p><p>"Why not?" she asks in a light, teasing voice, leaning over me what with her being on her side and having her head propped on her fist. Her hand rests gently on my thigh over my skirt, making me tense just slightly while my pulse thumps loudly.</p><p>I reach a hand up to her lips, my own parting as I watch my thumb drag against her lower lip and pull gently at the ring in there. She licks her lips, tongue grazing against my skin slightly while her hand goes higher up to my waist, thumb rubbing me softly over the material of my loose knit sweater.</p><p>I grin slowly. "Are we really gonna be those friends that fuck one night and cry while eating ice cream together the next night?"</p><p>She grins back. "Sounds like an ideal friendship to me."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>honestly, i regret writing this scene at all. i only ever did because readers were begging for it and i wanted to keep them happy, but this just feels like wlw fetishization to me. i'll probably come back and completely edit this chapter some day.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. A VOYEUR IN THE MIDST</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>another chapter i fucking HATE one day im going back and editing this one and the one before because... no... not cool</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY<br/>April 1st, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"What are the girls up to?" Blaise asks as walk into the manor, feeling dirty even though Mrs. Parkinson cast Cleaning Charms over both us after we finished de-Gnoming her garden.</p><p>"I don't fucking know," I grumble, pushing the sleeves of my sweater up to my elbows. "They're probably upstairs taste testing fine cheeses and lounging about in <em>silk pajamas</em> rather than doing work fit for House-Elves."</p><p>Blaise opens his mouth to respond, but he's interrupted by Mrs. Parkinsons's shouting.</p><p>"<em>Blaise! Come here! I need help getting the pixies out of the curtains!</em>"</p><p>Blaise groans, almost crumpling to the floor as he buried his face in his hands. "When is she gonna give us a fucking <em>break?</em>"</p><p>I lift a brow at him. "Us? You're on your own for this one, Blaise, good luck."</p><p>He snaps his head up at me, dark eyes glaring ferociously. "You're not leaving me to fend for myself, are you, Draco?" he asks coldly, grabbing me by the front of my sweater so I can't leave, though I stand there entirely unimpressed, three inches taller than him. "I thought you were my best friend, man."</p><p>"I am," I say gravely, slapping a hand onto his shoulder and tugging his off of my sweater, "but you're not worth peasant work. Bye."</p><p>He shouts after me, but I ignore him with a grin while racing up the stairs.</p><p>I hadn't heard back from my father since the letter I opened that night, but Mother was quick to write a couple of days ago to say that I <em>will</em> be coming home for at least the week if she has any say at all, and, as my mother, she really does have <em>all</em> the say. So, I'm spending the first half of spring break at home, bouncing between manors. There's a party we are hosting on the last day, and then the second half of my break will be spent at the castle.</p><p>Upstairs, I walk down the hall towards Pansy's room. When I reach, the door is almost entirely shut, and I'm about to push it open when I hear an odd noise on the other side.</p><p>Frowning, I lean in, hand on the doorknob, to listen closely. My eyes widen when I hear soft panting, my heart thudding in my chest loudly. Against my better judgement, I gently push the door open a few inches, peering in to see what's going on. At first, I don't see anything, but then I glance to the right where the bed is and instantly spot the source of all the sound.</p><p>Both shirtless and laying on their sides, heads facing the other side of the room, Celeste and Pansy are in the midst of a full on make-out session.</p><p>I nearly fall over when I see them, nudging the door by accident and wincing when it makes a creaking noise. Neither of them seem to notice though, so I stand there behind the door heavily contemplating whether I walk away, come back, and knock as if I didn't just see Pansy palming Celeste's breasts over her bra or just walk away and busy myself with some chores and pretend that this just...isn't happening.</p><p>But it's happening, and I'm conflicted, so I end up frozen at the door watching them like an idiot.</p><p>Celeste's hands grip Pansy's hair as they make out heavily, soft laughs coming form both of them between kisses. She slips her hand underneath Pansy's bra before moving both her hands down her back and into Pansy's jeans for a tight squeeze, propelling the shorter girl on top of her.</p><p>"Fuck, you're eager," Pansy laughs in a slightly hoarse voice as Celeste props herself up on her elbows, both of them panting eagerly.</p><p>"Shut up," Celeste laughs right back as Pansy leans in for a few more short but rough kisses, biting down her lip.</p><p>I grip the doorframe tightly, my nails starting to dig into the wood while my pulse beats so loudly, I'm afraid for a moment that they can hear it.</p><p>"You really want me to shut up?" Pansy teases, her hand trailing up and down Celeste's thigh while she starts kissing down Celeste's chest, making Celeste throw her head back and close her dark eyes with a soft sigh. "You've been chasing a good orgasm for two weeks, baby, but you really want to tell me to shut up now?"</p><p>Oh? I lift my eyebrows at this.</p><p>"You're so irritating, Panz," Celeste laughs dryly, one of her hands going up to play with Pansy's hair as Pansy pushes her legs apart to rest between them nicely and suck little marks all over Celeste's chest, the golden locket on her dark skin gleaming at mr almost mockingly.</p><p>"Yeah? Shut up, Celeste," Pansy says dryly right as her hand slips between Celeste's legs to massage her over her panties.</p><p>Celeste gasps, my heart picking up at the sound. I swallow thickly, well aware of how I should be leaving. I'm beyond disgusted with myself, standing here watching my best friend and my...worst nightmare wrapped in the body of a goddess of sex making out and touching each other, but my feet are planted into the ground, legs turned to stone, and it's impossible to move or look away.</p><p>Celeste picks her head up as Pansy continues rubbing her over her panties, eyes squeezed shut while soft moans leave her lips. I mouth a curse at the sound—the sound of her being pleasured, the sound of her in ecstasy, even if it's because of the hands of another person—and feel my blood starting rush. It boils slightly with some kind of indecipherable anger, making me confused as I wonder why part of me has this massive urge to rip the two girls apart, but the rest of me wants more, wants to hear more of her moans.</p><p>Pansy shifts her hand, slipping it inside Celeste's panties. Celeste moans loudly, her mouth tipping open and staying parted as her face scrunchies with pleasure. I watch, clenching my jaw, feeling it should be me taking her on that bed and making her not just moan, but writhe and cry and beg and scream. I don't know what she did to me that night, but I'm hooked, addicted to her body, and I don't want to share my addiction with anyone else.</p><p>I know that what I felt, that sense of relief that extended past a stupid orgasm, that sense of relief where all the stress in the world was forgotten, wasn't just in my end. It might have been different for her—I had harnesses on the world, she let go and allowed someone else to look after her—but I know now that she's been fucking people left and right for the same reason I have.</p><p>I smirk slowly. She's trying to convince herself that <em>she</em> doesn't need <em>me</em> to fuck her to get that bliss again.</p><p>My face burns just slightly as I feel my jeans starting to grow tight while I watch like a pervert, wanting to throw up, hating myself for wanting to stay, listening to her sinful, erotic moans. And then she gasps suddenly. I don't know what Pansy has done, but she gasps suddenly, and her eyes snap open.</p><p>Instantly, they land on me. I'd freeze if I wasn't already froze, but she stops moving save for the panting of her chest. Her lips are parted slightly, black eyes wide and gleaming slightly as they take me in, realize that I could've been standing there the whole time and she just didn't notice.</p><p><em>Idiot</em>, I chide myself, my heart picking up faster in a mild panic. <em>You fucking idiot</em>.</p><p>Her eyes drop down, and I don't have to follow them to know that she's looking at the way my pants have tented and strained—not because I've seen her fucking with someone else, not because I've seen her fucking with another girl, not because of the other girl at all, but from standing here and listening to her just <em>moan</em>.</p><p>She smirks slowly, a soft puff of a laugh leaving her lips.</p><p>That's when the glue sticking my feet to the floor comes loose. Without giving her another look, I turn and walk quickly down the hall, my heart pounding loudly and head rushing as my vision goes slightly white. I find a guest bedroom and step inside, looking around blankly as I wonder why I've brought myself here, but then my erection throbs slightly in my pants and my eyes land on the bathroom across the bed.</p><p>
  <em>Are you seriously gonna wank it off in your best friend's house?</em>
</p><p>Well it's not like I can walk around with my erection staring at everyone.</p><p>Groaning internally, I walk into the bathroom, the lights turning on as soon as I walk in, and grip the edge of the counter so tight that my knuckles turn white while I wonder what exactly the <em>fuck</em> is wrong with me that I got jealous of <em>Pansy</em> for fingering the one girl that infuriates me like nobody else can, and why exactly hearing her moan from pleasure that <em>someone else</em> is giving her made me fucking hard.</p><p>I press my hips against the counter, closing my eyes and groaning softly while I slowly rut my hips up.</p><p>"How the <em>hell</em> do we always end up in a bathroom?"</p><p>I snap my eyes open at the sound of that silly voice, glancing down when I feel a hand slip under my sweater from behind and slowly drag up my torso, feeling at my abs. I flex my stomach slightly as her cold hand grazes over it, feeling her nails scratch lightly over my skin and shivering at the sensation.</p><p>I step back and away from the counter just an inch, my eyes still not lifting from my sweater as her hand feels me up unabashedly, focusing especially on my v-line and the muscles over my stomach. Her other hand slips up the back of my sweater, my back muscles shuffling slightly under her touch as she slowly drags her hand up to rest on my shoulder, using it as leverage for her to go up on my toes and pull me down slightly so her lips can meet my ears.</p><p>She laughs softly against my lips, the noise making my insides flutter, and then says smoothly, "Hey, babyboy."</p><p>I open my mouth to tell her not to call me that, but then I'm distracted by how her hand dips down to unbutton my jeans in a swift motion and teasingly play with my zipper, fingers ghosting so lightly over the fabric of my pants that I might just be hallucinating the feeling.</p><p>"Did you get hard watching me mess around with her, Draco?" she asks innocently as I lean forward, gripping the edge of the sink, my head lowered and making it easy for her to reach my ear where she nips slightly. "Did you like that? Watching me moan?"</p><p>She pulls my zipper down slowly, laughing softly when I jerk my hips reflexively.</p><p>"Are you needy, Draco?" she pouts mockingly, her whispered words making goosebumps stand up on the back of my neck. "You need me?"</p><p>Her hand slips into my unzipped pants to slowly palm me from over my boxers. She's all too gentle, all too soft with her touch, but she knows it, purposefully ghosting her palm over my covered erection to tease me, watch me grit my teeth and flex the muscles in my arm in an attempt to keep myself from thrusting against her hand.</p><p>"You're pathetic," she laughs lowly, her words practically echoing as she traces one finger up my covered erection and back down, quickly finding that damp spot on my briefs where pre-cum leaks from my tip. Her finger traces it gently, slow circles that are barely there but do so much, making my dick twitch and me let out a shaky breath. "You're that desperate, Draco? That you'll stand in doorways like a pervert watching girls touch each other? What would your mother think, hm, Dray?"</p><p>I lick my lips slowly while her hand on my back drags her nails down against my skin so harshly in contrast to her gentle touch in my pants, and I'm unable to stop myself from groaning lowly and letting my head hang lower. I clamp my lips together to keep any further noises from coming out at hearing her soft laugh, focusing on breathing through my nose and calming my heart down.</p><p>"You having fun? Fucking any girl who looks at you?" she speaks lightly, dragging her nails harshly under my shoulder blade, making a slightly strangled noise come from my mouth as my stomach tightens.</p><p>I smirk shakily, keeping my eyes shut as I ask, "Jealous, are we?"</p><p>"You tell me, Dray," she responds without missing a beat, her hand palming me again and this time placing more pressure, enough that it makes me let out a long, low groan. "Were you jealous seeing Pansy touch me? I bet you wish you were touching me right now."</p><p>Her hand slips into my briefs. My breath hitches as her cool fingers slide lower until her hand is wrapped tightly around my erection, and then she starts palming it like that once more, making it <em>really</em> fucking hard not to make any noise. She pulls my erection out of my briefs to start pumping it up and down, hand working quickly and applying just the right amount of pressure, and soon I'm groaning lowly for her, my hands gripping the sink so hard, I'm almost afraid I'll break it.</p><p>"You like watching me, Draco?" she whispers softly.</p><p>Her hand pulls out of my shirt to grab my hair tightly, pulling my head down closer to her. I finally open my eyes to look at her, panting heavily while her hand fucks me up and down. Her dark eyes are heavy, lashes long and curled as she looks at me with a hungry gleam. Her tongue pokes out to lick her plum-painted lips, and she smirks softly.</p><p>"I didn't expect you to be a voyeur," she says coyly, her thumb rubbing over the tip of my erection, making me jolt and cry out slightly, "but it's a good thing I'm a bit of an exhibitionist."</p><p>I breath heavily, my head tilting down closer to hers slowly as she continues pumping me up and down until my forehead is resting against hers. amy eyes flutter shut as I groan softly, feeling her lips capture mine in a rough kiss that muffles me. She slips her tongue into my mouth, teasingly brushing it against my own tongue before pulling away with her teeth dragging against my lower lip. Her hand slows down slightly as she whispers—</p><p>"You wanna watch some more, Draco?"</p><p>I open my eyes, glancing between hers in mild confusion. She smirks slowly, a deviant gleam in her eyes, and then suddenly she's letting me go and turning on her heel to walk out of the bathroom.</p><p>I frown and watch her walk out before slowly following after to see her locking the door. Without glancing over her shoulder to look at me, she walks over to the desk in the corner of the room. Celeste grabs the chair and drags it over in front of the bed before climbing onto the mattress to sit in the center of it.</p><p>"Sit," she says with a smirk, gesturing to the chair.</p><p>My hand goes to my erection, pumping it slowly as I eye her up, sitting up on the bed and leaning back to rest her weight on her palms. She put her sweater back on, but messily. The deep v-shaped neckline is crooked, revealing much of her plain black bra and her locket sitting on her sternum.</p><p>"I don't take orders, Celeste," I say simply, gnawing on the inside of my lip at the feeling of my cold rings on my angry skin.</p><p>She lifts her eyebrows at me. "Oh? You can either sit down and watch me touch myself, or you can leave. Your choice. Either way, I'll be here, touching myself." She smirks, heavy eyes narrowing on the way I touch myself as she says, "Maybe I'll even moan your name. Who knows?"</p><p>Chills run down my spine, and then I'm stuck contemplating whether I save my dignity and leave or push my sensibility aside for a chance to hear her moan <em>my</em> name.</p><p>Before my mind can even make a decision, I'm walking over to the bed to sit down on the chair, my hand absentmindedly and slowly stroking me.</p><p>The bed is high up, the mattress being rather large and the bed frame itself tall. So when Celeste moves to her hands and knees and crawls towards me, I only have to lean forward and tilt my head down a little and she only has to tilt her head up a little in order for our lips to meet in a heavy kiss. I groan softly as our tongues brush against each other, lips harsh and aggressively as my free hand reaches for her hair and tugs on her curls. She gasps against my mouth before laughing softly and pulling away.</p><p>She goes back to that previous position with her legs stretched out in front of her and her palms propping her up. Her eyes then drop to where my hand is still touching me, and she grins.</p><p>"No touching yourself," she says lowly, licking her lips.</p><p>I clench my jaw.</p><p>"I won't give you the show you want if you're touching yourself. Have patience, Draco," she teases, her hand brushing her curls off her shoulders to display her prominent collarbones.</p><p>I inhale slowly, glaring at her as harshly as possible, but she just tilts her head and smiles at me flirtatiously, her hand playing with the hem of her skirt. I sigh softly, shaking my head at myself as I move to confine my erection back in my briefs, but then her voice stops me.</p><p>"No, don't," she says, her hand now rubbing the inside of her thigh as she stares at it greedily. "I want to see it."</p><p>I clench my jaw, saying dryly, "Anything for you."</p><p>She beams.</p><p>I slouch slightly in my chair, my hand palming at my thigh slightly as my heavy eyes settle on her hand, watching as she brushes her thumb over the edge of her panties. She pauses for a moment to turn and grab a few pillows, punching and pushing at them before settling back down, this time both her hands by her sides and the pillows propping her back up enough that she can comfortably make eye contact with me.</p><p>Celeste bends one of her knees, pushing her skirt up a little, my lips parting to sharply inhale some air when I catch sight of her panties. They're grey, a small but distinct wet patch near the center where her arousal leaks from her. One of her hands slips under her sweater to rest just under her breasts while the other continues to rub at her thigh.</p><p>"Draco," she exhales breathily to get my attention, smirking when I look up at her face instantly. "Tell me how to touch myself."</p><p>I lick my lips, looking at her carefully as I lean forward, forearms resting on my knees. My eyes go back down to between her thighs, watching her fingers curl at her thigh as she tries so obviously to keep from actually touching herself before I tell her. I smile slowly when I realize—</p><p>She's giving me control, willingly, without prompting. I don't get how she does it, how she hands the reigns over to me but somehow still has a leash on me.</p><p>"Go on," I urge in a husky voice, "feel yourself right over your panties."</p><p>Her fingers slip over the cotton, slowly sliding down until they touch that wet patch. She rubs herself slowly, but I can see her pressing down harshly, her mouth tipping open with a silent moan.</p><p>"Gentle, <em>chérie</em>," I chuckle darkly, seeing her legs flex as she opens them up wider, giving me the perfect view. "I wanna see you tease yourself."</p><p>She bites down on her lip and furrows her eyebrows, but she listens, her slow circles growing light and gently, probably stimulating her enough to make her breathing grow heavy, but not enough to do anything real for her.</p><p>My eyes go up to her face, seeing her head tipped back and to the side slightly. Her eyes are closed, brows slightly furrowed, and her dark lips are slightly parted as she takes slow, long breaths in and out, her chest heaving up and down with each one.</p><p>"Push your sweater up for me, darling," I say in a raspy whisper.</p><p>She does so obediently, pushing it up so it bunches up right above her heaving breasts. They're spilling out of the cups of her plain black bra slightly, and though her skin is dark, I can see a few reddish patches from where Pansy left her marks, making me clench her jaw.</p><p>"Your bra too."</p><p>My heart thumps as I watch her turn on her side slightly to unclasp her bra. She turns back into her back before pushing her bra up with her sweater, revealing her soft, round her breasts that shake slightly with her raggedly breasts. Her eyes are open now, big and listening closely for her next directions, her hand resting just under her breasts.</p><p>"You can pull your panties down now," I say with a slight, teasing smile, laughing darkly when she quickly scrambled to hook her thumbs into the sides of her panties and pull them down and off, tossing them somewhere across the room.</p><p>She leans back down against the pillows, legs bent and spread wide while one hand rests on the inside of her thigh and the other below her breasts, eagerly awaiting directions.</p><p>"You wanna touch yourself, sweetheart?" I ask in a mockingly innocent voice, feeling my erection twitch at the sight of her hardened nipples.</p><p>She nods. "So badly, Draco," she says, licking her lips and smirking slightly. "Tell me what to do, babyboy, I'll do whatever you want for you."</p><p>My face burns slightly as I scoff spitefully. "Well, first, you can stop calling me that."</p><p>"No chance," she says.</p><p>"Then I guess you don't get to touch yourself."</p><p>"And neither do you," she smirks wider, stomach tending as she lets out a soft laugh, her hand fixing her skirt and pushing it back up. "Just admit it, Dray," she speaks in a soft, mischievous voice, glimmering black eyes holding me captive, "you like it when I call you that."</p><p>I clench my jaw.</p><p>"You don't <em>have</em> to admit it. Just tell me what to do and let me keep calling you it," she suggests slyly.</p><p>I inhale sharply, ready to argue. But when I open my mouth, what comes out instead is, "Touch yourself, then."</p><p>"Where?" she whispers, her hand already sliding down from her thigh towards her core.</p><p>"Right there," I say when her fingers reach her pussy.</p><p>I watch, desperate to touch myself for some release, as she slowly drags her fingers around her wet entrance, tracing the entrance of her core without pushing her fingers in, the sound of her arousal slicking against her fingers heavy compared to the silence of the room.</p><p>"Fuck, I can <em>smell</em> you," I groan, leaning back in my chair, my erection aching and begging for some attention, but I force myself to ignore it. "How turned on are you, Celeste? Are you thinking about it felt to have me fuck you? Push my fingers inside you and whisper to you how you're such a good, filthy fucking slut?"</p><p>I watch as she clenches around nothing, her fingers dragging up towards her clit.</p><p>"Not there," I say sharply, and clearly she doesn't like hearing that, because she lets out a soft whine. I smirk as embarrassment is imminent on her face. "Not yet."</p><p>She begrudgingly drags her fingers back down to continue playing with just her core, her other hand curling tightly into a fist. I watch, my head tilting slightly as she teases herself.</p><p>"Can you play with your breasts for me?" I ask teasingly, watching her heavy eyes flutter open slightly to look at me. Her hand unfurls and moves up to her chest, tightly squeezing one of her breasts while a shaky sigh leaves her lips. "I want to see you play with them the way you want me to," I say huskily, my rigid erection aching more and more with every second that passes where I don't touch it.</p><p>"Draco," she exhales, eyes closing once more as her fingers tightly pinch and twist at one of her nipples. Her hand between her thighs slowly drags up until her fingers are rubbing slowly around her clit, her breaths coming out in shudders as she moans softly, back arching and breasts lifting up into the air.</p><p>"Celeste," I warn her in a harsh tone, my hand moving by itself to my erection.</p><p>She doesn't pay me any mind as she continues rubbing her clit in circles, clenching around air while a soft whimper leaves her lips, her hand massaging her breasts roughly. A little pre-cum leaks from my tip as I watch her let go of her breasts to grasp the bedsheets, her head thrown back as she pants softly, fingers rubbing her clit slow but hard.</p><p>"Celeste," I say sharply, my own breathing growing ragged. "Did I say you could do that?"</p><p>She shakes her head, eyes shut tight as her curls spring slightly. "No," she gasps out, twisting the bedsheets and messing them up, her breasts shaking as she writhes slightly, arching her back and dropping it back down to the bed, her locket falling down to her throat as her face screws up in pleasure.</p><p>"Did you ask if you could do that?" I snap lowly, my hand pumping me up and down slowly as I watch her face contort in pleasure, her mouth falling open with a louder whimper that makes my hand squeeze around myself.</p><p>"I didn't," she responds in a broken, shaky voice.</p><p>"Needy little <em>slut</em>," I seethe, my hand moving up and down faster. "Look at you, touching yourself like that without permission. Good girls ask first, darling. You know I'll need to punish you, right?"</p><p>"So punish me," she moans out, and then her hips lift way up in the air as she lets out a strangled cry, coming right in front of me to see. She drops down to the bed and goes limp, skirt still flipped up, her breasts hanging out in the frigid air for me to admire, her eyes closed and lips parted in exhaustion. Her hand is still between her thighs, fingers glistening with her own arousal.</p><p>I smirk darkly to myself, taking a moment to just observe her, relish in how spent she looks form an orgasm achieved by her own fingers, remembering how she almost collapsed when I did the same to her. She looks so pretty like this, laying limp with her pussy so swollen and sensitive, her nipples hard and begging to be sucked, her lips, her face serene but forever frozen in bliss. I almost want to leave her like this, maybe take a picture. Almost.</p><p>"Get up," I say quietly.</p><p>She stirs slightly, barely opening her eyes to look at me. Slowly, groaning slightly, she sits up, her hands pulling her sweater and unclasped bra up over her head and tossing them aside, her breasts bouncing slightly as she does so. Her hand rubs over them as she looks at me, already hungry for me.</p><p>"Take your skirt off," I say, my hand slowing down but growing tighter as I watch her carefully.</p><p>She smirks slightly, standing on her knees to shimmy her skirt down and then sitting on the mattress to pull it off fully and send it flying towards the rest of her clothes. There she sits in all her naked glory, her face glowing slightly as she brings her hand up and slowly sucks her arousal off her fingers one by one.</p><p>I smirk right back, getting up off the chair to sit at the edge of the bed. I reach towards her, gently caressing the side of her face before grabbing her by her hair and harshly pulling her towards me. She cries out in pain, making me only tug harder. Our lips crash together roughly, and she kisses back immediately as I shove my tongue between her lips and brush it against hers, hearing her groan softly. Her hand comes down to touch my erection, ghosting her fingers down the side and tracing the prominent, throbbing vein as I grunt softly.</p><p>She shifts closer so that she's kneeling beside me, one hand on my thigh to hold her steady, the other rubbing me up and down, making her lift up so she's in a crawling position. I snake my hand up her bare thigh until I feel her dripping arousal, making her inhale a sharp breath as I trace my fingers over her clit. I push two fingers inside of her, making her squirm, and then when I pull them out, I abruptly smack my hand against her pussy.</p><p>Celeste falls forward slightly. My hand in her hair grips her tightly, forcing her to meet my lips again. This time her lips are too shaky to kiss me back, because my fingers are toying with her again, tracing her core, ghosting over her clit, and then I'm suddenly smacking her again. She whispers loudly, her hand squeezing me so tight that I hiss and rip it off.</p><p>"Draco," she groans softly, pulling away from my<br/>lips to look at me with pleading eyes.</p><p>"Get on the floor," I say simply, letting go of her hair.</p><p>She hesitates, but she's soon naked at my feet, kneeling in front of me with her hands on her thighs, looking up at me with big, dark, expectant eyes, her plump lips making my own mouth salivate. She then sits up slightly, pushing my legs apart so that she's kneeling between them. I shift closer to the edge of the bed so that she can lean in and wrap her lips around my tip, one of her hands wrapping around the base of my erection.</p><p>I groan softly, but then I grab her by her hair and rip her off me, pulling her up and leaning down to kiss her forceful, hearing her squeal before she kisses back. I'm letting go of her just as quick, smacking my hand across her face to make her head snap to the side. Celeste gasps, her hand squeezing me just the right amount.</p><p>"Filthy whore," I snarl, my hand in her hair pulling her against my dick again. She makes a soft sound, but she wraps her lips around my tip once more and starts swirling her tongue around it. "You greedy little girl. You can't just have one, huh? You need two people in one day? Stupid bitch. You can't even follow directions. Who told you to cum, hm?"</p><p>My other hand goes to her neck, giving it a tight squeeze while her eyes start to close, brows furrowed slightly. She takes a bit more of me in her mouth, her hand working the rest of me while that furious out of tension in my chest and gut slowly starts to dissolve.</p><p>"Hey," I say, making her eyes open to look at me. "Hit my leg three times <em>hard</em> if you need me to stop."</p><p>I don't give her the chance to question me before my hand in her hair gets a tighter grip closer to her head and pushes her head down onto me, forcing her to take my entire erection into her mouth. She choked around me, her hand tightly gripping my calf, but she doesn't signal me to stop. I groan, throwing my head back at the feeling of my sensitive, leaking tip hitting the back of her throat, twisting her hair in my hand especially hard to hear those sweet little whimpers pour in muffled tones from those bratty lips of hers, those bratty lips that are wrapped around <em>my</em> cock.</p><p>Then my hand starts bobbing her head up and down my length. She chokes slightly every time my tip hits the back of her throat, but her tongue laps around as I move her eagerly, nails digging into me through my jeans as she sucks her cheeks in, warm on the sides of me. I give my hips a short jerk, moaning at the feeling of her wet throat convulsing around me as she groans softly.</p><p>"Fuck, I—<em>fuck</em>. Finally put your lips to some good damn use," I grunt, hand guiding her head up and down while my foot taps rapidly against the floor. I want to fuck her mouth so badly. "All you're good for. It's all that dirty little fuckholes like you are good for."</p><p>She whispers softly, eyes opening to look at me, and they tear up when I bring her head down and hit the back of her throat roughly with my tip. I smirk, licking my lips while I tightly squeeze her neck before moving my hand to her cheeks, squeezing them tightly until her eyes well up, her throat tightening around my tip. I let go when a little tear drips down, watching it slowly track over her cheekbone while I continue bobbing her head up and down as quickly as I can.</p><p>"You're <em>my</em> fucking bitch, don't you forget that," I snarl, my hand tugging her hair harshly so she cries out, muffled by my erection in her mouth. "Your lips, your breasts, your pussy, your goddamn body belongs to me. I fucking <em>own</em> you."</p><p>She glares up at me harshly, making my blood boil, so I rip her off my cock. Celeste is scowling at me, but I bring my hand up to her face and squeeze her jaw until she's forced to open it, and then I lean forward and spit directly in her mouth, my hand in her hair twisting as she cries out and another tear drips from her eyes.</p><p>"Color," I demand, my hand gripping the side of her jaw while my thumb roughly pushes against her lips.</p><p>Celeste glares up at me angrily, her coiling black hair shaking as she tries to tear her head away from me, looking like snakes come to life. Her stony black eyes try to pierce mine, but I just smirk down at her nonchalantly. They're really not so terrifying when they're rimmed slightly with red and a little wet with unspilled tears.</p><p>"<em>Green</em>," she snaps spitefully.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. IVORY KEYS AND STOLEN BREATHS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>draco and celeste skip out on a fancy masquerade ball</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI<br/>April 7th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Ooh, you look cute."</p><p>I turn around abruptly to see a slightly shorter girl behind me wearing a dusty, rose gold ball gown, complete with flower embroidery at the bottom and a bust enhancer with a matching mask on her face. I quirk a brow, taking in her short, choppy black hair, and the plate of hors d'oeuvres in her hand.</p><p>"Hi, Pansy," I say, turning away from where I was simply watching the orchestra perform, reaching to scratch an itch behind my mask. "Hey, this dress is a <em>lot</em> cuter than that last one," I grin, stepping towards her.</p><p>She instantly links her arm with mine, and then we walk side by side, the sides of our dresses smushing slightly against each other's.</p><p>"Yeah, I know," Pansy huffs softly, contorting her arm so she can still hold her plate and pluck tiny little foods off of it to toss into her mouth. "Mum nearly made me wear hot pink again. She said that black was unnatural. This was our compromise, though it still doesn't seem very fair, does it?"</p><p>"Yeah, but you're pretty," I tease.</p><p>"I'm pretty in anything."</p><p>"You're also annoying."</p><p>"It's a package deal, Celeste, take it or leave it. Hey, there's Blaise," Pansy says, pulling me alone across the ballroom.</p><p>I wince as we nearly knock over several unsuspected guests, glaring at my companion, but she can't seem to give to shits as she continues striding forward with me in tow towards where Blaise is standing talking to some guy I can't recognize with his mask on. We come to a stop in front of them, Pansy unliking her arm to set her plate down and sit at a nearby table.</p><p>"Oh, cute, you guys are matching," she grins.</p><p>The entire Zabini clan, all five of us, deciding to come in matching clothes. I was slightly opposed to it because it all felt way too cheesy Christmas card-y, but then I saw my dress and shut right up. The two men in the family came in simple black suits, thin gold designs on the vests and bow-ties. My dress is simple but stunning at the same time, which is why I refuse to sit down, because then I couldn't show it off. It's a soft, muted gold, made of shimmer fabric that looks like it's winking in the light, and it flares out from my waist down rather nicely, matching the delicate gold mask on my face.</p><p>"Blame Mum," Blaise grumbles, scratching at his bow tie with a slight wince.</p><p>"Hey, where's the bathroom?" I ask, looking around with a slight grimace. I've been filling up on all sorts of mock tails (and one martini that was supposed to be virgin but ended up alcoholic and dry; I wasn't complaining). I've never <em>really</em> been to the Malfoy manor before sabe for the New Years party, but I spent the entirety of it downstairs, so this little charity masquerade ball for the Magical Obliviation Relief Program, or MORP, that Lucius and Narcissa are hosting would happen to be my first time seeing their manor.</p><p>It's large. Very large.</p><p>"Just outside that exit and to the left," Pansy says, her voice slightly muffled as she chews on something.</p><p>"Okay," I say, picking the front of my dress up slightly, "I'll be right back."</p><p>
  <em>How am I supposed to pee in this dress?</em>
</p><p>I'll figure it out when I get there.</p><p>Maneuvering around the big, puffy dresses of women trying to look younger than they are and the wide trays of waiters passing by, I walk across the ballroom, catching Aunt Colette's eye near one of the walls. She gives me a sly wink and discreet wave, making me grin as I notice the man she's talking to. Maybe he's my next (temporary) uncle.</p><p>Outside the ballroom, where the music is slightly muffled, I quickly find the bathroom. I manage to find a way to actually pee (it involves holding the skirt of my dress in a very uncomfortable way that could be a solid arm work out. After finishing up and washing my hands, I push the door and walk out, allowing the woman waiting to walk in, when I hear two hushed voices talking near the end of the hall.</p><p>Curious, I frown and glance around to see if anybody is nearby and can hear as well, but I'm the only one in the hallway. I consider going back into the ballroom to rejoin my friends, but...</p><p>Listening to what sounds like an argument sounds <em>so</em> much more interesting than eating food and pretending that each orchestral piece isn't lulling me to sleep. So I walk slowly and carefully, making sure my heels don't click against the marble floors and alert whoever these people are to my presence. I creep up to the end of the hallway, close enough to hear them, but not enough that I can see them or they me. If I hear them walking towards me, I'll just casually walk down the hall like I wasn't listening at all.</p><p>"You're only here because of your mother," a harsh voices hisses. It's familiar, making me frown and crane my neck. "That doesn't mean that <em>I</em> want to see your face here. There's no need for you to disappoint me in front of all my peers."</p><p>"Fa—"</p><p>"You'd be upstairs studying if you had a brain at all. Who told you to attend the gala?"</p><p>There's a slight silence, and then a voice that's unmistakably Draco's says, "Mother asked me to get ready."</p><p>At the sound of Draco's voice, my initial reaction is to think back to that night at Pansy's place, the things we did, the things he <em>said</em>. Just thinking about how going on and on about how he <em>owns</em> me makes me scowl. But then I notice that quiet but oh-so distinct edge to his voice, a familiar edge that has lined my own voice countless times, and all thoughts of the ways this boy attracts me and disgusts me leave my head.</p><p>"Your mother isn't here, is she? She's busy keeping your bloody aunt company. Go to your room. You can come back down when the guests have left to eat dinner, or I'll send a House-Elf up with a plate."</p><p>"I've been studying all week, Father," Draco's hushed voice responds, sounding calm and steady in comparison to Lucius Malfoy's angry one. "I just want to see my friends for a few m—"</p><p>"Upstairs, Draco," Mr. Malfoy interrupts coldly. "<em>Now</em>."</p><p>There's another sharp, thick silence, the kind that makes even <em>my</em> chest start to swell with pressure and the walls of my throat close in one each other. I frown slightly—I've had conversations like this numerous times with my mother, and hearing one that doesn't even involve me sets my own heart off in flight or fight.</p><p>"Yes, sir."</p><p>I hear heavy footsteps coming my way, my breath catching in my throat as I freeze stuck to the wall. To my relief, however, Lucius Malfoy simply storms down the opposite end of the hallway without glancing to his side at me, his long white locks slicked back. I watch walk off down the hallway until I can't lean forward without revealing myself to Draco.</p><p>My brows furrowed, I lean back against the wall. It's silent where his father left Draco standing, but I know he's still there. I can tell from the way the tension is so thick yet so fragile, the way my heart still thumps in a panic the way I'm sure his does. And then I hear him inhale sharply followed by the sound of slow, retreating footsteps growing quieter.</p><p>For a moment, I'm frozen, deciding what to do, and then my body is moving without my consent. I step out from behind the wall, plaster on a casual expression and start walking behind him.</p><p>"Draco," I call out, my pulse shuddering against my throat and nearly making me voice falter.</p><p>He pauses and turns slightly to look at me over his shoulder. His silver eyes are hard, brewing an icy storm and looking at me with malice, brows furrowed over his hooded eyes. His pink lips press into a firm line as he glances me up and down, turning to face me fully. Draco's posture is casual in comparison to his rigid face, weight rest on one hip, his hand pushing from under the jacket of his suit to slip in his pocket, thumb fiddling with his belt loop. His other hand holds a silver mask, the kind that cuts diagonally over his nose.</p><p>"What are you doing?" he asks coolly, his eyes resting heavily on my dress before going back up to mine.</p><p>I shrug casually, suddenly grateful for the mask on my face as his piercing gaze drinks me in. "Just walking around," I say simply, taking a few steps closer to him. "I got kinda bored sitting in there watching a bunch of people in masks show off their money. No offense."</p><p>He looks at me, slight suspicion in his eyes. "None taken," he says, not a single hint of a smile or a laugh on his face, but his tense shoulders relax ever so slightly. "So how much of that did you hear?"</p><p>My heart skips a beat, but I just tilt my head at him in confusion and say, "Of what?"</p><p>Draco rolls his eyes. "Don't play stupid, Celeste, I'm not enough an idiot to fall for that," he says sharply, his hand holding his mask twitching at his side.</p><p>I lift my eyebrows. "Okay, calm down, first of all," I laugh shortly, lifting my hands up in a mock surrender.</p><p>"I <em>am</em> calm."</p><p>"That vein in the side of your neck says otherwise. I didn't hear anything, Malfoy. I saw your father walk off, though, were you talking him?" I ask smoothly, pursing my lips as I loosely cross my arms, turning my chin up at him.</p><p>He frowns curiously, a brow lifting as he slowly drags his eyes down to the locket that dangles low on my chest near my cleavage. Today I clasped it a little lower, and his eyes linger there before he looks back up at my eyes.</p><p>"I was," he says, jaw clenching. "You didn't hear anything."</p><p>"Nothing," I promise, lying easily. "What're you doing out here? Shouldn't you be in there?"</p><p>"Shouldn't <em>you?</em>" he retorts with a scoff, his hand in his pocket slipping out to ruffle his hair.</p><p>I shrug. "It's not like <em>my</em> parents are hosting."</p><p>He exhaled softly, chest deflating as he looks at me sharply. "Yeah, well, I decided there are better ways for me to use my time."</p><p>"Yeah?" I ask, clasping my hands behind my back and swaying slightly as I walk up to him with a slight smile, my eyes heavy behind my ask. "In the mood to take a bored, pretty little girl along with you?"</p><p>His lips briefly lift into a small smirk, but it's gone just as soon as it comes. "I thought you don't like being called a little girl," he says in a smooth, low voice.</p><p>"What can I say? Same shit that irritates you can sometimes grow on you."</p><p>Draco gives me an incredulous look, eyes growing heavier as his eyebrows rise at me. I just smirk slightly, and slowly a slight smile finds his face. And then, shaking his head, he switches his mask to his other hand to hold his left hand out to me, rings glinting in the light as his slightly calloused fingers wait for mine.</p><p>I lift my eyebrows, glancing down at his hand and up at his face, laughing when he rolls his eyes before slipping my hand in his and letting him lead me down the hall.</p><p>"Where are you taking me?" I ask as we reach the stairs.</p><p>"Upstairs."</p><p>"Wow, thank you, that was helpful."</p><p>"Quit being sarcastic," he snaps, letting go of my hand so we can climb up the stairs. I nearly trip over my dress, gasping out a hushed curse while he glances over his shoulder. "Are gonna fall? Dont hit your head, I doubt you could afford to lose any more brain cells."</p><p>"You're such a dickhead," I scowl, picking my dress up to my shins and carefully walking up the stairs while he waits impatiently at the top.</p><p>"You're fucking slow."</p><p>"Yeah? You try walking up these stairs in three inch heels and a forty pound dress," I huff, glaring at him harshly while he smirks in amusement down at me.</p><p>"How tall are you?" he asks curiously.</p><p>"5'7," I say as I step up onto the top floor, my eyebrows rising when he takes my hand again to help me up. "Why?"</p><p>He grins. "You're still four inches shorter than me in those heels."</p><p>"Shut up and walk."</p><p>"As you wish," he smirks, pulling me to walk beside him rather than behind him. His hand lingers in mine for a couple seconds more, but then he slowly lets go to place it gently on my back to guide me. My toes curl slightly in my heels as I feel his thumb graze against my skin at the low back of my dress.</p><p>"You never told me where you're taking me," I say as we walk down hall after hall, passing many portraits of his ancestors that watch me suspiciously.</p><p>"My room," he says simply, and a portrait of an old, frail looking man gasps, scandalized.</p><p>"Is she a Pureblood, at least?" the portrait asks, his voice sounding like gravel.</p><p>To my surprise, Draco's face flushed pink just slightly. "Yes, Great-Uncle, she is, but I'm not—"</p><p>"Good on you, then."</p><p>"Oh, my goodness," Draco whispers, sounding slightly horrified as we turn a corner. "I never want to discuss—whatever."</p><p>"So your room, huh?" I tease, smirking at how his ears rim red. I mean, I'd be embarrassed too if my ancestors were commenting on my potential sexual activity, but it's <em>not</em> me, so I have no problem reveling in his embarrassment. "Don't tell me you're trying to get me to fuck you."</p><p>Draco rolls his eyes. "Get over yourself, Celeste," he scoffs as he stops at a door, his hand twisting the doorknob and pushing it open. "I don't have to <em>try</em> to get you to fuck me." He glances over his shoulder with a smirk before walking into his room. "You'd open your legs willingly."</p><p>My face sours slightly. "Because I'm easy, right?" I ask coldly.</p><p>He glances over at me, looking genuinely confused. "What?" he asks, brows furrowing.</p><p>"Never mind," I sigh, still standing in his doorway.</p><p>He quirks a brow. "Easy?" he asks with a scoff. "Uh, no fucking way. Did you forget that it took us playing a game for nearly five months before I fucked you? Not to mention <em>I</em> had to beg for it." Draco grimaces slightly, ruffling his hair up as he sits down at the edge of his bed, legs stretched out with his heels on the floor and ankles crossed. "Why would I think you're easy?"</p><p>I lift my chin up slightly. "Oh?"</p><p>"Yeah. Im saying you'd spread your legs for me willingly because you can't resist me," he then grins lately.</p><p>I snort. "You're the one who just said I resisted you for five while damn months, remember?"</p><p>"That was before you got a real taste," he says cockily, his hand unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket before tossing his mask onto his bed before slipping his jacket off and setting it down on the bed. "You coming in? I won't bite."</p><p>"You won't? Now I'm <em>definitely </em>not coming in," I say dryly, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into his room, my breath hitching when I get a good look at it.</p><p>It's massive. The rooms at the Zabini manor are big too, and though my room is really just a guest room it's still big. However, it pales in comparison to his. The walls are painted a dark, charcoal grey that makes it somehow look even bigger, and the curtains to the open window are drawn to reveal the glittering night sky over an expanse of dark green forest that stretches past the horizon. His four-poster bed is pushed against the center of a wall, covered in greys and whites and a little dusty green in the form of a fleece blanket that sits there with countless other blankets. Next to his bed is a little mini library, the entire wall filled with books upon books as well as a coffee table and two armchairs to sit on while reading. Across the room, to my surprise, is a beautiful, carved grand piano. My jaw drops slightly as I admire it. It's made of a dark mahogany wood, carvings on its legs and the bench that accompanies it, it's white ivory keys looking well-loved. In that same corner is a violin leaning against a stand and a great shelf filled with just sheer music and one tiny little plant that teeters at the edge.</p><p>"The window's open, Celeste, close your mouth before a bug flies in."</p><p>I snap my mouth shut, shooting an amused Draco a slight glare. "Your room is...big," I say, my eyebrows lifting even higher somehow.</p><p>"Is it?" he asks in a light, teasing voice. I can feel his icy eyes watching me closely as I continue to admire his piano from afar. "I couldn't tell."</p><p>"I didn't know that you're so...musical," I say, gesturing towards the corner of his room.</p><p>"There's more to me than sex and drugs, Celeste," he says dryly, the gruff tone of his voice making my muscles tense slightly as I turn my head straight to look at him. This time, he's the one looking away, tired grey eyes on his carved piano.</p><p>"Of course," I say simply, tilting my head. "Can you play something for me?"</p><p>"Why?" he asks suspiciously, eyes darting to me and narrowing slightly.</p><p>I roll my eyes. "You're so fucking dramatic, Dray, <em>damn</em>. I just want to hear some pretty music. Can you?"</p><p>Draco eyes me up slightly, his forefinger slowly rubbing at his lower lip. I smile at him brightly while he drinks me in, making me feel naked with the way he gazes. He then sighs softly, one hand fumbling to untie his bow tie and slip it off to place on the bed. He gets up, his long, nimble fingers gesturing for me to come towards him as he walks, making my stomach flip slightly.</p><p>I follow him towards the piano, stopping beside it to tentatively reach a hand out to trace the carvings. Serpents and snakes coil around, some of them baring their fangs, some of them oddly enough sporting horns. I'm careful with my touch, wondering how something so beautiful is even <em>allowed</em> to be touched.</p><p>I glance up to see him standing before his shelf of sheet music, fingers gently dragging over them. Perhaps he's looking for something in particular, or maybe he's waiting for something to strike him as just right. I wait quietly, patiently, watching him start to pull a score out just to push it back in with a slight tut. He eventually chooses one, giving it a terse scan before walking over to the piano and placing it against the music rack.</p><p>Draco sits down carefully, almost as if he too is terrified of breaking his own beautifully crafted piano. His fingers gently rest on the ivory keys when he suddenly glances up at me. He shifts down just slightly, gesturing to the space beside him on the bench.</p><p>"Sit."</p><p>I glance down before gingerly sitting as well, wincing whenever my dress brushes against the piano, as if I'll scuff the wood. I can feel Draco staring at the side of my face as I stare at the slightly yellowed sheet music, wishing that of all the languages I know, music was one of them.</p><p>"Celeste," he murmurs in a soft voice, making me turn to face him. Draco's silvery eyes pierce me as he lifts a carefully hand up to my face, silver rings cutting into my skin as he brushes his knuckles over my cheek before lifting my gold mask off my face, careful not to mess my hair up for once.</p><p>I take it from him, smiling softly before holding the mask in my lap and turning to face the keys again, unable to hold his intense gaze.</p><p>"Play," I urge. "It won't play itself."</p><p>His fingers rest on the ivory. He plays one note, a deep, reverberating note that sends vibrations up my bones, and I'm not even touching the piano in any way. His right hand then starts playing a slow tune, one that makes my stomach lurch slightly as I watch his pale hand move. It's dark, a little mysterious, and I find myself leaning into him slightly.</p><p>Draco's left hand joins his right, and something happens to the music that makes my breath halt in my throat.</p><p>It reminds of summer days spent all alone, my parents gone to work for hours on end. Summer days spent in the countless libraries in the countless houses in countless countries, reading from sun-up to sun-down, acquainting myself with books because I convinced myself that it was okay that we moved too much for me to get to know anyone, that I'm above them all anyway. It reminds me of waking up to find my favorite pastries and baked goods waiting in the kitchen, except they didn't taste as good when Father wasn't there to share them with. It reminds me of overhearing Mother during one of her garden parties, hearing her boasting to her friends about my grades and then going silent when asked how I liked to spend my time.</p><p>It's melancholy, and my stomach keeps dropping as I listen to it.</p><p>I look up at Draco's face. He isn't looking at the sheet music at all, and from the way it looks so well-loved and worn, I assume he's played this piece many times. I think for a moment that his eyes are on the keys, but then I tilt my head a little and realize that they're closed.</p><p>I watch, completely enthralled and fascinated by him. He's the picture of sheer focus, brows slightly furrowed, rising and falling with every dip in the music. His porcelain features, carved out of harsh ice, look slightly softer as his pink lips part, his chest rising and falling steadily while he plays this beautiful beast of a piano like it's an extension of him. He breathes with it, breathes to its beat, and it's like life pours through his fingertips and into the ivory keys to make this beautiful, desolate music that pours into me. It makes me feel like living death.</p><p>Somehow with every drop of his life that he puts into the heavy keys, his face lights up with more. His brows slowly loosen until they simply rest serenely, and his pale cheeks turn pink in their hollows. His silvery hair falls over his forehead, and I resist the urge to brush it away.</p><p>His hands make their way back to the center of the keys, playing a few last notes that make me lean in closer, anticipating that satisfying ending, but then he's holding down a note that feels all kinds of <em>wrong</em>, and the tension in my chest grows tighter.</p><p>"You're staring at me," he says before opening his eyes, turning his head to look at me. "You nearly messed me up. I couldn't focus."</p><p>I open my mouth to apologize, but instead what comes out is, "Beautiful."</p><p>Draco lifts a brow at me, his face growing grim as that last note fades away. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"The music," I clarify, glancing back at his hands, glancing at each one of his rings. "It was...that was beautiful. How long have you been playing?"</p><p>"Forever, more or less," he shrugs softly, retracting his hands from the keys to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt and roll his sleeves up to his elbow, revealing his strong forearms. "My parents have had me enrolled in every class known to man, as I'm sure yours did to you. I stopped lessons when Hogwarts began, of course, for both the violin and the piano." He places his hands back on the piano.</p><p>"Are you this good at the violin too?" I ask curiously, my head bent slightly as I bring a cautious, slightly trembling hand up to the ivory keys just to feel them.</p><p>He hesitates. "I wouldn't say I'm as good at the violin as I am at piano, no. I like playing it, but there's something about the piano I've always liked more. Did you ever learn?"</p><p>"I took classes when I was younger," I say, careful not to press any of the keys as I feel them gently, "but I never really learned. I never picked it up very fast, both because I guess I don't have much of an affinity for it and because we moved so much that..." My left hand joins my right to feel at the keys. "Every teacher always started from the beginning, so I only really know which keys are what note, and vaguely, at that. I can't even read sheet music."</p><p>My left hand brushes slightly against his right. We both freeze, our eyes stuck on our littlest fingers that touch each other, but neither of us make any indication to move.</p><p>"Would you like to play something?" he asks softly. I can feel him turn his head to look at me, but I don't look at him. My pulse thumps too hard.</p><p>"How am I supposed to play?" I ask softly, smiling slightly.</p><p>Draco doesn't respond, not with words. Instead, he gently grabs my wrists and moves one hand to rest in my lap and the other near the center of the keys. He then gently rests his right hand on top of mine. I don't dare glance up at him, not when his thumb brushes against the back of my palm before sliding on top of my own thumb, not when I can feel his rings on my knuckles, not when I feel his hand envelop mine, warm and safe.</p><p>A bolt of lightning jolts up from my body where he's touching my hand, darting through me until it reaches my heart. My heart burns slightly, beating erratically and shooting fire through my veins.</p><p>"Try to move your hand with mine," Draco says softly, and then our hands begin tripping together.</p><p>He presses my fingers down on the keys, a simple tune reaching my ears. It's nothing special, something I vaguely remember from my many beginner's classics. I probably hated it at one point after having to relearn it so many times, but right now, it sounds sweet. It's a little clumsy as Draco waits for my hand to position right before he presses our fingers down, awkward pauses between some of the notes. He slowly moves us lower, mumbling some words to me. He tells me the notes as we play them, but I'm not really listening.</p><p>"This is the lower register," he says, my fingers slipping under his and fumbling slightly as I press the wrong key. I flush slightly with embarrassment as he chuckles softly. "That's alright," he says, fixing my finger and pressing it down on the correct key.</p><p>And then our hands slowly make their way up to the higher notes—the higher register, he calls it. I watch his pale fingers, his translucent veins shifting as he moves his hand slowly for me. We're tripping, falling, stumbling through the song, Draco laughing breathlessly every time I press the wrong note, his hand quick to correct me.</p><p>As our hands near the highest notes, he placed his left hand on my knee to steady himself, forced to lean in towards me. I swallow thickly, my heart beating quick and hard as his face nears mine. I can tell the end of the song is nearing as he turns his head slightly to look at the side of my face, but still, I won't look at him.</p><p>Our fingers press the last note, the <em>correct</em> note, thankfully, and our hands stay like that. Even when the note has faded away, his hand stays cupping mine, and I can feel my stomach churning as my limbs grow numb from how fast my blood races. His face is hardly inches from mine, so if I turned to look at him...</p><p>I look at our hands for a few moments more before turning my head to look at him.</p><p>He's already looking at me, a snow storm churning in those beautiful grey eyes, holding me absolutely captive as his furrowed brows tighten slightly. He's breathing a little hard just like I am, chest rising and falling. I wonder if his chest and throat feel as tight as mine do, if holding eye contact is so hard to maintain yet just as hard to break for him as it for me.</p><p>He leans in slightly, maybe by mistake, but now our lips are just an inch apart, and his hand is tightly squeezing my knee. My heart thuds, skipping a beat when his eyes dart down to look at my lips for half a second.</p><p>When Draco moves his hand off of mine, I'm absurdly filled with a great flood of disappointment.</p><p>But then he gently grabs my chin to tilt my head up and leans in, eyes fluttering shut, to press his lips against mine in a soft, gentle, and tender kiss that makes my throat shut. His lips steal my breath. I close my eyes, my hand on the piano frozen there while my hand in my lap comes up, trembling, to the side of his face, holding his cheek while he slowly slides his tongue against my lower lip. I kiss back cautiously, unsure of what I'm doing when I move my lips and swipe my tongue against this. It's the slowest kiss I've ever had, but my heart has never pounded this furiously before.</p><p>His hand lifts off my knee and goes to my waist, gentle in the way it holds me, fingertips grazing against my bare skin revealed by the low back. I can feel both his hands, the one on my waist and the one delicately holding my chin, tremble just slightly, the way mine on the side of his face does.</p><p>Draco pulls away for half a second just to lean in to press a lingering kiss to my lips. My heart skips a beat when he pulls away and brushes his lips against mine yet again, not kissing me, not pulling away, just sharing our warmth through our lips. His fingertips on my skin pour life into me the way they do the piano, my pulse increasing with each tense second where we just touch each other, moving our lips just slightly so we can feel them graze each other's.</p><p>And then he suddenly kisses me so intensely, his hand on my waist tightening, that I'm caught off guard and nearly fall onto the piano keys to regain balance. I don't fall, but my arm crashes on the ivory. The keys cry out in shrieking protest, discordant notes startling us both as we pull away and I tug my arm away from the piano, wincing slightly.</p><p>My eyes stay stuck on his, waiting for him to speak.</p><p>By the time the discordant notes have faded away, he hasn't said a word, just stared at me with his brows furrowed slightly in confusion.</p><p>"Sorry," I say, gesturing to the piano, my voice shaking just slightly.</p><p>"It's okay," Draco responds, clearing his throat. He then looks away from me, turning to sit straight and busying his fumbling fingers with fixing the sheet music, moving it around and straightening it up into a neat pile. He then pauses, eyes on the papers but distant, while his fingers come up to gently graze his lower lip. "I'm sorry too," he says in a low voice, and I don't have to ask to know why.</p><p>Before I can respond that it's okay, someone knocks on the door.</p><p>"Master Draco? Your dinner is here."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: any pets?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. THE INQUISITORIAL SQUAD</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>dumbledore do be gone</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY<br/>April 17-18th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Wake up!"</p><p>I gasp and sit up abruptly when a hand strikes me across the face, blinking in a daze as bright lights blind me, wondering for a moment if I've been abducted or something. But then my vision clears and I see sitting on top of my legs Pansy fucking Parkinson, her brown monolidded eyes wide and crazed, missing their usual thick liner. She looks like she's just gotten up, short black hair ruffled and bangs sticking up, and she's in the ugliest pajamas I've ever seen (they have princess crowns on them. I'll be sure to make fun of her later).</p><p>And then I glare at her, grabbing her by her sleeve and pushing her off of me. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I snap, groaning as I curl my legs to sit cross-legged, rubbing my face harshly.</p><p>"Nothing," she says brightly.</p><p>"What the fuck is the time?"</p><p>"Six in the morning."</p><p>"Screw you, pussy-eater."</p><p>"She woke me the same way," snaps Blaise from the bathroom doorway, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth as he glares at Pansy viciously, "and she <em>still</em> hasn't told me why."</p><p>"Yeah, my face still hurts," a voice scoffs, and I snap my head to the side to see Celeste in our doorway, stifling a yawn that makes her tired eyes scrunch up. She's in just sweats rolled up to her calves and a loose shirt, clearly just woken up. When we make eye contact, she briefly scans me up and down before looking away with her arms crossed.</p><p>"Well, I wanted you <em>all</em> awake to give you the news. It happened late last night while we were all pretty<br/>much going to bed. Well, I was going to bed, Celeste was studying for Potions, b—"</p><p>"Get to the point," I interrupt irritably, scowling as she rolls her eyes. Shaking my head, I rip the covers off my body, nearly taking her down with them as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand up, groaning while I stretch my back and arms out, scratching my shirtless stomach and tugging my sweatpants up a little.</p><p>"<em>Anyway</em>," Pansy huffs, sitting cross-legged on my bed and fiddling with a homemade bracelet she wears around her wrist (it's made with buttons and gemstones, I don't really get it), "I found out from Verona who found out from Kailani who found out from that Ravenclaw Elara who found out from that guy with—"</p><p>"Pansy!" Blaise snaps in a muffled voice, aggressively spitting toothpaste into the sink before turning around to say, "Get to the fucking point!"</p><p>She glowers at him before saying simply, "Dumbledore's been fired."</p><p>I was in the middle of searching for my slippers, but when I hear those words, I freeze. Blaise's brushing pauses in the bathroom, and I hear Celeste choke slightly. And then I turn my head slowly to look at her, scanning her face for any sign of a joke.</p><p>"You're kidding," I deadpan as I hear Blaise finish up in the bathroom. Celeste walks into the room, her brows furrowed and eyes trained on Pansy. "You <em>are</em> kidding, right?"</p><p>Pansy shakes her head, looking awfully pleased with herself. "Nope. You wanna hear the story?"</p><p>"Yes, obviously," I scoff, sitting back down on my bed with a slight thud and fluffing my pillows up to rest behind my back. "Start talking."</p><p>Blaise walks back into the room, a mildly panicked look on his face as he bolts over and jumps onto the bed, landing on his side and scrambling to position himself to face her. Rolling her eyes at her cousin, Celeste walks over and sits at the edge of my bed, careful not to look at me as she stared at Pansy expectantly.</p><p>"Okay," Pansy says, tucking her wild hair behind her ears and beaming underneath all the attention. "<em>So</em>, I don't know how much of the story is true, because it's gone through quite a few people before reaching me, but here's what I have. <em>Apparently</em>, for the past like six or seven months, Dumbledore's been making a secret army in Hogwarts."</p><p>"A secret <em>what?</em>" I scoff in disbelief, resting my hand behind my head and slumping a little as my other hand scratched my chest. "I swear, Pansy, if you woke me up early on the one day I planned to sleep in for a fucking prank, I'm gonna kill you."</p><p>"Can you let a girl fucking speak? Damn," Pansy rolls her eyes.</p><p>Celeste stifles another yawn, closing her eyes and leaning her head forward until it's slumped against Pansy's back. "I slept at three, Pansy," she says in a groggy voice. "Hurry up so I can go back to sleep."</p><p>Blaise grumbles, "I slept at ten, but I'd like to go back to sleep as well."</p><p>"Okay, whatever, anyway," Pansy sighs, scratching her arm, "people are saying he's been raising a secret army within Hogwarts. There's students from, like, all the Houses ex<em>cept</em> Slytherin, naturally, and some of them are as young as first years. Anyway, they literally call themselves Dumbledore's Army, and they got caught last night. Dumbledore escaped before he could be like, I don't know, taken to Azkaban or whatever, but now Umbridge is Headmaster."</p><p>"Umbridge?" Blaise confirms, his eyebrows rising. "Oh, shit. That's awesome. She <em>loves</em> Slytherins."</p><p>"Right?" Pansy beams.</p><p>"Okay, wait," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, "why the fuck was he making an army of teenagers in the first place?"</p><p>"I don't know. To overthrow the government? Maybe he felt threatened by Umbridge's presence, or," she snorts humorously, "maybe to fight the Dark Lord he and Scarface are so insistent is back."</p><p>My eyes instantly dart over to Celeste to see her pick her head up and look at me as well. We silently share eye contact for a few seconds, no words passing through our lips, just staring at each other while knowing the other is also thinking about that overheard conversation on New Years. What she doesn't know, however, is the conversation I had with my father and how telling it was.</p><p>"Maybe," I murmur, smiling slightly. "So he's gone, then, yeah? Good, I'm glad to be rid of that nutcase. Man was too old to properly run a school anyway, letting in all sorts of types."</p><p>"Yeah," Blaise sighs, turning onto his back and stretching with a slight groan. "It's gonna be a bit weird, though. Different around here."</p><p>"Different could be a good thing."</p><p>—</p><p>"Do you know why she's called us to her office?" I ask curiously, glancing at Blaise who walks beside me down the mostly empty halls. I glance down and fix my crooked Prefect badge in case a student skipping class passes by—it's fun to scare them.</p><p>"No idea," he shrugs. "But I've heard she's been pulling fifth, sixth, and seventh years out of class to talk to them, both boys and girls. Slytherins only."</p><p>Pansy, who walks a few feet behind us with Celeste, pipes up to say, "It's true, Verona told me. Though she didn't tell me what exactly Umbridge is calling everyone in for. She said I'll know soon enough."</p><p>Blaise leans in slightly to mutter, "She's whipped."</p><p>"Yeah, no kidding," I scoff as we reach Umbridge's office—Dumbledore's old one.</p><p>From the other side of the hall, Theo, Tracey, and Daphne approach. I wait until they're close by before knocking on Umbridge's door. Almost as if she's been perched right behind it eagerly awaiting our arrival, the door swings open before my knuckle even leaves the wood to reveal the short, squat, frilly pink woman beaming at each of us, her beady eyes taking us in one by one.</p><p>"Come in!" she says overly enthusiastically, stepping aside to let us into her office. "Do, come in, the rest of your year is already here."</p><p>I step in first, holding my breath a little. I've been in her office as a professor before, so I'm sure her office as Headmistress is just as bad. Sure enough, as soon as I can't hold my breath any longer, I inhale sharply that syrupy smell of cough drops and tea. The walls have already been redecorated bright pink with little pictures of cats meowing all over them, and the furniture has been replaced with frilly, floral pastels. I see Crabbe, Goyle, and Millicent sitting squished on a sofa, each holding a cup of tea that none of them drink from.</p><p>"Tea?" Umbridge asks in that pitchy voice of hers when we're all piled into her office watching her walk over to sit behind her desk.</p><p>"No, thank you," Celeste responds, but the woman is already flicking her wand.</p><p>A tray floats over to us, bumping slightly into my shoulder as a flowery ceramic tea pot pours hot, sweet smelling tea into matching cups. The cups sit themselves on top of saucers and nudge over to us, squealing slightly until we all begrudgingly take a cup to ourselves. Satisfied, the tray floats back to Umbridge's desk.</p><p>I glance over my shoulder to see Blaise trying a bit of the tea and instantly dry-heaving. Wincing, I decide to just hold mine.</p><p>"Now, do the ten of you know why you're here?" Umbridge asks in a light voice, sitting up straight with her arms folded on top of the desk while she eyes us up, a tight smile on her face.</p><p>"No, ma'am," Celeste responds, earning a discreet pinch on the arm from Pansy that makes me bite back a smirk.</p><p>Umbridge beams. "Surely you've heard a little from<br/>the other students?"</p><p>"They've kept their mouths sealed," Theo offers, his eyes on his tea-cup as he watches a painted cat at the bottom of it roll around.</p><p>"Do you mind me asking—oh," Celeste interrupts herself, holding her tea up in the air as she frowns down at something near her feet. My eyes dart down to see her fat grey cat slinking around her ankles, darting between them and affectionately rubbing the side of her face against her shoes. "How'd you get in here, Cheeks?" she laughs softly, pushing her cup into Pansy's hands (Pansy doesn't look happy) to bend down and pick up Chicken.</p><p>"You have a cat?" Umbridge asks in a sleek voice, her lips quivering.</p><p>"Yeah, this is Cheeky," Celeste says, cradling the fat feline like a baby.</p><p>"Wonderful," Umbridge simpers. "I, personally, have <em>quite</em> a few cats myself. I've brought a few of them with me to Hogwarts, but unfortunately, I had to leave most of them home for my sister to look after. Now, I think, one of them should be around here...oh, <em>Darling?</em>"</p><p>Instantly, a thin cat jumps out of one of the low cupboards and skinks across the office to leap up into Umbridge's lap. She holds it up for us all to see, making me lift my eyebrows up. It's almost entirely hairless, giving it the appearance of a House-Elf with its oversized ears and eyes and all the wrinkles over its pale body.</p><p>"Darling here is a Devon Rex," Umbridge says. "What about your...<em>Cheeky?</em>"</p><p>Celeste looks mildly uncomfortable as she strokes Chicken's fur. "Oh, he's a British Shorthair."</p><p>"I've got two Shorthairs!" Umbridge nearly squeals. And then she sighs and puts <em>Darling</em> down, brushing her lap off and saying, "Enough of that, now. As you all know by now, as I spoke at breakfast, your precious headmaster has left, and I have been out in charge of this school by the Ministry. Albus Dumbledore has his..." She looks like she struggles with these next words. "...deserved accolades, but he has unfortunately left this school a mess. Not to fear, I am plenty adequate in fixing it, but I will need to employ the help of promising students such as yourselves." She beams at us, clearly waiting for a response.</p><p>I glance around, seeing Celeste busy pulling Chicken's claws out of her hair, Blaise pretending to clean something from his shirt, and Pansy just smirking slightly.</p><p>Rolling my eyes to myself, I look ahead and say, "How can we help?" with a small smile.</p><p>Umbridge stands back, fixing a crooked picture frame on her desk as she says, "I'm assembling a highly elite group of students to help maintain peace and order in this school. It's a bit like the <em>Prefects</em> of the school," she says, glancing at the badges on my chest and Pansy's, "except I wasn't here to choose the Prefects, was I? I can only imagine that if that man was so..." She sighs like she's grief-stricken, "...so ill in the head to assemble an army of <em>child soldiers</em>, he couldn't have the right judgement to choose the student leaders of the school. So I've called you all here to ask if you'll be part of my Inquisitorial Squad. Of course, there will be some individual screenings, and I'll be asking all you questions here as a group." She blinks at us expectantly.</p><p>"That sounds great," Celeste pipes up, Pansy disguising a laugh as a cough. I can tell she's holding back the urge to glare at Pansy as she smiles sweetly and says, "Is there somewhere I can put down my name, or..?"</p><p>"Take a seat, all of you!" Umbridge ushers, and with a flick of her wand, armchairs and sofas come barreling at us from behind, knocking into our knees and making us fall backwards to sit.</p><p>Celeste tumbles into the same armchair as me. We both get up at the same time, her accidentally dropping Chicken who yowls and bounds away. I clear my throat, gesturing for her to take the seat, but she just looks away and sits on the arm of the chair instead. Ignoring the odd looks sent our way from both Pansy and Blaise I sit down on the seat, careful not to touch her.</p><p>"Now," Umbridge says, pulling out a thick folder of files and flipping through them, "Unfortunately, I require that those of us in this special little team be making good grades, so..." Her fingers drags down a paper before she winced, turning her head to look sympathetically at the side. "Mr. Goyle, Miss Bulstrode, you can leave us now."</p><p>I quietly place my hand over my mouth in shock while Pansy stifles giggles on the chair she sits in, Celeste biting back a snort. I glance over at Blaise who winces slightly.</p><p>Goyle and Millicent, both bright red in the face, hurry out of the office.</p><p>It continues on for a little while, Umbridge asking us questions from things regarding studies to extracurricular to family. She mentions something about Celeste and I being in the top three of our class, which makes us both shift uncomfortably and glance at each other. Umbridge writes something down on a loose parchment when I tell her that I've been Seeking on the team for four years now, and she beams when Pansy says she wants to be a Ministry worker in the future (total bullshit, but Umbridge seems to eat it up). When Umbridge asks Blaise if it's true that he lives only with his mother who's been married and widowed seven times and he said yes, she sniffled slightly.</p><p>"I suppose that'll be all for now," she says, smiling tightly. "I may ask some of you for a one-on-one later, but you'll know if you been signed on soon enough. I have made one decision, however, regarding who our student leader will be." Umbridge turns on her pink heels to beam at me. "Mr. Malfoy."</p><p>My eyebrows rise. "Me?" I confirm right as Pansy snorts incredulously and under her breath "<em>Him?</em>"</p><p>"Yes, <em>you</em>, Mr. Malfoy," she titters, round cheeks flowing slightly pink as she hobbled around her desk to stand in front of it with her hands clasped together. "You're a Prefect, you're involved in many clubs like Quidditch and Dueling, you're receiving top marks in all your classes, and you even have a recommendation from Professor Snape himself." She then turns her chin up, saying, "I've come across your father in the Ministry many times." My pulse jumps. "He's a big benefactor there. If you're even half the man he is, you're perfect as student leader."</p><p><em>Father will like to hear that</em>.</p><p>—</p><p>"Mr. Prefect <em>and</em> Mr. Inquisitorial Squad Student Leader, huh?" Pansy teases as we stroll down the halls side by side. We're supposed to be patrolling, but it's really just an excuse to stay out in the halls late.</p><p>A sign up sheet was posted yesterday along with the accepted members. So far, it's me, Pansy, Celeste, Crabbe, Graham, Warrington, Pandora, Pucey, Bletchley, and the seventh year girl Zola. Blaise got cut, but he couldn't care less. It's only Slytherins, and it doesn't look like anyone from the other Houses is too eager to sign up.</p><p>"Oh, shut up," I roll my eyes, flipping my wand casually in my hand. "It'll look good on my transcript when I graduate, not to mention I can take points away from Prefects—yes, Pansy, even you, so don't piss me off or I'll set the whole House against you."</p><p>She scowls at me. "You know I can take points off of Prefects too? Whatever. I'm going back to the dungeons, Verona asked me to meet her," she says with a slight smile. "You coming?"</p><p>I shake my head slightly. "I think I'll stay out here for a little while longer."</p><p>"Suit yourself," Pansy shrugs before turning on her heel and walking in the opposite direction toward the dungeons. "Come back soon, though! I heard they're planning a karaoke night in celebration of these recent events—oh, <em>don't </em>roll your eyes, I know you secretly love karaoke."</p><p>"Shouldn't you be running off to your owner?" I grumble, earning an offended scoff before I hear the sound of her literally running off.</p><p>These past few months, I'd noticed the halls had been absurdly empty, and now I realize it was because of that <em>army</em> Dumbledore assembled. I scoff at the thought, just <em>knowing</em> that Potter probably paraded around there on his high horse. As I walk down the hall, I pass a few students. Whenever they see me and the two badges on my chest, they seem to quiet down, halt their conversations until I can't hear, making me roll my eyes, but a huddle of three Gryffindor down the hall don't seem to notice that I'm approaching.</p><p>"They won't believe us," Potter whispers agitatedly, a vein pulsing in his forehead next to that ruddy scar of his.</p><p>"Well, we can't just let him—"</p><p>"Blimey, 'Mione, what do you want Harry to do about it? Throw himself in Azkaban for Dumbledore?"</p><p>I quirk a brow at this.</p><p>"<em>No</em>," Hermione huffs irritably, making me peer at her sideways as I slow my pace, "but we can't just let this happen, can we? Honestly, that woman is <em>horrible</em>, she's not a <em>witch </em>so much as she's a bi—"</p><p>"You sure you want to finish that sentence, Granger?" I interrupt coolly, my hands in the pockets of my robes as I step forward and eye the three up lazily, a slow smirk finding my face. "I'd <em>hate</em> to have to take points off."</p><p>The three of them freeze at the sound of my voice. I can see Weasley physically cringe before turning to face me, his face slightly red and his freckles fading away with the pigment. Potter looks entirely unimpressed as he sighs slightly and buries his face in one of his hands, and when Granger turns around, she does so violently, her hair whipping, and it gives me flashbacks to when she gave me a right shiner.</p><p>I think that's when I realized I liked her. <em>Like</em> her.</p><p>"Malfoy," she seethes slightly.</p><p>"But," I continue, sighing heavily and smirking at them, "I <em>think</em> I'll take points off anyway. Five points from you, Granger, for bad-mouthing our <em>wonderful </em>Headmistress, five points from you, Weasley, because your shirt is untucked—" He instantly glances down and turns red while shoving his shirt back into his pants, "—Potter, five points from you because..." I laugh and shrug. "I just <em>don't </em>like you, and...you know what, Granger? Why don't you take an <em>extra</em> five points off for being a Mudblood?"</p><p>Weasley pushes past the other two to get to me. I stand there, unimpressed but mildly amused, while Hermione grabs him by the back of his sweater and scoffs, her brown eyes glaring at me.</p><p>"He's not worth it, Ron," she spits. "Let's just go back to the common room."</p><p>"Mm," I laugh, glancing down at my watch, "better hurry. Curfew begins in five minutes, and I'd <em>hate</em> to catch you in the halls after hours."</p><p>I smirk, turning my head over my shoulder as I watch them hurry off, shooting me dirty looks over their own shoulders that just make me laugh to myself. Rolling my eyes, I continue on down the corridor when a voice stops me.</p><p>"That's <em>one </em>way to get your crush to like you."</p><p>I turn my head to see Celeste sitting on a bench near a window, her legs propped up across from her with her knees bent and a book open on her lap. Her hair is tied up in a loose bun that's kept intact only by her wand sticking out of it. She doesn't look at me even when I slowly make my way over to her. Her Stygian eyes remain fixed on her novel, one hand holding it open and her other arm propped lazily on the window sill, her hand playing with one of her loose curls.</p><p>"Excuse me?" I ask quietly, stopping to lean against the wall beside her, seeing her Chicken curled up beneath the bench licking at its paws.</p><p>Celeste smirks slightly while flipping a page. She bends her knees tighter so her feet drag closer to her, briefly glancing at the space created on the bench as if to tell me to sit. I take her silent cue, sitting down on the bench at an angle, leaning against the wall in our little alcove.</p><p>"I'm just saying," she says, her eyes switching to the next page, "if you like a girl, she probably won't respond too well to insults."</p><p>I look at her dryly. "Really? I think <em>you</em> respond rather well to insults."</p><p>Her smirk grows at this, and I can tell she's no longer actually reading her book as her eyes stay fixated on a bent corner of the page she's on. "Yes, well," she sighs, coiling a curly baby hair around her finger, "call me the exception. Besides, there's a difference between insulting someone to get them or yourself <em>off</em> and insulting someone to just insult them." Her eyes dart up, dark and piercing as they find mine quickly. "For example, calling someone a whore cause they pissed you off versus calling someone a slut while fucking them. Very different things."</p><p>I inhale slowly, eyes dropping down when she stretches her legs out with a slight sigh and lets her calves rest on my lap. I give Celeste an amused look, but she's already looking back at her book.</p><p>"It doesn't matter," I say matter-of-factually, my hand resting on her knee. Her leg tenses slightly, making <em>me</em> smirk, but then it relaxes. "It's not like I'm trying to get her to like me, anyway."</p><p>"No?" she asks distractedly, flipping a page in her book. "What, you prefer it if she hates you?"</p><p>"It's better that way, yeah," I murmur, staring at a portrait across the hall. It's of a man and a woman. They're fighting. "Anyway," I sigh, shaking my head, "you can forget I even told you that."</p><p>"Why should I?" Celeste asks slyly, the muscles in her calf flexing slightly under my hand.</p><p>"I don't think I like her so much anymore," I say quietly, my brows furrowing as I realize that I'm right, that I'm not just saying that to get her to shut up. Granger hasn't crossed my mind so often as she once did, and it's a relief, because it's tiring being attracted to a girl that's a <em>Mudblood</em> and a big reason why my father gives me so much shit. Maybe if she wasn't so fucking smart, it'd be a bit easier.</p><p>"Is that so?" Celeste yawns, flipping another page. She turns on her side slightly, legs turning with her as she pats her skirt down to ensure she isn't flashing some poor passing first year.</p><p>"It is—what are you reading?" I ask curiously, tilting my head to get a look at the cover.</p><p>"Oh, you wouldn't care," she says in an almost teasing voice. "It's a Muggle book. Supposed to be an American classic, but it's my first time reading it."</p><p>"What's it called?" I ask, my hand slipping down her thigh as I lean forward to gently grab one of her wrists with my other hand, tilting it so I can get a look at her book. I can feel the muscles on her thigh tensing, so I give her a small squeeze before sitting back up straight. "<em>The Catcher in the Rye</em>. Is it any good?"</p><p>"Would you read it if I said it was?"</p><p>"Likely not."</p><p>She laughs shortly, closing her book and setting it down under the bench next to her fat grey cat. Celeste stretches slightly, eyes fluttering shut as she sinks down lower on the bench, her arms going under her head to cushion it from the hard metal arm. She looks at me lazily, her legs rubbing together slightly while a soft sigh leaves her lips, her chest deflating.</p><p>"It's about a teenager around our age named Holden Caulfield," she says softly, her eyes dropping down to her knee where I play with her long socks. "I heard a lot of good things about this book. Personally, I find it a bit overrated, but Caulfield's character is a little interesting to me. He's a teenager in the city who—in <em>my</em> opinion—thinks he's larger than life, knows better than everyone around him, had a bit of a narcissistic and egotistical complex, but all that wrapped in insecurity. Some people say he's a sad, sensitive genius, I say he's whiny and jaded."</p><p>I laugh softly, gently rubbing her calf as she smiles slightly at me. "So why are you still reading the book?"</p><p>"Well, I don't like leaving a book unfinished in case it might redeem itself. But as irritating as he is, he's kind of interesting. He's cynical, all his narration is about how ugly the world is. He's terrified and disappointed about the adult world, and all he wants is to protect childhood," she says simply, breath hitching at the end when I give her leg a tight squeeze. "I think he's kind of a piece of shit who needs to get over himself, but I kind of get him."</p><p>"You think the world is ugly, Celeste?" I ask coolly, looking at her with lazy eyes as I rest my arm on top of the bench to face her better, watching her eyelashes hit her cheeks every time she blinks.</p><p>Celeste smiles slowly. "I think anyone who deeply relates with this kid could use some mental health help," she says with a slight laugh, "and needs to stay the <em>fuck</em> away from me. But I see a little <em>tiny </em>bit of myself in him. I think you would too."</p><p>"Didn't you just say that you basically hate him?" I scoff, quirking a brow at her.</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>"Are you trying to tell me to stay the fuck away from you?" I continue, leaning back comfortably while dragging my hand up and down her leg, enjoying the way she's clearly trying so hard not to squirm.</p><p>Celeste laughs slightly, throwing her head back as she stretches again. When she picks her head back up, some soft curls have broken loose from her makeshift bun to frame her face.</p><p>"No, actually," she says, a cloud shifting outside the window above us to reveal the moon, it's flow casting over her dark skin and giving her eyes an odd gleam. "You make my life a little more interesting."</p><p>I pout at her mockingly. "So would you be <em>upset</em> if I got out of your life?"</p><p>She snorts, rolling her eyes. "Get over yourself," Celeste murmurs, rubbing her legs together again as her eyes flutter shut.</p><p>"Don't fall asleep on top of me," I warn, snapping the elastic band of her sock against her skin. "I'll leave you here."</p><p>"You promise?"</p><p>I roll my eyes, throwing her legs off of me to stand up. She stirs slightly, opening her eyes to look up at me curiously. Rolling my own eyes at her, I lean down to grab her book from under the bench, tucking it under my arm before grabbing her arm and pulling her to sit up. She makes a sound of protest, eyes growing wide as she nearly falls over, but I just ignore her and tug her until she's standing.</p><p>"What the fuck was that for?" she scowls, pulling her wand out of her hair to let her curls tumble down last her shoulders.</p><p>"C'mon dumbass. It's almost curfew."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's the most uncomfortable conversation you've ever overheard?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. I'M HUNGRY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>study session in the library gets !!! interesting !!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI<br/></em>
    <em>May 3rd, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>I lean towards my cousin, nudging him with my elbow to get his attention. "Hey, what's taking them so long?" I ask him, sipping on my coffee from my thermos.</p><p>Blaise's brows are furrowed as he looks out at the field that's empty save for two people strolling near the edge. "No idea," he murmurs.</p><p>Blaise and I decided to come see the Slytherin Quidditch team practice this Friday morning. It's May, so the weather is rather nice out now even n the early mornings, and we'd both slept so early last night that when we caught each other in the common room this morning, we decided it'd be nice to spend some time outside together. Except practice was supposed to begin ten minutes ago, but there are no big, burly, sweaty Quidditch players out on the field for me to gawk at.</p><p>I sigh softly. I even wore my slightly too small shirt for when the boys inevitably try to hit on me afterwards.</p><p>"Hey, Celeste," Blaise says suddenly, his eyes distant as they follow the walking couple at the opposite side of the pitch, "when's the last time you liked someone?"</p><p>I turn to him with mild alarm, my eyebrows raised and eyes wide. "Um," I choke out, brushing my curls out of my face when a light breeze hits us, "where is this coming from?"</p><p>"Nothing, I just..." He hesitates slightly, leaning back and resting his foot on top of his knee while his fingers absentmindedly rub his jaw. "Just wondering."</p><p>"Uh, okay, well..." I inhale softly and look away out to the Forbidden Forest, my hand fiddling with my locket and thumb tracing all the grooves in it. "I guess the end of third year, when I was in France."</p><p>"Same guy that was your first kiss?"</p><p>"Yeah. I liked him for a few months, actually. What about you?" I ask curiously.</p><p>Blaise is quiet for a few moments, his eyebrows tense. "I don't think I've ever liked anyone," he then says, his eyes darting to me briefly before going back to watching the strolling couple. "I <em>thought</em> I've liked people before, but I was just thinking about it recently, and..."</p><p>"And?" I press, frowning slightly as I angle myself to face him better.</p><p>"I think I was just <em>attracted</em> to them."</p><p>I shrug, still frowning slightly. "Okay," I say, shaking my head a little, "I mean, that's fine. I don't like people that easily either. The French guy—his name was Max—was my first crush <em>ever</em>, and my last as of now."</p><p>Blaise purses his lips. "Oh," he murmurs, his hand brushing through his short hair before he sighs all of a sudden and stands up, extending his hand out to me. "Wanna go to the locker room? See what's taking them so long?"</p><p>"Sure," I say cautiously, eyeing him up curiously before taking his hand and letting him help me to my feet while I grab my school bag.</p><p>We jog down the bleachers and walk across the green field to the locker rooms, the gentle, almost <em>damp</em> breeze blowing my hair out of my face. I glance up at the sky, and while it's blue and sunny, there are grey clouds in the distance. It'll probably rain sometime these next few days, and we'll be stuck inside.</p><p>As soon as Blaise knocks on the door, it swings wide open to reveal Miles Bletchley. When he sees us, he sighs in disappointment and glances over his shoulder to shout, "It's not him, guys!"</p><p>A great groan comes from inside.</p><p>I roll my eyes, waiting for Miles to walk back in so Blaise can I can step in. "Dont get too excited, guys," I say sourly, glancing off my shoulder when the door slams shut behind Blaise and traps us in this room. Luckily, since they haven't practiced yet, it doesn't smell like sweat and testosterone. It's just filled with muscular guys in jerseys.</p><p>"What's going on?" Blaise asks as he walks over to where Draco is sitting on a bench in front of his locker, fiddling with a stuck zipper in his gym bag. "Why haven't you guys started practice yet?"</p><p>"Graham isn't here yet," Warrington responds with a grunt as he picks the leather case holding all the balls up and placed it on a table. He's shirtless, allowing me to admire the way the muscles in his back ripple.</p><p>"Where is he?" I ask curiously as I walk over to sit on the bench opposite Draco, feeling him turn his head to look at me.</p><p>Miles responds—"No fucking clue. I saw him this morning in our dorm, down in the common room, but we lost him on the way to the kitchens to get some breakfast."</p><p>"He got distracted by some Prefect or Inquisitorial Squad shit," Pucey grunts as he shoves his foot into a shoe, refusing to untie it first, "and then he sort of disappeared. I guess he's taking his damn time."</p><p>"Have you seen him, Celeste?" Draco asks suddenly in a cool, casual voice.</p><p>I glance at him, quirking a brow. "Why would I have seen him?"</p><p>"Oh, you know," Miles says with a laugh, sitting down on one side of me, "you two seem to be rather <em>well acquainted</em>."</p><p>I roll my eyes, ignoring the way Blaise pretends to dry heave as he leans against the lockers. "Oh, please," I scoff, gripping the edge of the bench and pressing my knees together while kicking my legs out, "the only time I see him is when we're in a broom closet or abandoned classroom."</p><p>"Ew," Blaise grimaces.</p><p>"We've been waiting for like twenty minutes," Warrington sighs, frowning down at his watch. "Let's call it a day? Yell at him whenever we see him?"</p><p>"Sounds good to me," Adrian shrugs.</p><p>And then I'm suddenly surrounded by seven changing boys (and my cousin, who remains fully clothed).</p><p>At first I get a good eyeful of Crabbe and Goyle, so I politely look away. Next to me, Miles stands up and pulls his jersey over his head, fixing his hair before tossing it back into his gym bag. I glance to the side where Pucey and Warrington are talking, both indeed shirtless, and glance over to see Blaise ogling at them even more obviously than I am.</p><p>Biting back a grin, my eyes move on their own to look at Draco right as he pulls his green #7 jersey over his head, his muscular torso stretching out slightly. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly out my nose, tilting my head as I watch the strong cut muscles on his stomach tighten slightly while he fixes his jersey so it isn't inside out and folds it neatly rather than shoving it into a tight ball in the corner of his bag. His forearms, biceps—the muscles in them practically dance with his movements. I glance up quickly to his face to make sure he hasn't noticed me staring, and thankfully, he's preoccupied with rummaging through his bag.</p><p>When his hands drop down to his pants, I look away both out of respect and because I <em>really</em> don't need to get turned on at seven in the morning.</p><p>"Okay, I'm gonna go grab a second breakfast, who's coming with me?" Pucey asks, running his hands through his hair as he walks over to the door, fully clothed, and glances back.</p><p>"I'm coming," Blaise says, giving me a quick wave before the two of them, Crabbe, and Goyle are out the door.</p><p>"Hey," Warrington says, catching all our attentions, "I'm gonna go look for Montague. You coming, Celeste?" his eyes then dart to me, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "I think you know him better than me in many ways."</p><p>I roll my eyes, ignoring the way Warrington and Miles heet immaturely. "Oh, quiet," I huff, "and no, thank you, I think I'll go find Pansy instead." I stand up, scooping my bag out from under the bench.</p><p>"Fine, whatever," Warrington shrugs. "What about you, Malfoy?"</p><p>I turn my head to see Draco wearing a pair of grey sweats and a black muscle tee, busy knotting the strings on his sweats while I quietly ogle at the way his exposed biceps ripple.</p><p>"Nah, Im gonna stay behind, get a quick workout in," Draco says, glancing up to look at Warrington and quickly snapping his eyes over to look at me. My face warms slightly when he catches me, but I just look at him casually while he smirks slightly.</p><p>"Suit yourself. Bletchley?"</p><p>"You're on your own, man, I'm gonna get some sleep."</p><p>I follow the two of them towards the door, Miles nearly letting it shut right in my face. As I'm pushing it back open to step out, Draco's voice stops me.</p><p>"I like your skirt."</p><p>I pause, halfway out the door, the light wind blowing into the locker room and making said skirt ripple slightly around my thighs. I glance down to see if I wore the wrong skirt today, maybe one of my tight ones I save for parties, or my favorite corduroy one, or maybe I accidentally borrowed Tracey's, whose hips are a lot smaller, so it would be rather small on me. But I look at it, and it's my regular, standard, dark grey skirt.</p><p>"Thank you?" I question, a slight laugh leaving my hips as I look over my shoulder to watch Draco rummaging through his locker, a slight smirk on his face even though he isn't looking at me.</p><p>"Mhm," he says simply, so I turn back to leave again, but then he says, "I think I'd like to fuck you in it."</p><p>I freeze, my jaw going slack as my eyes glaze over looking down the Quidditch pitch. Despite the warm weather outside and the comfortable temperature inside, goosebumps rise all over my body.</p><p>"Excuse me?" I ask coolly when I regain a fraction of my composure.</p><p>"Oh, I'm sorry, did I mumble?" he asks in a light voice, the sound of ruffling as he continues his search through his locker. "I <em>said</em>, 'I think I—'"</p><p>"I heard you," I interrupt quickly, gripping the door as I turn slightly so I can look at him, though his mischievous eyes still aren't on mine.</p><p>"Mm. Good. Well I'm gonna go work out now, unless you'd like the join?" he asks cheekily, slamming his locker shut and kicking his bag under the bench while finally looking up at me with a crooked smirk, his eyes heavy and icy as they scan me up and down.</p><p>"I'll see you later, Malfoy," I scoff simply, stepping out onto the pitch and letting the door close behind me.</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>—</p><p>"Hey," I say with a smile as I walk into the Owlery to find Cassius Warrington in there feeding a brown owl little bits of food.</p><p>He glances up and smiles when he sees me, saying, "Hey, Celeste."</p><p>"So, you ever find Graham?" I ask politely as I walk over to find, as expected, my family owl, Chronos, is sitting on a perch with a letter tied to his foot. He gives my finger an affectionately and admittedly painful peck before turning to bite at something under his wing while I tug at the string and catch the letter before it falls to the ground.</p><p>"No, actually," Warrington says.</p><p>I glance up to see a slight, worried frown on his face, and I frown as well in confusion. "No?"</p><p>"No. Nobody's seen him, not since this morning. He's not in the Hospital Wing, he's not in detention, he didn't show up to any classes. He skips sometimes, but he never just disappears."</p><p>"Maybe his parents came and took him home," I suggest, turning the envelope over to see it's from Father, a weekly update on how things are back at home. "Maybe he had a family emergency and didn't get the chance to tell anyone."</p><p>"Yeah, maybe," Warrington sighs, scratching at his jaw.</p><p>"Have you checked with Snape?"</p><p>"No, I haven't. I guess I'll do that."</p><p>—</p><p>"Sorry I'm late," I sigh, placing my bag onto the table all the way in the back of the library. "I—"</p><p>"<em>Again</em>."</p><p>I pause, frown, and look up at Draco across the table with a tilt of my head. "Huh?"</p><p>He looks up from his textbook, eyes looking piercing. Sometimes, when it's really late at night, the lights in the library will go dim, and the faint light of the setting sun outside is really the only source of light. So his eyes look pale, crystalline, and almost terrifying in the dying light, sharp and scathing as they glance me up and down.</p><p>"You're sorry you're late <em>again</em>," he says, a punitive eyebrow rising at me. "Sit. There's no time to waste."</p><p>I scowl slightly, glaring at him while he just looks back down at his textbook, flipping a page. With a sigh and a shake of my head, I walk around the table to join him, cursing him out silently for being decent (well, not <em>decent</em> so much as bearable, considering he's hardly ever <em>appropriate</em>) one moment and an uptight dickhead the next.</p><p>His hand goes to the back of my chair before mine can, and without looking up from his textbook, he pulls my chair back for me.</p><p>I give him an odd look, stepping into the chair and sitting down as he pushes me back in, making me startle slightly. Sighing loudly, I pull my Arithmancy textbook out of my bag, groaning when I see all the stupid numbers on the stupid covers, not looking forward to a night of having Draco snap at me every time I make a stupid mistake.</p><p>"Maybe if you bothered to show up on time," Draco says smoothly, opening my textbook up to the page his is open to, "we wouldn't have to study Arithmancy so often. Take your parchment and quill out, Celeste, or are you just planning on watching me do the work?"</p><p>"You're an asshole," I mutter, pulling out my unix quill, and parchment and practically slamming them down next to my textbook.</p><p>"I'm also <em>helping</em> you. Try and respect me."</p><p>"Yes, sir," I snap dryly, letting out a scoff of a laugh as I uncap my ink.</p><p>Draco goes oddly silent.</p><p>We study for at least an hour, the light outside the window slowly fading away until it's a dark clue cast over our table. We try to get the lights on, but Draco says that sometimes they keep the lights off in the back because people hardly every study back here, so we find some lanterns and light them. I still insist on finding a way to get the lights on, but then Draco calls me out on trying to avoid studying Arithmancy, so I, begrudgingly, sit back down and try not to fall asleep while he basically walks me through the harder problems, hitting the tip of his wand against my forehead every time I zone out.</p><p>"Draco, let's take a break," I sigh, staring at my scrawled handwriting on the parchment, a great jumble of words and numbers and predictions.</p><p>"A break?" he scoffs. "You've spent half this time making excuses not to work and falling asleep with your eyes open. You don't need a <em>break</em>, you need to focus."</p><p>"Well, obviously, I <em>can't.</em>"</p><p>"And why not?"</p><p>"I'm hungry," I pout slightly, dipping my quill into the ink to watch a few dark droplets drip off only to do it again.</p><p>"Didn't you eat dinner?" he groans irritably.</p><p>"Well, I'm a growing girl, I'm hungry again."</p><p>"Eat more next time."</p><p>"Yeah, well, I wasn't hungry enough to eat more at dinner," I huff just as irritably, dipping my quill into the ink again.</p><p>"But you're hungry now?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"And that's why you can't focus?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Then—" He makes an annoyed noise and smacks my hand right as I pull the quill out, making my quill go flying and skidding across the table. "Quit playing with your quill!"</p><p>I gape, slowly turning my head to look at him with a scandalized expression on my face while my hand stays frozen above the ink. "Fuck you!"</p><p>"You can do that after we study," he snaps, making me blink blankly while he reaches into his bag with a scowl on his face. "<em>Here</em>," he says, pulling a green apple out and setting it down beside me. "Eat that. All of it. And then we're studying, are we clear?"</p><p>I frown at him. "I don't wanna study."</p><p>"<em>Eat the fucking apple</em>."</p><p>"I'm not even hungry, Draco," I sigh, picking the apple up and taking a bite out of it.</p><p>"You <em>just</em> fucking said—"</p><p>"I said that cause I don't wanna study," I say like it's obvious, rolling my eyes at him while biting back a laugh at the way he groans in pain and buries his face in his hands. "Okay, I'm sorry," I laugh slightly, taking another bite out of the apple while sitting up straighter and fetching another quill from my bag, "I'll try to focus, I swear."</p><p>"Maybe we should try something new," he sighs, pulling his hands away from his face and staring blankly at his textbook.</p><p>"What, like water sports?" I ask brightly, smirking when his face drops.</p><p>Draco glares at me, his jaw tense as he repeatedly clenches it, his veiny hands forming loose fists while he bores holes into my eyes. "I'm gonna kill you," he says calmly.</p><p>I smile cheekily.</p><p>"<em>No</em>," he sighs aggressively, glancing at my parchment, "I meant we should try something new to get you to focus, cause clearly this isn't working. Are you tired? Is that it?"</p><p>I shrug, sobering up a little as I watch him circle a few incorrect answers on my parchment. There are less wrong than the first time we worked together, but it's still enough to give me a bad taste in my mouth.</p><p>"I got a good amount of sleep last night," I say, rubbing my eyes, "but yeah, I'm tired. Before last night, I've been getting four hours tops."</p><p>He makes a sound of disapproval. "We need to wake you up. I'll get you some coffee," he says, moving to stand up when something clatters to the floor.</p><p>"I'll get that," I sigh, pushing my chair out and crouching down to the floor, squinting as I crawl into the space below the table.</p><p>I have no idea what he's dropped, but it's not like I can see it anyway. If it was dark above the table, I'm blind below it, patting around rather fruitless to find something when I hear footsteps approaching and sense Draco's legs going tense.</p><p>"Hi, Drakey," Pandora's coy voice comes from behind me, making me freeze with my jaw dropped.</p><p>"Hey, Pandora," he says with a soft sigh, suddenly sounding tired beyond his years. "What are you doing back here?"</p><p>"Oh, I know you asked me not to come back here anymore—"</p><p>I choke on my spit; Draco nearly kicks me in the face.</p><p>"—but I just wanted to see you, maybe ask if you if you're in the mood for..." She giggles softly. "Oh, <em>you know.</em></p><p>An idea strikes me.</p><p>"Oh, I, uh—"</p><p>Draco cuts himself off with a small gasp when I, kneeling between his already spread legs (men, taking up all the damn space in the world), place a gentle hand over his crotch, my other hand clamped over my mouth so that I don't laugh. I'm too far away from the edge of the table to see his face, but I don't have to in order to know his jaw has dropped.</p><p>"You okay?" I hear her ask, followed by footsteps coming around the table.</p><p>Draco's knee jerks when I give him a tight squeeze, burying my face in his thigh to keep from laughing and giving myself away.</p><p>"Yeah," he croaks out, his hands slipping under the table, one wrapping tightly around my wrist and the other burying in my curly hair, "yeah, I'm fine, I just, uh—I think I'm coming down with something, y'know? Might be contagious, so maybe you should stay, uh, stay away."</p><p>"Oh," Pandora says, her footsteps stopping. "Alright then." I hear her footsteps again, and then suddenly the chair behind me and across from Draco is being pulled out.</p><p>Draco's hand in my hair grips tightly and forces my head away from him, angrily twisting at it and making me bite my lip. His hand on my wrist forces it away as well, but I just bring my other hand up to his crotch and slowly palm at him, seeing his hips lift up slightly while his hand on my wrist squeezes tight enough to hurt.</p><p>"What're you doing?" Pandora asks brightly.</p><p>"Oh, just studying Arithmancy," Draco responds, clearing his throat as his hand holding my wrist attempts to grab my other hand, but I manage to slip away from his hold and instead grab <em>his</em> hand in mine.</p><p>He tries to pull it away, but when I press two of his fingertips against my lips, he suddenly just tenses and stops moving. Smirking slightly, I graze my tongue against his fingers, feeling his hand in my hair tense.</p><p>"You need any help? I'm actually pretty good at it."</p><p>"Thank you, but I'll be f—" His voice cuts off when I slip his fingers into my mouth an inch, my tongue running against the bottom of them. "Fine. I'll be fine. Sorry, I've got this terrible, distracting little <em>headache</em>," he chuckles smoothly, his hand in my hair abruptly grabbing my earlobe and giving it a tight pull.</p><p>I make a small noise of protest at which he pushes his two fingers into my mouth all the way. I close my eyes, my arms resting on his thighs while I suck gently and start palming his crotch again, smirking as best as his fingers will allow when I feel the slightest bulge in his pants.</p><p>"Aw, I'm sorry," Pandora says sympathetically from behind me. "Do you need anything? I can run my Pomfrey's and get you something for that headache."</p><p>"Oh," Draco says, sounding relieved, "that would be perfect, y—"</p><p>"Oh!" Pandora interrupts. "Turns out I already have a Headache Potion with me! I always get terrible headaches at the worst times, so I like carrying it around. Here."</p><p>I hear something slide across the table. Draco is forced to take both his hands away from me to uncap it, so I take this chance to unbuckle his belt as quietly as possible, feeling him tense while I head the potion uncap. Smirking, I unbutton his pants, leaning closer and glancing up to see him tipping the contents of the potion into his mouth, Adam's apple bobbing. As he's finishing it, I slowly bring his zipper down, making him choke slightly.</p><p>"Are you okay?" Pandora asks, sounding alarmed.</p><p>"Oh, fine," Draco chokes, stomach tightening as he coughs into his arm, "I almost inhaled it. Thanks, Pandora."</p><p>"It's no problem," she says sweetly as Draco's hands go back to my hair, yanking my head back so far and so harshly, I can't help but to gasp. "What was that noise?"</p><p>"My, uh, stomach."</p><p>"Huh. Did you have dinner?"</p><p>"Y-Yeah."</p><p>My hand slips into his pants to palm him from over his briefs, placing more pressure this time. His legs tighten next to my shoulders, one of his hands going back to tightly grip my wrist. He's stronger than me, easily pulling my hand away no matter how much I resist him.</p><p>"Are you studying with someone? Whose stuff is that?"</p><p>"Celeste, she went to the—" My other hand gives him a tight squeeze, so he lets go of my hair to grip my other wrist as well, "—to the bathroom."</p><p>"I thought you were sick."</p><p>"Oh, yeah, but so is she, so..." I lean forward and kiss him over his briefs, hearing him whimper softly. "Hey, Pandora," he then says casually, "I really need to finish this up, so..."</p><p>"Ah, of course!" Pandora's chair scrapes against the carpet as she stands up. "I'll leave you to yourself then. See you later?"</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>My heart pounds in my chest when Draco's hands loosen on my wrists, letting me grip his legs while I teasingly kiss over his growing erection. We listen to Pandora's footsteps fade away, my blood rushing as I know it's only seconds until he snaps.</p><p>Sure enough, he's pushing his chair back, grabbing me by my hair, and standing up while pulling me with him.</p><p>I cry out slightly when I nearly fall, his strong hands forcing me up to my feet.</p><p>"You wanna act like a whore?" he seethes when I'm standing, his hand forcing me to tilt my head up while he cranes his neck to get close to my face. "Then I'll treat you like a fucking whore."</p><p>I pant slightly, my hand gripping his wrist. "Hey, Draco?"</p><p>"What?" he snaps.</p><p>"Shut the fuck up."</p><p>I abruptly push at his chest, making him fall backwards into his chair. Before he can get up, I pull my wand out of the waistband of my skirt, pointing it at him and muttering with a flourish, "<em>Incarcerous</em>."</p><p>Instantly, out of thin air conjure up thin cords, binding themselves around Draco. I smirk, leaning back against the table as his ankles spread apart and get bound to the legs of his chair, as the cords wrap around his wrists and force them back behind the chair to tie tightly together.</p><p>He looks astonished, panting heavily as he looks down at the cords binding his legs to the chair, his hair flopping over his murderous eyes. When he looks up at me, the moonlight hits them, giving them an eerie glow while he seethes silently, lips slightly parted to let out his pants. He struggles slightly against the binds, his strong muscles straining against the sleeves of his white shirt while I admire him.</p><p>"That's Conjuration," he says heavily, still glaring. "That's advanced Transfiguration."</p><p>"What can I say?" I shrug, putting my wand down and walking over in front of him. "I'm really fucking good at Transfiguration."</p><p>"Celeste," he says in a grave voice, head angled up to glare at me, "get me out of these ropes. <em>Now</em>."</p><p>"If you really want me to, you know the safe word," I say simply, smirking at him when he clenches his jaw angrily. "But I don't think you want to, do you...<em>babyboy?</em>" I laugh slightly when he grows visibly angrier, his hair obstructing my view of his eyes. I lean down and brush his white blond locks away, gently cupping the side of his face and tilting it up to look at me while I smile at him sweetly, enjoying the way he thrashes slightly against the robes binding his wrists and arms.</p><p>"I'm gonna kill you," he seethes, ripping his face away from my hand.</p><p>"Aw, don't be like that, Dray," I say with a mocking pout, carefully sitting down on his lap a little low on his legs, feeling his hips lift up slightly. "It's okay to like this."</p><p>My hand goes to his tie, loosening it and the pulling at it until it hangs loosely from my hand. I then lean in, Draco darting his face away from mine, but I grab his jaw with my free hand and force my lips against his, my tongue pushing past his lips to brush against his. He groans slightly, hips lifting again. I shift forward so I'm sitting directly over his crotch, making a muffled noise against his lips when I feel his erection pressing against my panties.</p><p>My hand lets go of his jaw to tangle with his hair, pulling it tightly while he slips his tongue into my mouth, thrusting his hips up without warning. I moan softly at the feeling, grinding back down against him. Slowly, I bring my arms up to rest on his shoulders, holding the tie carefully, and when he's least expecting it, I bring it up to his face to wrap around his eyes, quickly tying it at the back<br/>of his head while he jerks away from me.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, Celeste!" he curses angrily, thrashing his head while I quickly fasten his tie securely. "We're in the damn library."</p><p>"Since when do you care?" I laugh softly, adjusting his tie so it properly blocks his vision.</p><p>I lean back in to kiss him again. He kisses back as intensely as I do, tongues pushing against each other, lips moving roughly. My mind briefly flashes to the piano, the way he touched my hand so gently while guiding it down the keys, the way he kissed me like he was afraid to hurt me. My chest grows tight at the thought of that night, so I tilt my head and roughen the kiss, my tongue slipping against his dirtily while I tell myself that this kind of kiss is so much better.</p><p>I pull away to kiss below his jaw, my hands fumbling to unbutton his shirt, inhaling deeply the intoxicating scent of his cologne and the bitter apple.</p><p>"Someone could walk in and see, Celeste," he groans lowly, tilting his head back all the way to let me get his throat, Adam's apple bobbing under my lips.</p><p>"I hope they do."</p><p>He inhales sharply when I nibble on his skin, sucking on it harshly while he squirms slightly, muscles tensing as my hands slowly unbutton his shirt one by one, savoring the taste of his skin under my tongue. He makes soft noises, shifting constantly underneath me as his hips rise up and thighs flex. My hands finish unbuttoning his shirt and push it down his shoulders as much as I can, admiring his biceps and the way they flex as he struggles against the cords around his wrists.</p><p>"Don't struggle, babyboy," I laugh softly, my hands running up and down his abdomen to feel his muscles tense under my cold hands. "This'll feel <em>so</em> much better if you let yourself enjoy it."</p><p>"Fuck, Celeste," he sighs, bucking his hips up against my panties.</p><p>My hands go to his already unbuttoned and unzipped pants to rub at his erection, enjoying the way he throws his head back and tips his mouth open to pant slightly. I lick my lips, one hand sliding back up his abdomen to wrap around his neck, making him jerk when I tighten my hand a little, feeling him swallow thickly against my palm.</p><p>My hand tightens on his throat as I harshly palm his erection, hearing him groan in a strangled way while his thighs flex beneath me. I lean back in, chuckling darkly in his ear before nibbling slightly on his earlobe, hearing him curse softly.</p><p>I then pull away suddenly, climbing off his lap.</p><p>"Wha—Where'd you go?" Draco asks in a hoarse voice, picking his head up and turning it left and right as if he can see.</p><p>"I'm right here," I laugh softly from beside him, tilting his chin up while he breathes heavily, his lips already parting for me to lean down and kiss.</p><p>I then lean down to grab his pants, pulling them down while he lifts his hips up to help me, cursing when I graze my hand over his covered erection. I pull his pants down to just past his knees before climbing back onto his lap, moaning softly at the feeling of his erection pressing against me with one less layer in the way.</p><p>"Shit," he gasps as I grind down on top of him, moans leaving my own mouth.</p><p>My hands grip his shoulders as I grind down as hard as I can, muffled noises leaving my lips as I swivel my hips in circles, feeling my panties growing increasingly wet as his erection grows increasingly hard. My hand practically flies up to his throat, squeezing it as tight as I can manage and pushing it back as leverage while my other hand keeps me balanced by gripping his leg behind me, Draco choking slightly.</p><p>"Celeste—<em>fuck</em>," he groans, chest heaving up and down while I throw my own head back and moan breathily at the way he feels grinding back up against me, impatiently lifting his hips up to meet mine.</p><p>"<em>Ça fait du bien? Te en veux plus</em> [Does that feel good? Do you want more]?" I tease in a husky voice by his ear, my tongue tracing down his jawline as I continue grinding my hips down in circular motions, my hand on his neck tightening which makes him groan softly. "<em>Aimez-tu être attaché sur une chaise? Aimez-tu quand je te étouffer</em> [Do you like being tied up in a chair? Do you like it when I choke you]?"</p><p>Draco whimpers—he <em>whimpers</em>, throat tightening under my hand as he swallows thickly and throws his head back, mouth tipped open to let out a great stream of whispered curse words, promises to fuck me real good once he's free, and <em>whimpers</em>.</p><p>"<em>Résponds moi, mon chéri</em> [Answer me, my darling]," I moan in his ear, leaning in to press my lips against his while bouncing slightly on his erection like I'm riding him, making him make a strangled noise that lets me slip my tongue into his mouth and salaciously brush it against his. I pull away and continue grinding.</p><p>"Celeste," he moans, his voice suddenly tight as his arms begin straining against their bounds again. "<em>Je suis proche, s'il te plaît</em> [I'm close, please]."</p><p>I laugh softly, my own breaths coming out hard and heavy as I continue grinding down on his erection until his breath hitches and stops, until his legs go rigid, until his erection twitches once or twice beneath my panties, until he's right about to cum, and then I suddenly stop, laughing to myself as his head drops forward and a groan of disappoint leaves his lips.</p><p>"Were you about to cum in your <em>underwear</em>, Draco?" I shame him, grabbing his jaw and forcing his head up while my other hand pulls his tie off his face. "How pathetic. How <em>humiliating</em>."</p><p>His head, limp, leans all the way back before he slowly picks it up, eyes still closed as he pants softly. He then snaps his lips shut and breaths hard through his nose while slowly opening his eyes, blinking a few times to focus them before narrowing them at me. The anger boiling in Draco's icy, sharp grey eyes is impossible to miss. It sears into my skin, leaving me, fully clothed, feeling as though my uniform has burnt and I'm sitting here naked for him to soak in. I'm on top of him while he's bound in a chair, but his eyes look at me with such anger and ferocity, I swallow thickly.</p><p>Draco's voice is so calm when he speaks, it makes my stomach drop.</p><p>"Why don't you untie me, and then I'll show you <em>pathetic </em>and <em>humiliating?</em>"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: worst fanfiction you've ever read?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. FRIENDS WHO FUCK FOR FUN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY<br/></em>
    <em>May 3rd, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>She looks nervous.</p><p>And she should. I revel in it, the way she presses herself against the bookshelf as if it'll come to her rescue, the way she stands as far away from me as possible and makes herself small as if I'll forget what she's done, the way she peers at me cautiously through her eye lashes with big, innocent eyes as if I'll show her any mercy, the way she presses her thighs together as of that'll give her any relief.</p><p>I take my time. She unties the knots for me like a good girl, breath hitching as I snarl to her just how badly she screwed up, but she leaves me to take the ropes off myself. So I take my time, enjoying how she grows increasing nervous with anticipation, watching me pull the rope off my legs and arms and coil it into two neat piles, watching me tuck the chair back into the desk, watching me pull my belt out of my pants and leave them unbuttoned and unzipped hanging low on my waist, watching me take my shirt completely off and rub the light rope burns on my wrists.</p><p>"<em>Viens ici, ma chérie</em> [Come here, darling]," I coax, holding a hand out to her.</p><p>Celeste glances down to it warily. With slightly trembling hands at her sides, she pushes off the bookshelf and walks over to me, making me smirk from the way she glances up at me hesitantly before slipping her small, cool hand into my bigger one.</p><p>I instantly pull her up against me, one of my hand tugging on her tie to hear her choke while my other grabs her hair and tugs it down, forcing her to tilt her head up so I can smash my lips against hers and force my tongue into her mouth. She makes a small noise, her hands balling into fists that rest against my chest while I turn us around and press her roughly against our table, her nails scratching lightly against my skin.</p><p>My hands press up her back, pushing her closer against me while she wraps her arms around my neck and drags her nails over my scalp. I feel up her sides, my hands grabbing at her breasts from over her shirt only to realize she decided to go without a bra for the day. I groan lowly in her mouth when I feel this, pinching her hard nipples from over her shirt to hear her gasp softly.</p><p>"<em>Tu t'es amusé à faire semblant d'avoir le contrôle</em> [Did you have fun pretending to be in control]?" I chuckle darkly as I press my face into the side of her neck, inhaling the bitter berry scent she always wears while fumbling to remove her tie. "<em>Tu aimes te comporter comme une mauvaise fille</em> [Do you like acting like a bad girl]?"</p><p>Her heels kick against the backs of my legs in an attempt kick her shoes off. I hear them thud against the floor one by one, and then shes hooking her legs around my hips and digging her heels into my back to push me closer to her. I grab her thighs and force them away, and she flexes them in an attempt to push them back against me, but I easily push them away. I step back a little, my hands sliding up her thighs and up her skirt to hook my fingers into her panties, her breath hitching when I pull them all the way down past her feet, tossing them aside to land on her bag.</p><p>"You won't need those."</p><p>My hand goes to her loosened tie and pulls it off quickly before I wrap my arms around her and push her to lean into me. She rests her head on my shoulder, lips attaching right under my jaw to suck a hickey onto my skin. I hum slightly approval while my hands grab her arms and force them behind her back, making her snap up straight and starts thrashing to get her arms out of my grip.</p><p>"Stop!" she gasps as I force her wrists together and start tying her own green tie around them.</p><p>I chuckle softly but continue one, double knitting it as tightly as possible to ensure that she can't even rub her wrists together, watching her with amusement as she scowls at me and flexes her arms trying to break the bind.</p><p>"Celeste, <em>chérie</em>," I say softly, my hand coming up to grab her by the jaw, shaking her head slightly to get her to stop thrashing and pay attention to me. My fingers dig harshly into her face, and she makes a soft sound of protest while otherwise going limp, bright eyes watching me spitefully. "Until you say our safe word, you can't stop me. I'm gonna use your naughty lips and your slutty body however the fuck I want. Do you understand?"</p><p>Celeste whimpers softly when I let go of her jaw and push her fast to the side only to grab her by her curls as harshly as possible, seeing her swallow thickly. Her chest heaves up and down with every heavy breath she takes, her plum colored lipstick smudged and her eyes glittering.</p><p>She smirks with parted lips, a breathy, weak laugh leaving them. "Yes," she says in a slightly hoarse voice.</p><p>And then my hand in her hair forces her to kiss me again while my other hand slips between her thighs to start teasing her. She moans, arms writhing behind her back while I shove my tongue into her mouth and push it against hers. Celeste tried to kiss back, but her lips are uncoordinated and her tongue is almost too tired to move as I distract her with my fingers between her legs, tracing her core and feeling how wet she is already. Her legs squeeze on either side of my hips as I drag my fingers up to tease around the hood of her clit, massaging her sensitive muscles around that sensitive bundle of nerves but never touching her right where she needs me.</p><p>Celeste arches her back slightly and slowly starts moving her hips against my hand, pulling away so we no longer kiss, but our lips brush against each other's. She moans softly, eyes screwed shut while I nibble on her lower lip, my blood still boiling.</p><p>"Merlin, you just fall apart when I touch you," I laugh lowly, my hand moving from her hair to her neck, squeezing tightly while she gasps against my lips. My hand aches to squeeze tighter, to feel her pulse thud against my thumb until her breathing grows shallow and her heart slows down and her eyes flutter shut.</p><p>I drag my fingers up and start rubbing against her clit, sucking on her lower lip while she moans, clearly trying hard not to be too loud and attract attention from anyone who might just so happen to be nearby, but I want to <em>hear</em> her, so I push against her clit harder, rubbing it in harsh circles while her throat bobs against her palm with ever swallow and moan.</p><p>"Fuck—Draco, <em>fuck</em>," she chokes out, her pussy tightening around nothing as I continue rubbing her with my thumb and teasingly trace the outside of her entrance, lathering her arousal up on my fingers.</p><p>My hand on her neck suddenly pushes her down, her lips parting to let out a gasp when her head knocks against the table. Her back is forced to arch with her bound wrists stuck beneath her tailbone, making her breast push up against her tight shirt and strain against the buttons. I prop a knee up on the table to comfortably continue squeezing her neck, her legs dangling on either side of one of mine. Her eyes squeeze shut just as tightly as I keep rubbing harsh circles on her clit, all too rough on the sensitive tissue while she gasps and moans breathily.</p><p>"Do you wanna cum, Celeste?" I laugh slightly as she chokes when I put a little pressure directly on her throat.</p><p>She nods eagerly, her hips rising up in a poor attempt to grind back on my hand.</p><p>"Beg for it."</p><p>Celeste opens her eyes to glare at me, breathing heavily through her nose while her chest heaves. Her eyes then shut as she throws her head back with a particularly strangled moan that sounds more like a sob, her legs kicking slightly as they flex and tense. I slow my hand down, and she whimpers slightly.</p><p>"Draco," she whispers, jolting slightly when my finger flicks over her clit. "<em>S'il te plaît, je ferai tout. Je serai une si bonne fille</em> [Please, I'll do anything. I'll be such a good girl]. Let me come, <em>please</em>."</p><p>I quicken my hand just slightly, gently slapping my fingers over her clit a few times to watch her shake in response before continuing to circle her clit, her thighs pushing together around one of my legs and making a mess out of her. I can feel her arousal dripping down and starting to form a small pool on the table.</p><p>"Look at you, dirty little girl," I snap, my hand on her neck moving to grip her jaw and shake her head slightly. "Do you see what a mess you're making on this table?" I hit her across her face, not so hard to sting, but enough that her head snaps to the side, hearing her inhale sharply and let out a whispered curse. "That's not good enough. Convince me to let you come, <em>ma chérie</em>."</p><p>"<em>S'il vous plaît, je vais vous laisser m'utiliser. Je ferai tout ce que vous me demanderez de faire. Je serai votre petit jouet</em> [Please, I'll let you use me. I'll do whatever you ask me to do. I'll be your little toy]," she gasps out in a pathetic, breathless voice, her hips jerking every time my finger brushes her clit, her breasts heaving as I easily tear her tight shirt apart to see them. "<em>Je vous prie</em> [Please]..."</p><p>"You'll <em>let</em> me?" I scoff, plunging two fingers deep inside of her and quickly finding her G-spot while I continue rubbing her clit, knowing I've found it when she gasps and nearly lifts off the table, her stomach tightening. "You say that like you have a choice. You don't <em>let</em> me, my darling, I let <em>you</em>. <em>You</em> ask for permission before doing <em>anything</em>, understand?"</p><p>She crumbles apart beneath me. Every time she opens her dark eyes, I can practically see the pride she carries in them melting away, all her superiority and her dignity chipping away every time I curl my fingers inside of her or rub my thumb against her clit. She knows I'm reducing her to nothing but a dirty little brat, and she enjoys it.</p><p>She swallows thickly, and then Celeste forced her eyes open. They're heavy, tired, and glimmering as they focus slowly and find my own, shuddering breaths leaving her lips. She lets out a soft moan before saying—</p><p>"<em>Please</em>, sir, let me come for you."</p><p>I pause momentarily, my hand slowing down all on its own while I look at her. She's looking at me too, soaking in my reaction as my face drops and brows furrowed in realization. My pulse pounding, my blood rushing, my hand starts moving again, fucking her with my fingers, rubbing her clit until she's raw, watching her cry out in surprise while her eyes screw shut and mouth drops open to let out a stream of curses and moans and whimpers, back rising off the table while her bound hands struggle against her tie.</p><p>"You're a good girl, aren't you, Celeste?" I groan slightly, my hand grabbing her hair and picking her up so she's sitting up again, her face buried in my chest to muffle her loud moans while her thighs flex around my hand. "Aren't you?"</p><p>She nods into my shoulder, teeth grazing against my skin as she starts shaking with an incoming orgasm, her moans coming out more desperate and strangled.</p><p>"Good girls deserve to come <em>many</em> times, don't they?"</p><p>She whimpers out a "yes," biting down on my shoulder before throwing her head back and arching her back, her legs starting to tremble. Her orgasm comes hard and fast, lasting seconds on end as I continue fucking and rubbing her with my hand so she can ride it out, watching her practically convulse. She's probably fall onto her back if I was gripping her hair so hard.</p><p>When it's over, she lets out a great sigh of relief, leaning forward again to bury her head in my neck while I pull my hand out from in her skirt. My thumb and two fingers are just covered in her arousal, slick and shining slightly in the moonlight. My hand in her hair moves to grab her jaw, forcing her to move away from me so I can look at her.</p><p>"<em>Regarde-moi</em> [Look at me]," I snap, and instantly her eyes snap open. "Such a filthy girl, wet and dripping all over the table for me," I laugh lowly, my eyes flickering down to her plump lips, lipstick smudged to her chin, while I bring my thumb up to her lips. Still panting, Celeste opens her mouth and lets me slip my thumb in. "Do you taste yourself? Merlin, you're stupid, getting turned on when someone throws you around."</p><p>Her teeth gently graze against the pad of my thumb as I slip it out before slipping both my fingers in. Her big black eyes stay open and firmly on mine as she sucks on my fingers, making soft suckling noises while I press down slightly on her tongue.</p><p>"How many times do you think I can make you cum<br/>before you're begging me to stop?" I ask in a soft whisper, distracted by how her chest still heaves. I slip my fingers out of her mouth, roughly brushing them against her breasts to dry the off, pinching one of her nipples between my fingers while she moans lowly.</p><p>"I don't...I don't think you can beat your last record," she laughs breathily, eyebrows twisting together when I give her a harsh pinch and bring my hand up to smack her across the face, a soft noise of protest leaving her lips.</p><p>"Color, Celeste," I demand, pulling her off the table so she's standing.</p><p>She wobbles slightly, but I pull her close to my side with one arm, my other reaching for my wand on the table to tuck into the pocket of my pants.</p><p>"Green," she says, her hands twisting behind her back.</p><p>"Good."</p><p>My hand goes back up to her hair, gripping it tightly. She cries out in protest when I walk across the back of the library, practically dragging her behind me by her thick curls, towards where a couple armchairs sit against the wall-the wall that's entirely a window. It's another reason why I love working back here. The entire west wall is one big window, letting me look outside the courtyard and admire the admittedly beautiful grounds, far too beautiful for a school as poorly maintained as Hogwarts.</p><p>I force Celeste up onto an arm chair facing the window, my hand in her hair pushing her forward to shove her face against the glass. She cries out softly, a choked noise leaving her lips.</p><p>"I'm gonna take the tie off now," I say, one hand on her back to keep her in place and the other tightly gripping one of her wrists. "You're gonna be good, right?"</p><p>"Only if you make me," she pants softly, crying out again when I reach my hand up her skirt to give her ass a tight squeeze. "<em>Fuck</em>."</p><p>"Watch it, Celeste," I say gravely, my hand quickly undoing her tie and tossing it onto the ground.</p><p>Celeste brings her hands quickly to her front, rubbing her wrists before gripping the top of the armchair when I give her back a slight push, forcing her front up against the window. She hisses slightly when her breasts are pushed up against the cold glass, her hands curling up so her nails dig into the armchair.</p><p>"You remember that new spell we learned in Charms, Celeste?" I ask casually, my hand slipping my wand back out of my pocket and then twisting the rings on my fingers.</p><p>"Yeah, but..." she trails off as she realizes quickly. "Oh, fuck...Draco..."</p><p>"<em>Pulsateam</em>," I whisper in her ear while pointing the tip of my wand to a ring on my right, doing the same one by one to all three rings that I wear, hearing her shiver slightly with each incantation. Almost instantly, my rings start vibrating on my fingers. It's just a light vibration, something I could probably ignore, but I <em>know</em> that pressed up against her most sensitive bits, it'll feel like heaven and hell to Celeste. I do the same with the rings on my left hand before tucking my wand away.</p><p>"Draco," she whispers again, sounding hesitant as I push her back against the cold window and prop one knee onto the armchair so I can press my bare chest to her back, tracing just my fingertips on her sides so she doesn't feel the vibrating yet.</p><p>"Don't speak unless spoken to."</p><p>"B—"</p><p>"Shut up."</p><p>I can see her pout slightly, so I chuckle darkly and wrap my arm around her waist and ease her back until she's leaning against my chest. Her head tips back until it's rest on my shoulder, and then she turns her head slightly to tickle my jaw with her lips. I flatten both of my hands on her soft stomach, hearing her breath hitch at the vibrations as I slowly rub my hands around her torso, avoiding her breasts as I drag my hands heavily over her ribs and lower stomach.</p><p>I turn my head slightly to brush my lips against the side of her face near her cheek, whispering, "I'm gonna make you come over and over again until you can't even hold yourself up. I'm gonna make you come until you're begging for me to stop, and then I'm gonna keep going, because you're all mine to use."</p><p>She whimpers softly, eyes fluttering shut as one of my hands comes up and shifts her open shirt out of the way so I can palm at her warm breasts, squeezing them greedily and flicking my thumb over her nipples. She curses softly when I graze my rings over them, her back arching against me and pushing her breasts up into the air.</p><p>My other hand teasingly slips down to just below her stomach, brushing the insides of her thighs and just outside her pussy so she can feel the faint vibrating of my rings so close yet so far to where I really want to touch her. Her hands come up, one stretching back to bury in my hair, tugging on my locks gently and almost lazily while she breathes hard, the other joining my hand on her breasts, whimpering as I let one of my rings brush against her skin just lightly.</p><p>And then I twist one of her nipples right as my hand dips down between her thighs to begin playing with her sensitive pussy, my fingers roughly tracing her entrance and nudging at the very inside of her entrance while my rings press hard against her clit, making her literally scream and nearly tear my hair out of my head.</p><p>I'm quick to slap my hand over her mouth, cursing her out when she bites down on one of my fingers but only pressing my hand against her tight her. Her frame shakes against my chest as I move my hand in circles so that my vibrating rings circle around her clit, hearing her sob softly while grinding her hips down against my hand.</p><p>"Idiot," I hiss in her ear, moving my hand away from her mouth just to give her a hard slap across her face as best as I can from behind her. "Hit me three times hard to stop me."</p><p>She whimpers softly, spit all over her lips. My hand goes back up against her mouth, palm pressing her lips shut while my fingers and thumb grip her jaw. She makes a muffled noise, her hand in my hair gripping my wrist and her other hand clawing at my other arm while I rub my flat palm against her pussy, letting my vibrating rings rub against her dripping core and pulsating clit. Another muffled cry leaves Celeste's lips when I push my rings against her clit as hard as I can, making me laugh softly.</p><p>"You did this to yourself," I reminds her in a husky voice, my hand gripping her mouth forcing her head closer to me so I can ghost my lips over her ear, making her squirm. "<em>Tu penses qu'il n'y aurait pas de conséquences? Je ne peux pas te laisser rester impuni, chérie </em>[Did you think there would be no consequences? I can't let you go unpunished, darling]."</p><p>Celeste whimpers, tilting her head back and to the side to give me the biggest, saddest, most pleading eyes, blinking at me rapidly while I coo at her softly. I pepper kisses over her cheekbone while rubbing my rings in hard circles over her clit to make her convulse against my chest, her nails raking so hard into my forearm, she draws blood. I hiss softly, only rubbing her harder while her eyes flutter shut and lips let out a strangled moan.</p><p>My hand slips down from over her mouth to around her neck, squeezing slightly and pushing on it to keep her pressed against me.</p><p>"Moan my name, Celeste," I whisper in her ear, giving her earlobe a quick nibble while my fingers work at her dripping arousal, warm and making my hand slick.</p><p>"D-Draco," she shudders out, pressing her hips down on my hand and clenching her walls around nothing. "<em>Oh, mon Dieu</em> [Oh, my God]," she whimpers, her very hand that was clawing my arm up moments ago slipping down to cup the back of my hand and press it harder against her pussy, a stream of curses leaving her lips as her chest shakes.</p><p>I glance up at the window right in front of us, catching a faint reflection. Celeste's breasts heave with every breath she takes, and her lips part as she slowly licks them.</p><p>My hand on her neck slips down to cup her breasts again, massaging them tightly while she squirms against my chest. Her legs suddenly go rigid before trembling violently, her body threatening to fall over if I wasn't holding her against me. Her mouth parts in a silent moan, body jerking while she comes for the second time right over my hand. I rub her throat it until she's finished and scrambling to push my hand away, and still I rub her sensitive clit for a few seconds more just to make her thrash about.</p><p>"Sit," I then say, turning her around and letting her go to simply fall back against the armchair, looking beyond exhausted as she flops down. "Let me clean you up."</p><p>Celeste looks at me tiredly when I kneel before her, hands grabbing her knees and hooking them over my shoulders. She shakes her head and mumbles something softly as I pull her so she's closer to me, but I can't seem to hear it.</p><p>"Color?" I ask with a slight smirk, sitting up in my knees and making her legs go up with me as she slumps against the seat, one hand gripping the arm and the other draped over her torso.</p><p>"Green," she sighs softly, picking her head up to look at me.</p><p>"That's right," I rasp, my hands gripping her thighs on either side of my neck while I lean in and start peppering kisses on the insides of her thighs, her hips lifting up in response. "You'll always be ready for me to use, won't you?"</p><p>Celeste whimpers softly, one of her hands coming down to bury in my hair, pulling at it and dragging her hand out repeatedly like a massage, making me groan in approval against her thigh. My rings, still vibrating, press into her soft skin, making her squirm slightly.</p><p>My lips latch around a soft spot of skin on the inside of her thigh, groaning when I faintly taste her arousal. She's so fucking wet that it's dripped down to her thighs for me to kiss and suck on, dragon my tongue over in hot stripes while she tries not to make any noise that she <em>knows</em> will just spur me on. I suck harshly on her skin, pulling away after a little while to admire the small purple bruise I've left her before leaning right back in to bite down on it, making her gasp and sit up straight, hand tugging at my hair, before dropping back down against the chair.</p><p>And then I turn my attention to the real fast. Hands gripping her thighs so tight it makes her make a pained sort of noise, I lean in and latch my lips to her pussy.</p><p>"<em>Shit</em>," she curses in a quiet, broken voice, her legs already trembling and her stomach tense as her frame shakes a little. "<em>Shit,</em> I-"</p><p>Celeste cuts herself off with a low moan as I lap her up with my tongue, closing my eyes to enjoy the taste of her arousal as I lick loose stripes up and down, avoiding her clit for now. Her sharp nails scratch at my scalp as she tugs harshly on my hair, temping me to tie her hands back up. Instead, I let go of one of her thighs, letting her leg simply rest over my shoulder and down my back, to tightly grip her wrist. Her other hand comes down to push me away, but I manage to just capture both her hands in my one, squeezing them tightly as she gasps.</p><p>I lose myself in just eating her out, hearing her moan and groan and whimper and shout, her hands writhing in mine as her legs start to kick. Her heel digs into my back as a sob suddenly wracks through her chest, her pleasured noises starting to grow weepy while I turn my head up to suck on her clit.</p><p>"Draco," she cries, wrists rubbing in my hand, "I can't, I can't, I <em>can't</em>." Celeste inhales shakily as her pussy grows wetter right there in my mouth for me to lap up, her core tightening around absolutely nothing and her thighs squeezing against my neck and head like she wants to strangle me. "<em>Fuck</em>, it's too-it's too-<em>shit</em>," she gasps out.</p><p>I let go of her wrists to snake my hand down form under her thigh to tease her entrance, hearing her muffled cries as her hands go up to her face. Slowly, I push two fingers into her, hearing a low sob leave her lips as my rings vibrate right at the outside of her entrance and the tips of my fingers curl against her G-spot. My lips continue sucking on her clit as harshly as I can, tip of my tongue flicking it from inside my mouth.</p><p>"It's too good, Draco, it's <em>too good</em>," she sobs, her hand back to my hair where she pulls harshly and rakes her nails down the sides and back of my neck. "<em>Pitié, je vous en prie. Je ne peux pas en supporter plus</em> [Have mercy, please. I can't handle much more of this]."</p><p>I ignore her, curling my fingers inside her at a faster pace. She gasps, her back arching off the arm chair as she lets out a mumbled plea that's too incoherent to understand, the heel of her hand hitting the side of my head in some sort of attempt to expel the tension growing in her gut. In retaliation, I scrape my teeth against her throbbing, hypersensitive clit, hearing her let out a weak plea before dropping back down to the seat.</p><p>Soon, she's coming all over my mouth, her moans sounding more like begs, her hands pulling and scratching at me, her legs writhing and tightening around my head. When she's done, I lick up the insides of her thighs to clean up a little, groaning softly as she pants to catch her breath.</p><p>"Are you tired?" I ask mockingly, standing up and pushing her legs off my shoulders.</p><p>Celeste can't seem to do much more than just nod.</p><p>"I don't care."</p><p>Her eyes snap open, wide and gleaming and frightful. She struggles to sit up straighter, wincing slightly.</p><p>"Color?"</p><p>Celeste opens her mouth, but nothing comes out as her eyes slowly drop down to my pants glazing over as she sees them unbuttoned and unzipped revealing my aching, growing, neglected erection throbbing against my briefs.</p><p>Irritated, I grab her jaw and force her to look up at me, making her gasp.</p><p>"<em>Color?</em>" I demand harshly, digging my fingers into her jaw before pushing her head to the side.</p><p>Celeste makes a soft noise, hesitating slightly as she slowly brings her eyes back up to mine. "G-Green," she mumbles lowly, almost like she's ashamed of herself.</p><p>I grab her by her hair and force her up, making her cry out in surprise. Quickly, I sit down, pulling her to straddle my lap. She looks at me with fearful eyes, watching as I push my hand into the briefs to pull out my election, groaning with my eyes rolling back to my head as I do so, finally touching the part of me that needs all the attention in the world.</p><p>One of her hands touches it it tentatively, and then she's suddenly wrapping her hand around me, slowly pumping me up and down. I curse softly, my hands resting on her thighs as I let my head lean back against the armchair and watch her lazily as she flips her hair all over one shoulder while twisting her fist around me up and down, a deep groan emitting from the very back of my throat.</p><p>She then leans in, pausing her motions for a moment, and then spits at the very tip of me.</p><p>"Shit," I curse, taking a haggard breath as I watch her use my spit to lubricate me. She squeezes me slightly, making the pre-cum leak out of my tip. Celeste squirms at the sight, glancing up at me.</p><p>My hands go to her hips, guiding her up and closer to me. She leans in to grab the top of the armchair, shoving her breasts in my face. I gladly bite and nip at them making her gasp, while lining my tip up with her entrance. She halts at this.</p><p>"Draco, I can't," she whimpers, but her body says otherwise as she grinds down on my tip to rub it against her.</p><p>"I'll decide what you can and can't do."</p><p>And then my hands on her hips force her down as I thrust up at the same time, effective pushing my election inside of her. She moans in surprise, leaning into me and grasping at my arms desperately while I throw my head back, close my eyes, and let out a strangled groan of relief. My hand scrambles for my pocket, grabbing my wand so I can mutter a <em>Protego Exgravida</em> before tossing it aside carelessly. I don't give a damn about my wand right now, I just want to fuck her senseless.</p><p>So after giving myself a few moments to just savor the feeling of her warm, wet, pulsating walls around me, I start fucking up into her.</p><p>"You useless little slut," I grunt into her ear, my nails digging into her probably bruised hips as I thrust my hips up against her, her skirt flopping slightly. "I told you that I wanted to fuck you in this skirt, didn't I? Look where we are now, in the damn library where anybody could walk in and see what a disgusting whore you are, me fucking you in your slutty little skirt. I get what I want, Celeste," I groan in her ear, one of my hands gripping the arm of the chair for support as I continue bucking my hips up into her. "The sooner you learn that, the better it is for you."</p><p>Celeste's moans come out shaky, broken, punctuated my gasps with every rough thrust I take into her warm pussy. She's moaning and sobbing at the same time, face buried in my neck and body leaning against me with her knees bent on either side of me, her high socks still on. One of her hands is in my hair, tugging at it and holding onto it for dear life as I fuck up into her as hard and fast as I can, desperate for a relief, desperate for that relief she didn't give me and the relief I held back to watch her orgasm three times.</p><p>"What the fuck are you sobbing for, huh?" I snap, my one hand on her hip reaching up to grab her hair, forcing her head back.</p><p>She gasps as her head is thrown all the way back, back arching. I watch her throat move as she swallows thickly and lets out a low, strangled moan, voice shaking as I thrust up. My hand in her hair forced her to turn her head so she's looking at me. Normally when she's on my lap, my head is still above hers, but I'm slouching slightly in order to fuck up as best as I can, so she has to tilt her head down to look at me.</p><p>Celeste's shadowy eyes are brimming with water, slightly red around the edges and threatening to pour over with tears at any given moment. Her mouth is dropped open to let out her breathy gasps and moans while her brows furrow.</p><p>"Don't forget whose fucking fault this is," I snap, letting go of her hair to harshly twist one of her nipples, watching her face contort with pain as her hand in my hair tugs a few times as hard as she can. "I told you, Celeste, if you're gonna act like a whore, you're gonna get treated like one. Are you sorry, <em>chérie</em>?"</p><p>She opens her mouth, but I interrupt her with a particularly harsh snap of my hips. Celeste doesn't even make a sound, though her eyebrows rise and lips tip open in surprise as a tear drips down from one of her eyes. She doesn't even seem to be aware of it as it slowly trails down her cheekbone. Her head bobs slightly as I thrust up into her again, and she falls back forward against my chest.</p><p>Her arms wrap around my neck, lips pressing against my neck where she breathed hard and muffles her sobs and whines.</p><p>"I can't, I can't, I can't <em>do</em> this," she sobs, her voice breaking at this end as I feel something wet pressing against my shoulder. I groan loudly, my hands under her skirt slipping from her hips to her ass, gripping the flesh tightly before laying a hard spank on her. She yelps, straightening up and arching her back, making me curse. "It's-it's t-too much," she stammers, her breath hitching while she speaks as I fuck up into her pussy. She's so wet I can feel it dripping out of her even as I fuck her so hard and fast.</p><p>One hand squeezing her ass, my other comes up to tug her hair and force her back. This time, just enough to pick her head out of the crook of my neck and force her to look at me. I groan when I see the tears streaming steadily down her face, trailing down her cheeks and leaving wet tracks. It's messy, all over her smudged lips and down her jaw, her mascara dripping over her soft cheeks. My hand goes to her chin, thumb rubbing at her lower lip, and I pull her in to kiss me.</p><p>She kisses me sloppily, sobbing into my mouth as I taste her tears on her lips. Celeste stays there, lips pressed to mine, her hand clutching either side of my face, while I slip my hand down between us. The charm has worn off on some of my rings, but some are still going, so I one-handedly struggle to slip the ring off of my left forefinger, slip my left hand under the front of her skirt, and then I press the vibrating ring to her clit.</p><p>Celeste breaks away from the kiss to scream slightly, and with me ponding into her G-spot and the ring stimulating her overused clit, seconds later, we're both coming at the same time.</p><p>I groan loudly, throwing my head back and lifting my hips up, her with them, as my dick shoots out hot spurts of cum into the depths of her pussy, my erection twitching as her walls spasm and clench around me, milking every last drop out. The tension in my gut dissolved with it, the tightness in my chest disappears, and then we both go limp in the arm chair.</p><p>Celeste, slumped against me, quivers slightly. She's still crying, her chest heaving and wracking as her hand fists around my hair and her other hand scrapes at the back of my shoulder, tears making my chest wet. I then realize the ring is still there, so I pull it away and slip it back onto my finger.</p><p>Still panting, I rub Celeste's back as her crying lessens slightly, but the tears still keep pouring as she grips my shoulders and head for dear life, breasts pushed against my chest. For a moment, my heart pounds loud and hard not just because of the mind numbing orgasm I've just had, but because shes still sobbing quietly while her walls clench around me still inside of her.</p><p>"Celeste," I whisper as soothingly as possible, my hands grabbing at her shirt that's still tucked into her skirt and pulling it out so I can slip my hand under and smooth the actual skin on her back, scratching it lightly, "are you okay? Did we go too far? Did <em>I?</em>"</p><p>Celeste mumbles something into my neck, but I can't hear it.</p><p>"Speak up, sweetheart. I need to know your color," I coax, pressing her tight into me.</p><p>I wrap my arms around her and squeeze tightly, feeling her struggle slightly for half a second before going fully limp, her breathing slowly steadying and her crying subsiding until her chest is no longer wracking, though I can feel the tears still trickling down.</p><p>When she stops shaking, I ease her off my chest so I can look at her. Her curls are an absolute mess? sticking up all over the place. The dark skin on her face gleams from the dying light through the window behind me reflecting off her messy tears that are smeared all over her cheeks as well as the mascara that probably rubbed off onto my skin. Her eyes are red, blinking slowly as she refuses to look up at me. When I lift a hand up to cup the side of her face, my heart beating in a panic, she leans into it.</p><p>"Color, Celeste," I say calmly, rubbing her thigh, looking at her with furrowed brows.</p><p>"Green?" she responds weakly, her body quivering slightly as her lower lip trembles. "It-It hurts, Draco, it feels really good, but it hurts just as much," she says shakily, her walls squeezing around me again and making me choke back a groan.</p><p>"I need a definitive answer, Celeste," I say, squeezing her thigh hard.</p><p>"It's mostly green, b-but it's a little yellow," she murmurs, her eyes close while my thumb rubs her cheek. "It's so much..."</p><p>"Are you sure?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.</p><p>"Positive."</p><p>"Alright. We can slow down a little, but just know that I'm not done with you," I say sternly, my hand slipping between her legs to briefly press against her arousal covered clit, making her gasp. "Bad girls can't just cry and get their way, okay?"</p><p>"Yes, sir," she exhales breathily, my heart jumping and blood already starting to rush.</p><p>"Fuck," I groan, pulling her in for a deep, heavy kiss. "I love it when you call me that."</p><p>"I know," she mumbles.</p><p>"Can you do something for me, Celeste?" I ask teasingly, brushing her tangled curls out of her face while she sways slightly on top of me. I wait until her obsidian black eyes open and look at me, still red and still threatening to spill over, just how I like them. "Touch yourself, Celeste."</p><p>She furrows her eyebrows, clenching around my suck so tightly, I can't hide my groan. Hesitantly, she then starts lifting up off of me, but I quickly grab her hips and force her back down, making her look up at me in confusion.</p><p>"Stay here," I groan weakly, shifting my hips slightly while her breath hitches.</p><p>"Okay," she mumbles, looking so adorable with her cheeks tear-stained, her eyes red and watery, and her lips trembling while she listens to every word I say without hesitation. She shifts slightly on top of me, eliciting a weak groan from my mouth while my eyes nearly roll to the back of my head.</p><p>"Go at your own pace," I offer when she leans back to rest her hand on my knee to balance herself, her other hand slipping under her skirt to start rubbing herself, "but don't you <em>dare</em> stop until you come right here on top of me with me in you. I won't pause next time you're crying, I'll just make you cry some more, Celeste."</p><p>She nods dutifully while I bring one hand over to lift her skirt up so I can watch. "Yes, sir," she moans as her fingers begin slowly rubbing at her clit.</p><p>I watch carefully, enthralled by the way I can see her squeeze around me, our bodies connect and our flesh nearly molding together. With the way she's leaned back, she slips out of me just slightly, and every time she clenched her walls and unclenches them around my softened cock, a little bit of my cum dribbles out, making my mouth water.</p><p>It's hard to resist the urge to take over and rub her clit until she's screaming all by myself, but I force myself to just sit back and enjoy the show. A low groan leaves my lips, mixing with her breathy pants, when I see her fingers gathering my cum that drips out of her and dribbles down the sides of my cock, and spreads it over her clit while she rubs herself, mixing her arousal with mine.</p><p>"Tell me how it feels," I order in a husky voice, my one hand squeezing her thigh while the other tuck the hem of her skirt into the waistband so I can keep watching her touch herself.</p><p>"It—" Celeste swallows thickly and moans lowly, her ups starting to grind slowly as her fingers continue lazily circling her clit. I curse softly as she makes circles on top of me, increasing the blood flow to my cock. "It feels—it feels so good, but it's so-it's so sore, and it hurts, and..."</p><p>"And?" I urge, feeling myself slowly start to get hurt again inside of her after watching her touch herself for a few minutes.</p><p>"And...it's not as good as when you do it," she mumbles, her eyes closing and head throwing back while her mouth tips open to let out a strangled sob, fingers suddenly going faster while she continues rubbing herself, fingers slick with her arousal and my cum.</p><p>"You need me, Celeste?" I groan softly, unable to stop myself from lifting my hips up slightly and setting them back down.</p><p>"So badly, Draco," she moans, her grinding suddenly increasing as she lets out a whimper, her own fingers lightly spanking her own clit. I rest my elbow on the arm of the chair and bite down on my fist at the sight, my dick suddenly growing harder even faster as I hear the sounds of her fingers rubbing against her slick, my heart pounding as I wonder if today might be that one odd day out of hundreds where someone chooses to come back here.</p><p>"Tell me how badly you need me," I grunt. "Tell me how good I make you feel."</p><p>"Fuck, I—" her voice breaks as her fingers speed up on her clit, her walls clenching tightly around my cock and staying like that while I gasp for a breath at the feeling. "I need—<em>shit</em>, I can't—you make me feel <em>so</em> good, Draco," she finally sobs out, her hand on my knee instead coming forward to grip my shoulder hard enough that her nails dig into my skin.</p><p>Her eyes start to well up with frustrated tears again as she rubs her clit quick and hard now, a pained yet pleasures expression on her face. "<em>Fuck</em>, nobody else can make me feel as good as you do. I-I tried, I tried so hard to find <em>anyone</em>, b-but—"</p><p>A sob wracks through her chest as she grinds furiously down on me, my vision starting to go white as all the blood in my body practically barrels towards building my erection back up, and I can literally feel myself stretching her walls out again.</p><p>"Merlin, I just, I need <em>you</em>, I need your lips and your hands and your cock," she laughs almost hysterically, her hand on my shoulder forming a fist, and she punches my chest with the side of it, catching me off guard, "because you fucking <em>ruined me</em>. I mean—you fuck me like we're the last fucking people on earth, and then you fucking <em>ruin sex for me</em>. Merlin, <em>fuck you!</em>"</p><p>My eyes widen as she, with some magical, newfound energy, grinds down on me <em>hard</em>, walls clenching tightly around my dick that's already erect again, hand fumbling against her clit while her dark eyes, ablaze, glare at me like she hates me more than anyone she has ever met.</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"Shut up!" she snaps, her fist on my chest unfurling to suddenly slap me across my face, forcing my head off to the side.</p><p>I shake slightly in shock, slowly turning my head back to look at her. I open my mouth to snap at her, raising my hand to choke her or hit her or something, but then she starts bouncing on my erect cock ferociously, grabbing my hand and pressing my rings against her clit to finish the job for her while both her hands grip my shoulders and break the skin with her nails. Her breasts bounce tantalizingly as she rides me, a throaty moan leaving her lips as she most likely finds the perfect spot inside of her while my tip rams against it.</p><p>Over my initial shock, I groan lowly, bucking my hips up slightly to meet her with ever grind down, my vision going blurry as I fuck the cum from before deeper into her, feeling it drip down the sides me every time she lifts her hips up and then slams them back down against mine, one of her arms now pressing against my neck lightly, making me choke on my spit.</p><p>I grab her by her hair in retaliation, blood boiling as I take my nails down her back, knowing I've broken skin when she gasps abruptly, and tug her hair harshly.</p><p>"Can't fuck anyone else anymore," she gasps out angry, her arm lifting off my neck to hit me with another slap that makes me seethe, "and it's all your fucking fault. You stupid little piece of <em>shit</em>, you <em>absolute</em> di—"</p><p>I silence her by rearing my arm back and striking her across her face so hard, a tear drips down her cheek.</p><p>It only makes her increase her grinding and riding and bouncing, her locket tumbling between her heavy breasts, while I quickly slip one of my rings onto my thumb and press my thumb down on her clit, loud groans leaving my mouth. I fuck up into her, feeling her warm, dripping, tight walls practically milk me, feeling my orgasm approaching me again.</p><p>We come together for the second time, and somehow, even as it feels like something is exploding in my gut and that my cock might tear apart form how furiously cum spurts out of it, I manage to keep fucking up into her and she manages to keep bouncing down on me. I groan at the thought of fucking my cum so deep inside of her, and then we both collapse.</p><p>We're a jumble of sweaty limbs, smelling of intoxicating sex. She's slumped up against my chest, breathing heavily while my own breaths lift her up and down. I'm still inside of her, but I'm absolutely spent, and without a word exchanged, we both know our night is over.</p><p>But neither of us move, and I don't want to even though that I know curfew is sneaking up on us. Her arms wrap around my neck and hold me tightly while she catches her breath, head resting against mine and breasts squished against me. I hold her just as tight around the waist, moaning in her ear breathily every time she shifts even slightly or clenches her walls.</p><p>The fatigue hits me like a crashing wall, the energy I had during all our previous activities nowhere to be seen. I bury my face in her shoulder, pressing soft kisses there while panting so hard, barely getting any oxygen in my breaths, I think I might die—die like this, half naked on an arm chair with my cock inside the most intoxicating, seductive, infuriating girl I've ever met, her sitting on top of me after just telling me that I'm the best fuck she's ever had and she can't screw anyone else because of me.</p><p>We're sweaty and panting and smell like sex, and I figure, if somehow I pass away in these next few moments, at least I'll die happy.</p><p>Celeste then laughs softly next to my ear, making me frown in confusion.</p><p>"What's so funny?" I ask, lifting my head off her shoulder to brush my own lips against her ear before tilting my head back against the arm chair.</p><p>"I can't believe we didn't get caught," she whispers hoarsely, a giggle ripping through her chest.</p><p>It's contagious; I can't help the way it makes my chest ache in a good way and a grin spread on my face.</p><p>"You're an idiot," I murmur, hand slipping back under her shirt to rub and scratch her back soothingly while she moans softly in approval.</p><p>"So are you," she says, kissing my ear softly. There's a brief pause where we're both silent, and then she's suddenly laughing again.</p><p>"What <em>now?</em>" I sigh, feigning irritation while I smile softly at her little laughs.</p><p>"I can't-I won't be able to walk after this," she giggles softly, her walls clenching around me as one of her hands comes up to my head to stroke my hair, pulling at it in a way that makes me gum happily. "Dray," she says, and for once the nickname doesn't make me want to launch her out the window behind me, "you're gonna have to carry me. I'm not kidding,"</p><p>"Or I could just leave you here," I suggest, pinching her back before going back to scratching it.</p><p>"Oh, hush," she says with an irritated click of her tongue. "You won't do that. I <em>know</em> you won't do that."</p><p>"Oh? You know me that well, <em>chérie</em>."</p><p>"Oh, yeah. You like me too much," she says in a soft voice, the joking hint subdued as her hands stroke my hair and massage my scalp. "You won't just leave me like this. You'd feel <em>guilty</em>."</p><p>"I <em>like</em> you, huh?" I scoff.</p><p>"Well, yeah, I mean, I'm the best pussy you've ever had," she says bluntly, and as if she can see my mouth open to protest, she quickly cuts in, "and don't even try to deny it. Besides, we're, like, friends now, right?"</p><p>I'm quiet for a few moments, my hand, tired, slumping down to just cup her bottom while I let my eyes close. "Friends with benefits?"</p><p>Celeste hesitates slightly. I can hear it from the way she inhales like she's about to speak, but nothing comes. Moments later, she says, "Well, you tell me. Are we friends with benefits? Or are we friends that..like to fuck. Just for fun." Another soft laugh leaves her lips, but it fades away slowly.</p><p>"There's a difference?" I ask quietly, sighing deeply.</p><p>"A big one. The first implies that we only ever talk to be polite so we can still fuck. The second implies that even if we didn't fuck, we'd still talk." She pauses for a second, her nails gently scratching against my scalp. "Well?" she then presses.</p><p>"I mean, you annoy the shit out of me..." I say, hesitating.</p><p>"And you totally make me wanna drink acid and drop dead..." she adds casually, giggling when I teasingly jab her in her side. "But I guess I kinda have fun when you're around," she then adds lowly, like she doesn't want me to hear that.</p><p>I snort. "How hard was that for you to say?"</p><p>"Incredibly. Now you have to say something nice about me so that I'm not embarrassed."</p><p>I open my mouth, hesitate, and then close my mouth. And then I sigh and force out simply, "I like hanging out with you. Even when I wanna kill you."</p><p>"Okay," she says lightly, slowly pulling away from me, wincing a bit as she does so. Her dark eyes find mine as she wraps her shirt, buttons all broken, around her torso. "So then it's settled. We're..."</p><p>"Friends who fuck for fun."</p><p>"Perfect."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: hey bitches it's me cal here to ask you what your worst period story is</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. DRAGON CLAWS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>CELESTE ZABINI</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <strong>May 5-20th, 1996</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>MAY 5th, 1996</b>
</p><p>"You're a piece of shit," I snort as we walk away from those Ravenclaw second years, one of them sniffling slightly.</p><p>"What?" Draco scoffs in mock offense, glancing down at me from my side with a stupid grin. "I was just fulfilling my Prefectoral and Inquisitorial duties, <em>Celeste</em>."</p><p>"They were going to the bathroom!" I laugh softly, stumbling when he gently shoves my shoulder. I wince as I regain my footing,  throbbing pain shooting up all over my...well, all over my body. My hips and thighs are beyond sore, little bruises in the shapes of his fingers all over them, not to mention the absolute <em>pounding</em> he gave me, and I swear my pussy is never gonna be the same. Even my face is still a little sore, and I have bruises on my neck. They're light, though, so I had no problem covering them up with makeup.</p><p>Draco glances down at me, his lips parting slightly as he licks them and his eyes growing heavy. "Why are you walking like that?" he teases in a low voice, a small smirk flirting at his lips.</p><p>I scowl at him, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. I am, admittedly, walking rather odd. Someone who wouldn't know to look for it probably wouldn't notice, but of <em>course</em> Draco would. I'm kind of waddling—it's the only way to minimize the pain.</p><p>"Wouldn't you like to know?" I grumble softly.</p><p>"Are there bruises?" he asks, reaching over to brush some hair off my shoulder.</p><p>"<em>'Are there bruises?'</em>" I scoff incredulously, glaring up at him with all the intensity I can muster while he stifles a laugh. "<em>Please</em>. I look like I've been beat up. Were you trying to kill me, Malfoy? I swear, you were trying to kill me."</p><p>"Can you blame me?" he quirks a brow, jaw clenching. "Who <em>wouldn't </em>want to kill an insufferable little—?"</p><p>"Hey," I interrupt sternly, scowling up at his face, "we're friends now, remember?"</p><p>"Right, only joking," he waves me off, and then mutters <em>so</em> loudly under his breath, "partially."</p><p>"Screw you!"</p><p>"You already did that!"</p><p>"<em>Draco</em>," I groan irritably, rubbing my face with my hands.</p><p>"Oh, yeah, you were moaning <em>that</em> too."</p><p>I gasp softly, feeling my face warm while he laughs next to me like an insufferable little bitch. "I hate you," I proclaim simply, crossing my arms tightly again and looking straight ahead while shaking my head. "I wish I never met you. You're the bane of my existence, you know that?"</p><p>"That was touching, Celeste, truly. It warms my heart to know you think so highly of me."</p><p>"I'll kill you in your sleep."</p><p>"Can I see them?"</p><p>I turn my eyebrows up in confusion and then my head to flash him an inquisitive look, my eyes scanning him up and down as I do so. He's smirking lightly, pink lips a little flushed and wet from licking them. His eyes are clear and nearly see through, piercing as ever with his light hair flopping over them. His hand comes up to fix his hair, making me pout slightly.</p><p>"See what?" I ask, reaching up to mess his hair back up, though he's quick to whack my hand away.</p><p>"The bruises," he says simply, eyes glinting mischievously and lips twitching humorously.</p><p>"You wanna see th—?"</p><p>Draco doesn't seem to be in the mood to have a whole conversation on how he wants to see the bruises he gave me two days ago, so he grabs me by the sleeve of my shirt and pulls me after him into the nearby boys' lavatory, ignoring the way I squeak in surprise as he slams the door shut behind us.</p><p>"Wow," I say when he lets me go, stumbling backwards slightly and wincing at the aching pain in my legs, "you're, uh, you're eager."</p><p>He rolls his eyes, grabbing me by my hips and pulling them up against his. I hiss soft when my hip bones collide with his, my hands gripping the collar of his shirt while he leans down and presses his lips to mine. The bathroom is empty, because hardly anyone ever uses it. There's something wrong with the plumbing in here that any time someone flushed a toilet or turns a faucet on, well, the water isn't clean, and somehow, magic can't fix it.</p><p>"Draco," I mumble between kisses as he grabs my chin to tilt my head up and deepens if, his tongue roughly against mine and his other hand slipping under my skirt to squeeze my ass. "You are <em>not</em> fucking me today. I'm serious. I'll literally fall apart if you do."</p><p>"I'm just kissing you, Celeste," he groans lewdly, teeth match around my lower lip and dragging it away. He let go just to kiss me roughly, slowly backing me up until my shoulders press against the wall next to the door. "Who said anything about fucking? Get your mind out of the gutter."</p><p>"Shut up," I mumble against his lips, grabbing him by his tie to pull him closer.</p><p>Both his hands are now under ring skirt rubbing up and down my hips. I gasp softly as he presses on my bruises, letting out a soft whimper at the pain while he pulls his lips away from me, his own looking redder and swollen and his eyes dilated like crazy. He then gives me a wicked grin before abruptly dropping to his knees in front of me, hands grabbing my calves and forcing my feet apart.</p><p>I gasp and nearly fall, leaning over to grip his shoulders while slowly nudging my legs apart a few inches, glaring at him while he laughs softly.</p><p>"What are you doing?" I ask with a grouchy frown. "I told you—"</p><p>"That I'm not fucking you today, and I'm <em>not</em>," he shrugs casually, his lips turning up in a smirk. "I just wanna see your bruises, Cel."</p><p>He lifts my skirt up with one hand, the other slipping up my thigh to press against the bruises he left on the inside. I suck in a harsh breath, leaning my head back against the wall as I focus on not crumpling to the ground. His fingers trace all the hickies he gave me, pressing them especially hard just to make me squirm. And then he finds the fingerprints on my hips, his fingers gently pulling one side of my panties down to kiss over one of the bruises.</p><p>"Draco," I say warningly, but my voice is soft. I breath embarrassingly heavily, feeling my toes curl as his soft lips work my skin and warm tongue soothes the aching bruises. "I—"</p><p>
  <em>CRACK!</em>
</p><p>We freeze.</p><p>Draco then stands up quickly, his head turned over his shoulder where we both stare quietly in the direction the noise has come from. He steps closer to me, his arm on my shoulder pulling me towards him while his other hand slips into his pocket to reach for his wand. I do the same, my eyes first looking at the way his brows furrowed and then sliding back to the bathroom stalls where the noise seems to have come from. I twist my wand in my hand, turning it a few times while lifting my other hand up to ease his off of my shoulder.</p><p>And then from that same direction, a low, long, resounding groan of pain echoes off of the tiles in the bathroom. Draco's hand snaps back to my arm and gives it a tight squeeze as I furrow my brows.</p><p>He looks over at me. "Stay here," he murmurs sternly before walking slowly towards the stalls, wand at ready.</p><p>I roll my eyes, muttering under my breath, "As <em>if</em>," before walking casually after him with my wand between my fingers, ignoring him while he glances at me in confusion when I pass by him and towards the source of the sound.</p><p>I glance at him when I stop in front of the stall door, smiling sarcastically at his dry glare. And then, my wand held out in front of me, I kick at the unlocked door so it swings open, hitting the inside of the stall with a dull thud and a scraping metal sound to reveal a toilet.</p><p>A toilet with Graham, looking pallid and sweaty and completely disoriented, stuck in it.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>MAY 16th, 1996</b>
</p><p>I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder while pushing my way through the crowded hall, grumbling under my breath as I get a face full of someone's sweaty armpit, nearly throwing up if I wasn't wedged between a gaggle of fourth year Hufflepuffs that seem to not realize that their slow pace is holding up the <em>entire</em> hallway.</p><p>But eventually I manage to stumble through and nearly trip into the Hospital Wing, muttering under my breath.</p><p>Across the wing, I see the entire Slytherin Quidditch Team huddled around a bed in the corner as well as a few others, talking busily with each other while Graham's tired figure lays on a cot. Warrington catches my eye and waves me over with a slight smile, so I slap a smile on as well, fix my hair, and walk over with much more poise and dignity than when I was elbowing first and seventh year alike back in the hallway.</p><p>"How is he?" I ask brightly, taking a seat at the edge of the cot and looking around at the small crowd. People sit all over his bed or pull up chairs or simply sit on the ground, some of them playing games of exploding snap, others tasting the chocolate that's been gifted to him, and some studying for the tests they may have next period or the OWLs and NEWTs coming up.</p><p>"Completely out of his mind," Miles responds casually, tossing me a pack of candy dragon claws.</p><p>"Oh, so the same?" I ask casually, tearing the package open and tossing a claw into the mouth, humming at the lemony taste.</p><p>"Oh, he's doing better," Madam Pomfrey huffs irritably, pushing through the small crowd to get to Graham's bedside. I get up quickly so she can take my spot, walking around the cot to find a spot against the walls to lean on as I watch her spoon feed him a bright blue colored potion, Graham barely managing to do more than swallow it and open his unfocused eyes. "A week ago, he wasn't even speaking."</p><p>"He's <em>still</em> not speaking," Zola, a seventh year, says pointedly.</p><p>"Remind me, <em>who</em> is trained in medicine here, again?"</p><p>A voice next to me chuckles softly, and I turn my head to see Draco leaning against the wall next to me. He turns his head to glance at me right as I do, glancing me up and down. I extend the candy claws out to him, making him smile softly before he sticks his fingers in and pulls one out—green apple.</p><p>"He <em>is </em>speaking, we just don't understand what he's saying," Madam Pomfrey huffs softly, aggressively stirring that blue potion. "Maybe it's the <em>stress</em> of constantly being swarmed by you lot."</p><p>Draco laughs quietly again, shifting closer to me to take another candy claw from the package in my hand.</p><p>"Anything new?" I ask, leaning into him slightly as I pull a claw out for myself, frowning when it comes up watermelon flavored but popping it into my mouth anyway.</p><p>He shakes his head, a sour look on his face as he mutters quietly, "No—his parents have <em>only</em> been demanding to talk to me once a day."</p><p>"Please," I roll my eyes with a huff, "they sat me down for almost an hour yesterday as if I'd have anything new. I mean, damn, we just found the guy in a toilet, we didn't <em>put</em> him there."</p><p>It's been a little over a week since Draco and I found Graham Montague lodged in the fourth floor boys' lavatory, pale and sweaty and looking like he'd just had the worst time of his life. He was actually talking, or, well, mumbling when we found him, though since then, he's gone silence. Shock, Madam Pomfrey says. Draco went to go fetch Snape while I stayed there with Graham trying to get him to tell me how the hell he ended up in a toilet, though all I could pick up from his mumbling was "wardrobe," "Mummy," "voices," and "hungry."</p><p>"They think he Apparated and accidentally ended up there," he says, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on the candy, silvery eyes hard and glittering at Graham, who has blue potion dripping down his chin.</p><p>"You can't Apparate into or within Hogwarts," I say with a frown, watching him pull another claw out of the bag. When I see it's another green apple, I'm quick to snatch it away from him and pop it into my mouth, grumbling, "You're taking all the good ones," while he gasps at me, a scandalized expression on his face.</p><p>"<em>Bitch</em>," he whispers lowly, snatching a grape claw and quickly retracting his hand like I'll bite him.</p><p>I just stick my tongue out at him.</p><p>"Anyway," he say, lightly shoving the side of my head, "yeah, obviously, the wards don't allow Apparition, so I don't know how he did it. He didn't even pass his test."</p><p>"Do you know if they've figured out where he was while he was missing?" I ask, covering my mouth as I chew on the claw and looking up at him with curious eyes.</p><p>He shakes his head, sighing slightly. "None. They think maybe he was trying to leave the castle and something went wrong? I guess we won't know until he's back to normal."</p><p>I glance over at Graham, his eyes misaligned and snot dripping out of his nose. "I'm guessing that won't be for a while."</p><p>"He's gonna go mental when he hears he missed the Ravenclaw-Slytherin match yesterday," Draco murmurs, glancing behind him before hopping up onto the deep window sill to his right. He then looks at me almost expectantly while shifting a bit down to make space.</p><p>"Congrats, by the way," I say teasingly, tossing the claws onto his lap before heaving myself up onto the sill, nearly slipping off when I miscalculate. Draco is quick to grab me, pulling me back while my face grows warm. "Thanks," I mutter lowly while he smirks and offers me another green apple claw. "I was sure that Ravenclaw Seeker had the Snitch. No offense, you're great, but she looked like she had it."</p><p>Draco shrugs, leaning back so his shoulders touch the window. "Yeah, Daniels is good," he says casually, fiddling with the watch on his wrist, "but I'm better."</p><p>"Cocky bastard."</p><p>"Am I wrong? I saw you watching me the entire time, you saw my moves," he clicks his tongue teasingly, shiny silver eyes glancing me up and down and making it hard not to squirm as I scoff slightly and roll my eyes. "I'm skilled in <em>so</em> many ways, Celeste."</p><p>"Uhuh, sure," I say dryly, my hand dipping into the bag on his lap, brushing against his thigh slightly as I come up with a strawberry claw. "Or you're just totally full of yourself. Maybe I was eyeing up Daniels, Malfoy."</p><p>"Maybe," he hums slightly.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>MAY 20th, 1996</b>
</p><p>"Fuck, I'm tired," Pansy groans, flopping onto her bed with the joint still between her fingers. "I fucking love you guys. Best birthday yet. Good fucking party."</p><p>"Yeah, well, in third year, when we <em>didn't </em>throw you a massive party, you wouldn't shut up about it, so what choice did we have?" Blaise says dryly from on top of her bed, leaning against her headboard and bending his knees to make space when she rolls over onto her back. "I love you, Panz."</p><p>"I love you too, B."</p><p>Draco, laying down on my bed, picks his head up and says, "Your bangs look like shit. You should give them a trim."</p><p>"I love you too, D."</p><p>We threw her the party in the common room. It's actually still raging, but Pansy stole us all away to have a smoke in our dorm.</p><p>I walk across the room and toss myself onto Pansy's bed, slinging one leg over hers and wrapping my arm around her torso tightly while snuggling my head into the crook of her neck, feeling her turn slightly so I'm hugging her back.</p><p>"Happy seventeenth, bitch," I mumble, muffled by her shoulder.</p><p>"Thanks, whore. Loved the stick and poke set, by the way. I'm thinking about doing a dick on my thumb."</p><p>"I bet your parents would love that," I say as Blaise shifts so he's laying down on the other side of Pansy, wrapping his arm around her as well while she rests her head on his shoulder and brings the joint up to her lips. She passes it back to me, and I gladly take it, unwrapping my arm from around her.</p><p>"Draco," Pansy says grumpily.</p><p>"Yes, Pansy-dear?"</p><p>"Come here."</p><p>"Anything for you," he says sarcastically. I hear the spring in my mattress as he groans and rolls off, and then I hear his footsteps as he comes up to the edge of the bed. "What do you want from me?"</p><p>"You're an asshole."</p><p>"That's why you're friends with me."</p><p>"Fair. Cuddle me."</p><p>"I'm not cuddling you."</p><p>"<em>Cuddle me</em>," Pansy complains, her foot kicking <em>me</em> as she throws a little tantrum—not an uncommon situation when she's high, but I love her for it.</p><p>"I don't like cuddling," I hear Draco groaning, spitting that last word out like it's venom on his tongue.</p><p>"I don't <em>care</em>. It's my birthday, consider this your gift to me. I just want love, D."</p><p>"I already got you a g—"</p><p>"<em>Please?</em>" she pouts while Blaise and I snicker on either side of her. "Pretty please? For me? Your most favorite girl in the <em>whole wide world?</em>"</p><p>"Oh, for Salazar's sake," Draco mutters while Blaise full out laughs at him. "How the hell am I supposed to...<em>cuddle</em> you? There's no space."</p><p>"There's room next to Celeste," Pansy says cheerfully.</p><p>There's silence for a moment while I close my eyes and clamp my lips shut, still holding the joint in my fingers. Shaking my head slightly, I bring it up to my lips again, taking a small drag from it and holding it in my mouth for a few moments before slowly exhaling it into the already foggy air.</p><p>And then the bed dips behind me as Draco climbs on, sighing softly. I can feel him lay down next to me, though his body doesn't touch mine.</p><p>Pansy reaches her arm around her body and stick her hand up above her shoulder, saying, "Where's your hand?"</p><p>"You're so demanding," Draco huffs.</p><p>"You're the best."</p><p>"Shut up," he grumbles, and then I feel his chest press up against my back.</p><p>I inhale deeply when I feel his warm torso against my back, separated only by the thin materials of our shirts. I lift my head up slightly, letting him slide his muscled bicep underneath before gently resting it back down. His arm wraps over me while he murmurs a soft, almost embarrassed apology in my ear and grabs Pansy's hand, making her sigh contently.</p><p>"This is cozy," I say quietly.</p><p>"Shut up," he laughs above my head, groaning slightly in irritation.</p><p>"Want the joint?"</p><p>"Yes, please."</p><p>"Ah, such nice manners," I tease, turning slightly so I can see him, my hand coming up to slip the joint between his lips, feeling how soft they are before letting go. His arm under my head flexes as he bends his elbow to reach his hand to his mouth, plucking the joint out of his lips and exhaling softly, the almost sweet-smelling smoke washing over my face.</p><p>"Hey, Celeste," Pansy says suddenly, rubbing her leg against mine, "how do you want us to celebrate your birthday?"</p><p>I open my mouth, almost about to answer, and then something pangs in my chest. "Oh," I laugh softly, my body going a bit limp against Draco's chest, "you don't need to worry about that."</p><p>"What?" Pansy asks, almost sounding offended. "That's not an acceptable answer. Birthdays are important to me, babe."</p><p>I hesitate softly, feeling Draco's chin brush against the top of my head and feet rub against mine comfortably, making me laugh softly.</p><p>"What's so funny?"</p><p>I can almost hear her pout.</p><p>"Nothing, I just...I'm probably not even gonna be here when my birthday comes around, so..." I trail off awkwardly, my chest deflating as I do so.</p><p>I've been regretting this conversation since the day I met Pansy and knew I'd love this bitch. I've been regretting it since my parents told me I'd be living with my cousin—I've been regretting leaving my cousin even before I met him.</p><p>Draco inhales softly behind me, his chest pressing against my back. We just became friends.</p><p>"What do you mean?" Pansy asks softly, but it sounds like she already knows the answer.</p><p>"I mean..." I laugh slightly, mentally scorning myself for getting close to people this year.</p><p>I couldn't help it. How am I supposed to meet my own flesh and blood and not get attached? Or meet someone as unforgettable as Pansy and not get attached? I inhale deeply, catching Draco's musk and cologne. How am I supposed to forget that smell?</p><p>"If the pattern persists, which, you know, is the definition of a pattern," I say dryly, forcing myself to forget about how much moving is gonna hurt this summer and just remember that it's what I know, it's just what I do, "we're probably moving to, I don't know, maybe <em>Russia</em> after the OWLs are over and school is out. My birthday is in August. I'll be gone by then."</p><p>Nobody responds, so I just close my eyes and wish I did what I usually do—just disappear and send letters explaining that I've moved once I'm gone. It's so much easier that way, especially if I've been careful the entire time. But I wasn't careful this year. I had to say it. It's not like they couldn't put it together themselves. Someone just had to say it.</p><p>"Yeah..." Blaise scoffs, making my eyes snap open, "you <em>do</em> realize we're not just gonna...let that happen, right?"</p><p>I laugh breathily, saying, "What do you mean?"</p><p>"You're not just gonna fucking leave," Pansy mutters, turning around with a soft grunt so she's facing me, letting go of Draco's hand to snuggle hers under her neck. She then leans in and pops a kiss on my forehead, closing her eyes while nestling back down. "It's not happening."</p><p>"I can't really control—"</p><p>"You'll stay with my mother and me," Blaise says like it's obvious, wrapping his arm around Pansy to give me a light whack on my forehead. "Dumbass."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"I mean, you'll be at Hogwarts most of the time, anyway. Maybe you can go with your parents for the summer, like a vacation, or you can visit them over winter break, but there's no reason why you shouldn't finish studying at Hogwarts when you have family right here," Blaise huffs.</p><p>"Yeah, stupid," Pansy says sourly, grabbing my arm and hugging it like I'll disappear right on the spot.</p><p>"Okay?" Blaise says, lifting his head up to look at me sternly. "I'm not fucking kidding, Celeste, you're not going anywhere."</p><p>My throat tightens slightly. "Fine, whatever," I murmur, closing my eyes and turning my face into the bed as I sigh deeply.</p><p>Draco pulls away behind me slightly, but before he does, he leans in to whisper in my ear, "I guess I'm not getting rid of you too easily."</p><p>I smile slightly, shaking my head. "I guess not."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's your favorite memory?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. VELVET DRAGON SLIPPERS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>June 5-18th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>JUNE 5, 1996</b>
</p><p>"You know we'd throw a party if our OWLs weren't so soon," Pansy says ruefully in her seat across from me in front of the fireplace, her Charms textbooks open with all her notes and bits of parchment spilling out of it.</p><p>"That's okay, Panz," I sigh, looking at my own Charms book—Charms is the first exam we'll be taking on Monday, first the written part and then the practical—while twirling a quill in my hand, "I'm not in the mood to celebrate anyway when I have thirteen Outstandings to get."</p><p>OWLs begin this coming Monday. The past few weeks, teachers stopped assigning homework and instead focused their lessons on reviewing materials that will show up on the exams. They even all gave us today, Friday, off to study.</p><p>"We'll celebrate after you've taken them all," Blaise says decidedly, trying to write something on a bit of parchment with a sugar quill while bringing his actual quill up to suck on, instantly recoiling and realizing his mistake. "Oh, and, uh, we'll give you the gifts later too."</p><p>I smirk slightly. "You didn't get one, did you?"</p><p>"I did!" he shouts defensively, making Theo, who is very intensely chanting incantations under his breath, shoot him a dirty look. "It just hasn't come yet."</p><p>"Don't worry about it, man," I sigh softly as someone abruptly sits down next to me on the loveseat.</p><p>I turn my head to see Celeste looking as disheveled as I feel, a scowl painted on her plump lips, her curls held up by her wand—I like it when she does that, it makes her look a little less terrifying—and she's wearing a massive green sweatshirt and little shorts that I can hardly see while opening up the Charms textbook and rifling through the pages aggressively.</p><p>"Morning," I greet with an amused smile, though it quickly fades away when I look back down to my textbook and realize I've forgotten how to turn a dinner plate into coaster.</p><p>"Yeah, morning," she sighs, digging through her bag to procure a rather massive thermos that I can only assume is filled with coffee. "Oh!" she then says suddenly, freezing. "Oh! I mean—happy fucking birthday!" she laughs slightly, lightly pushing at my shoulder to get my attention.</p><p>I laugh slightly, shoving her hand, that ruffled my hair, off my head, saying, "Thank you very much, Celeste. Hey, remind me, how do I turn a dinner plate—?"</p><p>"Shut up!" Celeste exclaims, making Blaise and Pansy across from us lift their eyebrows up in surprise while I turn to give her a confused look. "I have—oh, my <em>goodness</em>, tell me I haven't lost it or I swear I'll—okay, hold on," she huffs, rummaging through her bag with a slight pout while I rub my jaw, trying not to laugh at her. "Okay, wait, I think it's in my dorm, so—actually, just come with me."</p><p>"What?" I ask tiredly, shaking my head in confusion while she stands up, letting her bag fall down to the floor.</p><p>She looks at me, sighing softly. "Get off your ass, and walk with me, Malfoy."</p><p>My eyes quickly dart behind her to look at Blaise and Pansy. Blaise shrugs and shakes his head, like he doesn't understand either, but there's no point arguing, and then he goes back to scratching on his parchment. Pansy smirks at me slightly, her brown eyes darting between Celeste and me before she snorts to herself and turns to say something to Daphne next to her.</p><p>"Draco, <em>c'mon!</em>"</p><p>"Okay," I laugh softly, holding a hand up in surrender while moving all my books off my lap to stand up. "Lead the way, dumbass."</p><p>Celeste grins before turning swiftly on her heel and striding off towards the girls' dormitory, leaving me to follow in her lead. She barely glances behind her shoulder when she holds the door open, urging me to step in, and, almost uncharacteristically, impatiently grabs me by my shirt to lug me along behind her.</p><p>"Celeste, I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own," I snap as I nearly stumble when she lets me go to pull out a key to her dorm.</p><p>"You're were walking too slow," she complains, pulling the key out of the door knob and swinging the door open.</p><p>"That's ironic," I mutter, letting her grab my shirt again and pull me into the room before slamming the door shut. "Damn, Celeste, I'm starting to think you're just trying to fuck me."</p><p>"Shut up and sit down," she scoffs, walking over to her bedside.</p><p>"I love being the birthday boy," I say sourly, glaring at her back as I walk over slowly and sit down on her mattress, her Chicken instantly jumping up and sitting down on my lap—not curling up comfortable, not cuddling between my criss-crossed legs, but sitting up perfectly straight with its little head tilted up to stare at me with those eerie yellow eyes. I give it a weird look as it's fluffy tail flicks up into the air. "I, uh, always get treated so nicely."</p><p>"Hush."</p><p>"See? Princely treatment."</p><p>Celeste, who is rummaging furiously through her nightstand, pauses suddenly to look over her shoulder and give me a furious glare. I, letting her Chicken nibble slightly on my littlest finger, give her a sly grin, making her slowly shake her head, very obviously biting back a smile. She turns her head back forward, continuing to forage through the drawers.</p><p>"Don't tell me I lost it," she groans. "Okay, wait, let me at least give you the first part."</p><p>She completely abandons her nightstand, drawers spilling out, to bend down and reach under her bed, grunting softly as she pats around. I then hear what sounds like rumpled paper before she pulls something rather bulky out from under the bed, beaming at me brightly while holding it out for me to take.</p><p>"What is it?" I ask with a quirked brow, gently grabbing it from her hands and frowning at how it's oddly light for its size but still very chunky and weirdly textured under the paper.</p><p>"Open it, and you'll see, dumbass."</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"Open it!"</p><p>"Calm down," I look at her with wide eyes while she grins and turns back around to continue looking for whatever the hell it is she's looking for. Shaking my head, smiling slightly, I set the package down beside me, carefully tearing the messily wrapped paper. I frown when I see soft, green fabric, tearing the rest of the paper off to reveal....</p><p>Slippers. Dark green slippers with tails pointing out where my heels would fit, with wings folded on either sides of both slippers, and with dragon beads complete with silver horns sticking up the front.</p><p>She got me dragon slippers.</p><p>"I'm gonna kill y—"</p><p>"Found it!"</p><p>I snap my head up to see her pushing the drawers back in, something relatively small and rectangular tucked under her arm. I inhale shakily, glancing down at the hideous dragon slippers (that are currently flapping their velvet wings) and setting them aside, deciding to chastise her for this terrible fashion decision that I will never be wearing (at least not in front of people) later.</p><p>"What's this?" I ask as Celeste sits down on the bed beside me, considerably calmer while her Chicken crawls onto her lap and curls up.</p><p>"Open it," she says with a faint smile, carefully placing it on my lap.</p><p>I pick it up just as carefully, this little rectangular object wrapped in brown paper, a little scribbled note on the front in golden ink, in Celeste's beyond awful handwriting—<em>Happy birthday, Dray ;)</em>. I exhale a short laugh before turning it over to find where she's taped the paper, carefully peeling it off. It's just brown paper, but I hate making a mess of any wrapping paper. Celeste fidgets next to me, like it takes all her effort not to snatch it from my hands and tear it open for me, making me smile and take pity on her by hurrying up. When it's off, she snatches the paper from my hands, crumples it into a ball, and tosses it towards her waste basket (she misses).</p><p>In my hands I hold a book that looks like it's been loved and poured through countless times.</p><p>It's a hard cover wearing a dust jacket. The cover is orange and cream, a messy line drawing of a carousel horse tilted over a small, scratchy city in the background. My eyes dart up to the author's name at the bottom, a J. D. Salinger, and I frown, not recognizing the name on any of the works I've personally read. And then I look at the title at the top, and though it takes a couple seconds, I find it familiar. <em>The Catcher in the Rye</em>.</p><p>This looks like her copy, the very copy she was reading from not too long ago. The dust jacket, once crisp at the edges, is rounded and soft, and the tops and bottoms of the pages look a little yellowed and thin. I open it carefully, afraid it'll crumble to dust in my hands, and it opens up on its own to a page that has creases on its corners and ink all over the margins, a page I'm guessing she opened quite often. My eyebrows lift slowly as I gaze at the margins, how they're more black with her scrawled handwriting than white.</p><p>"You've given me a defaced book?" I ask, mildly confused as my hand traces a circled line on the page, circled <em>many </em>times reading: <em>Mothers are all slightly insane</em>.</p><p>"No," Celeste says, laughing softly as she ticks her hands under her thighs to sit on them, looking slightly uncomfortable. "It's annotated."</p><p>I glance at her for a moment before looking back down at the book, squinting to decipher her handwriting. I flip through all the pages, and sure enough, the margins are filled with her handwriting, her <em>annotations</em>, her thoughts at the very moment as she was reading the book. Black ink, squished in the margins, even trailing between the lines of text.</p><p>"It was, uh, it was a second-hand when I got it," she clears her throat after a few moments where I'm flipping through the book and skimming through her writing—not the writing of the actual book, but <em>her</em> writing. "So it's really worn. I didn't know I was gonna give this to you when I wrote all over it, so it's...I don't know, I thought you'd be the kind of person to like something like this. I couldn't find something money could buy that felt right."</p><p>She's given me the next thing after her own <em>diary. </em>She's given me a book full of her thoughts, her raw, unfiltered thoughts meant only for herself and the pages of the book. They're not meant for me, designed for me to see, altered to look how she wants them to look. She's given me a door into her head.</p><p>"I thought you didn't like this book," I say quietly, my mind going back to our conversation in the hallway from over a month ago. "I thought you said it was overrated."</p><p>"That was before I finished it," she says, hands repeatedly stroking her cat's thick grey fur. I glance up at her, but her dark eyes remain steadily on the book. "I'd say this is my favorite book, but if you ask me at any given moment what my favorite book is, my answer will always be the one I've read last."</p><p>I laugh shortly.</p><p>"I still hate the main character. He's so unlikeable, he's so full of himself, but he's so interesting," she says, gently leaning over to flip to a specific page, a look of concentration on her face.</p><p>She points to something, and I follow her finger to something she'd scrawled onto the top margin of a page in the book—<em>Holy fucking shit, I wanna beat his ass, but also this sounds like something I would say</em>.</p><p>"It's a Muggle book, I know, but I wanted to give it to you anyway. I won't know if you don't read it," she shrugs, "cause I'd prefer we not talk about it. I've, uh, written some questionable things in here, anyway." She almost looks embarrassed, but she's smiling slightly. "You can throw it out if you want."</p><p>"Celeste," I say, carefully closing the book, running my hand over the cover to look up at her with a mildly amused smile, a flash of confusion over her face, "this is incredible."</p><p>She furrows her eyebrows. "Seriously? I'm actually not sure what I was thinking when I decided to give you this. It's literally a ratty old book. Here, give it back, I'll get you something nice."</p><p>"Oh, shut up," I roll my eyes, "you're going fucking <em>soft</em> on me. I wouldn't have agreed to be friends with you if I'd known you'd go <em>soft</em>."</p><p>She looks at me with sheer offense, snatching the book out of my hands. "As <em>if</em>," she scoffs, opening the book and rapidly flipping through the pages before shoving it back in my face and pointing at a line in the book—the <em>actual</em> book.</p><p><em>It's such a stupid question, in my opinion. I mean, how do you know what you're going to do till you </em>do<em> it? The answer is, you </em>don't. <em>I </em>think<em> I am, but how do I know? I swear it's a stupid question.</em></p><p>And then her finger drags down to something in the margin where she's drawn a line towards that quote connecting to her own scribbled scrawl.</p><p>
  <em>This seems like some insufferably deep shit Draco would write in his diary when he's mad.</em>
</p><p>"Hey!" I shout, snatching the book away from her with a grin. "You're so fucking annoying."</p><p>"So are you!" she shouts right back, grinning widely. "See? I haven't gone <em>soft</em> on you. I mean, I <em>did</em> write that before we decided to be friends or whatever, but even if I was reading the book right now, I'd write the same shit."</p><p>"You're an asshole."</p><p>"You're an idiot. Just because I like you now doesn't mean I don't hate you," she rolls her eyes.</p><p>Fully well knowing the meaning of her words, I decide to irritate her anyway. "Oh?" I ask with a teasing lift of my eyebrow. "You <em>like</em> me, Cellie?"</p><p>"Ew!" she recoils, leaning away from me with a sour expression on her face. "Ugh, get the fuck out of my dorm."</p><p>The state of this book should disgust me. I like handling my books with the most care. Some of them are decades old, but their dust jackets are pristine and their pages are as white as the day they were printed. I use leather book marks and silver page clips. I don't fold the corners, and I certainly don't write all over the pages. At first glance, this looks like a book handled by someone who shouldn't be allowed to touch another book again. But then I skim through her shitty handwriting and read her thoughts, and I realize that this is a book that's been loved. I read some of the things she's scrawled in the margins, and I realize she thinks the way I do.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>JUNE 7th-18th 1996</b>
</p><p>OWLs have been crazy.</p><p>Monday we sat Charms, Tuesday Transfiguration, Wednesday Herbology, Thursday DADA, Friday Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies back to back since they were both only theory and no practical. The following weekend we spent simply studying for our remaining OWLs, staying up past our bedtimes and running solely on caffeine.</p><p>Some sixth years, taking advantages of stressed fifth and seventh years, have been peddling powdered dragon claw, saying that it's a brain stimuli, which is true, but I didn't want to snort it up my nose. It's a good thing I didn't, because it turned out to just be pixie dandruff.</p><p>The following Monday, we had our Potions OWL. Tuesday was Care of Magical Creatures. Wednesday I had Divination in the morning and Arithmancy in the afternoon, and Astronomy at midnight.</p><p>And now it's Thursday, <em>finally</em> fucking Thursday, and I'm taking the very last OWL. History of Magic.</p><p>I can barely finish a sentence without falling asleep. My mind keeps going to how hard and how long I'm gonna sleep when I finally leave the stupid Great Hall and go back to the forms, and so my handwriting grows sluggish and lazy. Surely if I just write the bare minimum for this last question, I'll still get an Outstanding...</p><p>OWLs went rather well. I mean, during the Charms practical, I <em>did</em> accidentally smash the wine glass I was levitating, but my proctor was kind enough to give me another go. I think I may have mixed up some of Jupiter's moon during the theory exam for Astronomy, and I just <em>know</em> I messed up on Ancient Runes, but I'm not feeling too terrible. Maybe because it's all come to an end and the stress will soon be over, maybe because I really did do well. Whatever it is, I'll be giving my bed a big embrace.</p><p>Finishing my last question, I place my quill down and glance up across the Great Hall, scanning the tired faces all of the fifth years. Some of them are still scratching their quills on the parchment, and languidly so. Some have fallen asleep. I roll my eyes when I see Potter practically drooling in his exam, his quill still in his hand.</p><p>My eyes roam back to where the Slytherins sit. Blaise looks like he's asleep with his eyes open, leaning back with his hands locked behind his head and watching the weather magically projected into the ceiling with bored eyes. Pansy seems to be done with her exam too, having fun tossing her quill up in the air and watching it slowly flutter back down to her desk.</p><p>My eyes snap to Celeste.</p><p>She's leaning back in her seat, eyes closed, but completely awake. Her brows are slightly furrowed like she's focusing very hard on something, and her plump lips are pursed. My mind goes to the book she gifted to me just less than two weeks ago. I've been wanting to open it up and read it—read <em>her</em> words more than the author's, if I'm being honest—but with the OWLs, I haven't had the chance to get past the first page. And, of course, there are the slippers that I haven't actually <em>worn</em>, though I tried them on and was pleasantly surprised to find them quite comfortable.</p><p>I watch as she fiddles with her locket, light glinting off the dull gold while her expression grows tighter and tighter.</p><p>And then I'm shocked so suddenly by a loud screaming that I nearly fall out of my seat. Asleep and dozing students around me snap awake at the sound, our heads turning this way and that to find the source.</p><p>Of course.</p><p>I should've known.</p><p>There's nobody else in the world who would cause such a scene during a History of Magic exam.</p><p>Harry Potter, eyes wide open and brimming with tears, mouth slack with loud, piercing screams, falls out of his seat and to the ground while proctors run towards him in a hurry.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what do you think is happening or going to happen next?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. A THROAT FULL OF CEMENT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>June 18th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dear Celeste,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          Good luck on your OWLs today! It's the last day, right? I remember when I was taking my OWLs ages ago, after it was all over, my friends and I snuck out to Hogsmeade in the middle of the night for Butterbeer. I'm not about to encourage this behavior in you, but I will tell you that if you slip my name to Madam Rosmerta, you might get a free drink or two.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>          Today your mother and I were supposed to take a day off and visit some old places from back when we were your age, just for the memories. But you know how your mother is. She woke up and told me she had a "bad feeling" and that she HAD to go into work today. I told her she's just overworked and needs some good sleep and a relaxing day. She insisted, though, so I told her I'd go instead. So now I'm spending my day off in the Ministry, currently writing this letter to you in the break room while drinking subpar coffee. The things I do for your mother, Celeste.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>         Write back to me as soon as your exams are finished! I want to know how you did on them. I'm sure you're bringing home thirteen Outstandings, aren't you? We miss you back here.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your Father</em>
</p><p>"Merlin, I can't wait to just be done with this," Pansy groans, picking at her oatmeal but not bringing a single bite up to her mouth. "I'm so fucking over sitting in the same damn room for hours a day writing until my hand gets cramped."</p><p>"It's just History of Magic, and then we're finished," I sigh slightly, feeling my stomach rumble out of both hunger and anxiety. I look down at the scrambled eggs on my plate, though, and feel like I'll throw up anything that I eat.</p><p>I fiddle with my locket instead, dragging it against the chain back and forth while staring hopelessly at my breakfast and wishing I could be sleeping right now.</p><p>—</p><p>I'm all done with my History of Magic exam.</p><p>I lean back in my seat, letting out a soft puff of a sigh while closing my eyes. My body, tense and rigid, slowly relaxes. I finally feel my muscles really ache, throbbing as I sit in my chair, soaked in the stress of exams and studies. My back hurts especially, in dire need of a massage. My head hurts too. It pounds fo the beat of my heart, and irking pain in the side right above my ear that makes me want to scratch at it. My heart feels like it's burning right behind my sternum, near the center of my chest slightly off to the left.</p><p>That's when I realize it's not my <em>heart</em> that feels like it's burning, but my skin.</p><p>Frowning, I reach into my standard white school shirt and pull my locket out to hold up to my face. It doesn't really burn, but it's warm like it's been left out in the sun for a little too long. I have to keep moving it around in my hand so that my fingers don't go numb from the heat.</p><p>I turn it in my fingers, but it looks like it always does. Tarnished gold molded perfectly into the shape of a skull, countless snakes writhing around it. I open the locket, and nothing. It's empty as usual. But it tingles slightly in my hand.</p><p>I'm tired. My eyes flutter back shut as I continue fiddling with the locket, feeling it radiate warmth into my palm. I close my fist around it, and for a second, it's like the heat is almost pulsating in my grip. Then suddenly it feels like I'm being watched. I snap my eyes open and quickly make eye contact with a pair of icy, impenetrable ones, crystalline and wicked, but then a loud shout makes me startle.</p><p>I look over to see Harry Potter himself falling out of his seat, screaming bloody murder.</p><p>—</p><p>"Now <em>what</em> mayhem are you lot causing this time?" Umbridge snarls from behind me.</p><p>Crabbe has a tight grip on Neville Longbottom, a pasty Gryffindor in desperate need of a hair cut. Zola has an arm locked around Hermione Granger, who whimpers slightly when Zola presses her arm tightly on her neck. Warrington is gripping Ron Weasley by his sweater, lugging him along while the ginger, freckled boy tries to kick him. Pandora has a hold on Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw that looks like she's had an Alihotsy edible and walks along rather willingly. Adrian has a grip on Ginny, who is putting up quite a bit of a fight stopping on his feet while he grunts softly in pain.</p><p>Draco and I walk behind them, Umbridge behind is, our wands drawn at ready. I smirk slightly when one of them kicks the door to Umbridge's office open and lugs our little prisoners in.</p><p>"Potter," Draco seethes when we walk into the office, directing my attention to the flickering fireplace out of which Harry Potter's body sticks out, head entirely submerged in flames.</p><p>Umbridge gasps, sounding entirely scandalized, and pushes past us so hard, I nearly fall into Draco. He catches me by my hips, steadying me while we watch her stride over to Potter, grab him by the back of his head, and haul him out of the fireplace.</p><p>One hand gripping his hair so tight his neck nearly bends over in half, she whispers in a seething voice so harshly I can see specks of spit flying out of her mouth, "You think I was gonna let a foul, scavenging creature prowl around my office without my knowledge? After those last two bloody <em>Nifflers</em>," she spits spitefully, "I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all over my doorway, you foolish boy. Take his wand!"</p><p>Draco steps forward, reaching a hand into Potter's pocket and pulling his wand out with a rather triumphant smirk on his face. I roll my eyes when he twirls the wand at me proudly, my hand clutching my locket tightly.</p><p>It's still warm. Hot, in fact. I have to pull the sleeve of my sweater up over my palm to hold it. It's overheating my entire body at this point. I've tried to take it off early, but any time I reach for the clasp, it singes my fingers, or if I pull it over my head, the temperature increases tenfold and makes me drop it.</p><p>"Why are you in my office?" Umbridge snaps, shaking Potter's head slightly.</p><p>"I was trying to get my Firebolt!" he croaks, his glass slanting when she gives his head another staggering jerk.</p><p>"Liar," she seethes. "Your Firebolt has been under strict guard in the dungeons ever since you <em>attacked</em> Mr. Malfoy, as you very well know, Potter. You had your head in my fire. With whom have you been communicating?"</p><p>"No one—"</p><p>She yanks his head so hard, I wince softly and practically feel the hair ripping from my own scalp. Draco snorts next to me. He leans back against the window sill behind us, lazily throwing Potter's wand up in the air to catch it.</p><p>"<em>Liar!</em>" Umbridge shouts, throwing Potter from her so suddenly that he falls and crashes into her desk, turning his head to glance frantically at all his friends being held by the Inquisitorial Squad. Umbridge then laughs softly, glancing over her shoulder to point at Longbottom and say, "We caught <em>that</em> one trying to keep us from getting <em>this</em> one," pointing then at Ginny. "Looks like this school will be a Weasley-free zone soon, hm?"</p><p>"It's about time," Draco mutters dryly, making me choke on my spit as I try not to laugh.</p><p>"So, Potter. You station lookouts all outside my office and tell <em>this one—</em>" A perfectly manicured finger points at Ron Weasley, "—to tell <em>me</em> that Peeves is wrecking the Transfiguration department when only moments ago, Filch told me that Peeves was in fact smearing ink over the telescopes. Now, tell me, dear<em> boy-who-lived</em>, who was so important to talk to? Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was McGonagall, she took quite a few Stunning Spells when trying to stop me from firing the giant. She couldn't possibly be in any state to speak to anyone..."</p><p>I smirk slightly at the panicked look on Potter's face, but it drops from my own when my locket suddenly sears me through my sweater. I drop it abruptly only to gasp when it touched my chest and burns my skin through the material once more. Draco turns to look at me, mildly concerned, but I ignore him as I bunch my sweater up over my palm several times, gripping my locket and attempting once more to pull it up over my head. The second I start lifting it, though, it's like it <em>knows</em> what I'm trying to do. The locket turns meltingly hot, no doubt leaving an actual burn on my palm as it sends of wave of pure, excruciating pain down my body, like my skin is being singed off and all my organs have been tossed into a fire pit. Too weak to make much noise, I simple gasp softly and let go, my knees wobbling and body threatening to crumple to the ground while my vision goes white in after-shock.</p><p>"It's none of your business who I talk to," Potter responds, his voice sounding muffled and distant.</p><p>"Celeste," Draco whispers in my ear, but his voice feels like it's from a mile away. I can tell he's touching my arms, gripping them tightly to hold me up, but his hands just feel like faint tingling as the searing pain that's just washed over my body slowly fades away until it's just the locket at my chest burning the skin there. "Celeste, what's wrong?"</p><p>I shake my head, blinking rapidly while my vision starts to return. My heart pounds wildly in my chest, my head feels light, and I might throw up. "Just dizzy," I manage to whisper, clutching his sweater tightly until my knees feel like they're ready to function again.</p><p>He doesn't let go of my arms even when I clear my throat and stand up straight again. I'm grateful. It still feels like my legs will give out any second now.</p><p>My locket rests on the center of my chest, slightly askew to the left right over where my heart is. It pulsates and throbs with searing heat to the beat of my pounding heart.</p><p>"I've given you the chance to tell me freely," Umbridge says coldly, towering over Potter even at her short height, "but it's clear I'll have to use force. Draco, Celeste, go fetch Professor Snape."</p><p>Draco grips my arm tighter as he nods and starts towards the door. I step with him, but instantly my knees start to buckle. He stops right away, grabbing my sides and looking at me intensely, a deep frown carving his face.</p><p>"Stay here," he says, glancing back at the window sill.</p><p>I open my mouth to protest, but then I just lean back against it and grip the edge tightly while nodding. He gives me one last look over before disappearing behind the door to find Snape.</p><p>A silence assumes over the office. The only sounds are the crackling of the fire that Potter had his head in minutes ago and the light scuffling of the Inquisitorial Squad members holding back their thrashing captives. I feel an intense pair of eyes glaring into the side of my head, so I turn to see the youngest Weasley, a fourth year if I'm not wrong, looking at me as if this is all my fault. I give her a dry smile and a cheeky wave before glancing back down at Potter on the floor next to the fireplace.</p><p>His face is oddly blank. It was previously contorted and panicked, but now it's almost calm as he stares steadily at a furious Umbridge.</p><p>My eyes dart over to the fire, and my locket burns a degree hotter.</p><p>I soon hear footsteps outside the office door, and all our heads turn in anticipation as the door swings open to reveal Draco walking in casually with Snape behind him looking absolutely bored. Draco holds the door open for him before shutting it and quickly walking back over to my side, the smirk never leaving his face even as he leans in to whisper in my ear.</p><p>"What's wrong with you?"</p><p>I lift my eyebrows, whispering dryly, "You're so kind."</p><p>"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?" Snape's nasally tone pierced the air as he clasps his hands in front of him and peers down at all the students in the office over his porous nose, hair falling over his face.</p><p>"Ah, Professor Snape. Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please," Umbridge simpers.</p><p>"You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter," he says in an indifferent voice, though his lips curl in distaste just slightly at Potter's name. "Surely you did not use it all? I told you three drops would be sufficient."</p><p>Umbridge's face turns a ghastly shade of pink that matches her attire and entire office. I feel Draco slip his hand around my arm again.</p><p>"You know that's not what I meant," he whispers as he leans down to my ear. "You look pale, Celeste. You nearly fell over."</p><p>"Maybe I'm starting to get sick. Maybe I'm anxious about my OWLs, Malfoy, I don't know," I sigh, my hand darting up to gently touch my burning locket. "Leave it be."</p><p>"You can make some more, can't you?" Umbridge asks sweetly.</p><p>"Certainly," Snaps respond thickly. "It takes a full moon cycle, so I'll have it for you by next month."</p><p>"A <em>month?</em>" Umbridge sounds aghast. "I need it this evening, Snape! I've just found Potter loitering around with his head stuck in my bloody fire communicating with someone?"</p><p>"Really?" Snape asks, sounding mildly interested. "I'm not so surprised. Potter has never seemed to care for the school's rules."</p><p>"Do you need to go see Pomfrey?" Draco asks, his fingers digging into my arm.</p><p>"I need sleep," I say, swatting at his hand. "I won't <em>die </em>if you let go, you know."</p><p>He glares at me furiously, crystalline eyes glancing between my own like he's daring me to speak again. But then, almost begrudgingly, he lets go of my arm, straightens his tie, and turns to look at Snape, Umbridge, and Potter. Another wave of heat washes over my body, making me feel like I'll start to sweat.</p><p>"I need a potion that will force him to tell me the truth! <em>Now!</em>"</p><p>"I've told you already, Headmistress," Snape says calmly unlike the now red Umbridge, "that I'm currently out of my Veritaserum stock. Unless you wish to poison Potter, which I could not blame you for having the desire, I'm afraid I cannot be any help here. The thing is, most venoms act far too fats to scare the victim into telling the truth..."</p><p>"You..." Umbridge seethes, her eyes bulging out of her head much like a toad as she searches for the right words, "you are...<em>You are on probation!</em> I expected <em>far </em>better from you, but you are clearly being intentionally insubordinate and unhelpful! To think Lucius Malfoy spoke so highly of you...Get out of my office!"</p><p>Draco tenses slightly at his father's name, a slight scoff leaving his lips.</p><p>Snape bows and turns to leave, but Potter is quick to interrupt.</p><p>"He's got Padfoot!" he shouts, clearly having hit his head at some point when Umbridge pulled him out of the fire. "He's got Snuffles at the place where it's hidden!"</p><p>Draco tenses again. I turn to look at him, seeing his face frozen in ice. His eyes are still, yet I can see something churning and spinning behind them, as if he's somehow understood the rubbish spewing from Potter's mouth.</p><p>"Snuffles?" he murmurs to himself as if he's heard that before in some similar context. It sounds ridiculous from his mouth. And then his eyebrows rise slightly, and he turns his head to look at me, something in his eyes shining that I can recognize as he glances between my own.</p><p>"What?" I frown.</p><p>"No..." he shakes his head, looking away. "Nothing."</p><p>"Padfoot? What's a Padfoot?" Umbridge asks, voicing my own thoughts. "Where what is hidden? What does that mean, Snape?"</p><p>Snape stares at Potter for a few odd moments before snapping coldly, "I have no idea." Potter deflates. "When I want nonsense shouted at me, Potter, I'll give you a Babbling Beverage. Crabbe, loosen your hold on Longbottom. If he suffocates, that'll be quite a bit of paperwork, and unfortunately, I'll have to include it in your future job recommendations."</p><p>With that, he turns with a flick of his robes and walks back out the door, leaving the office in silence once more.</p><p>Umbridge murmurs some things under her breath, but I can only catch some of it. "Forcing me, Potter...I don't want...sometimes, the circumstances justify the means. Who was it that said that? That the ends...justify the means? The Minister will<br/>understand...I have no choice in the matter. The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue."</p><p>"No!" Granger shouts, Draco jolting beside me. "No, that's—that's illegal, Professor! It's illegal! The Minister wouldn't—he wouldn't <em>want you to!</em>"</p><p>"What he doesn't know won't hurt him. He never found out that <em>I</em> was the one who sent the Dementors after Potter."</p><p>"<em>You?</em> It was <em>you</em>?" Potter asks incredulously.</p><p>"Somebody had to act!" Umbridge snaps, panting softly. "They were all—they were all gone on and on and <em>on</em> about silencing you and that bloody <em>Dumbledore</em>, but nobody was doing—" She sighs frustratedly. "All talk about discrediting you...I was the only one who did <em>anything</em>. But you wriggled your way out of that one, didn't you, Potter? But not this time, no...<em>Cruc—"</em></p><p><em>"No!"</em> Granger shouts.</p><p>A great wave of stinging pain and shock rolls over my body, and this time I can't stop myself from folding over. I drop to the floor in a kneeling position, my head bent over as my face controls with great pain and my teeth grit to keep the strangled noises that desperately claw at my throat to escape my lips. I grip at the plush carpeting tightly, the bones and muscles in my body feeling like they're ripping apart over and over again, my blood set on fire and shriveling my veins. Nobody seems to notice, though, nobody except Draco who quickly drops to crouch down beside me, one hand on my back and the other on my shoulder shaking me to look at him.</p><p>"Harry—Harry!" Granger continues to shout. "We have to tell her!"</p><p>My eyes sting as I squeeze them shut right, the burning that trembles all over my body turning up so hot, my ears and fingers start to feel cold. My entire frame shakes, not because of Draco's strong hands on me, but like a vibrating spurring from my locket and through my bones, like my body wishes to move on its own and fly with great speed somewhere, <em>somewhere</em>, where?</p><p>I have a bad feeling.</p><p>"Hermione, no!" Potter shouts.</p><p>"She'll find out anyway!"</p><p>"<em>TELL ME!</em>" Umbridge roars.</p><p>I can hear Hermione sobbing softly while Draco lifts my back up slightly, gripping my arms and tilting his head down to look at me, though my eyes stay glued shut. Anywhere he touches me, my skin goes numb.</p><p>"It's—he was—he was trying to talk to Dumbledore," she sobs out.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>Draco's voice is crisp near my ear, making me gasp. All the other noises in the office are muddy, foggy, distant murmurs that I can barely make out over the noise of my blood literally boiling in my ears. But his voice is like a clarion call, soft and murmured yet resounding, and my thudding heart calms just the slightest bit at the sound.</p><p><em>It's the locket!</em> I try to cry out, my mouth opening to let those words fly out. <em>It's the locket!</em> But the instant I try to say anything, it's like my throat fills with cement. Nothing goes in, nothing goes out, and I choke on absolutely nothing until the thought of telling him leaves my head, and my lungs fill desperately with air.</p><p>"You know where he is then?" Umbridge asks hungrily.</p><p>"Well...no," Granger cries. "We tried the Leaky Cauldron and Three Broomsticks and even the Hog's Head—"</p><p>"Idiot girl! Dumbledore won't be sitting in a pub when the whole Ministry is looking for him!"</p><p>"But—we needed to tell him something important! We...we needed to tell him that...it's ready..."</p><p>"What? What is?"</p><p>Draco grips my shoulders. "I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing," he says firmly.</p><p>I think of telling him, but I can already feel my throat start to close up again. A soft groan leaves my lips when I try to speak, my brows furrowing tightly. "I'm fi..." It hurts to speak. "I'm f-fine..."</p><p>"Get over yourself, Zabini."</p><p>"The weapon," Granger says softly, and Draco freezes for a moment.</p><p>
  <em>A weapon?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Something's wrong. Something's wrong. You need to get out of here right this instant. You need to go, you need to go, you need to go, you need to go, you need to g—</em>
</p><p>"A weapon?" Umbridge asks in a shrilly voice. "A weapon for Dumbledore? To use against the Ministry? I <em>knew </em>it! Tell me what it is, girl!"</p><p>"I can—I can sh-show you."</p><p>"Lead the way, then."</p><p>"But I <em>won't </em>show them." My eyes closed, I know she's talking about the Inquisitorial Squad. I suddenly feel a dozen eyes on me.</p><p>"You don't set the rules, Granger. Draco. What's wrong with with her?"</p><p>"I don't—I don't know, ma'am," Draco stumbles through his words, pushing my shoulders back so my head rolls back as well. I'm too weak to control where it goes as it hangs on my shoulder, the searing pain somehow increasing. I think the locket might be burning right through my skin, right through my chest. I think it's trying to reach my heart and burn right through that muscle as well.</p><p>"Fine. I'll show them. I hope the whole school sees it, sees the weapon, and maybe someone will use it on <em>you!</em>"</p><p>There's a silence.</p><p>"Fine," Umbridge spits. "Draco, take her to the Hospital Wing. Don't let her throw up on my carpets. Granger, you and Potter show me this <em>weapon</em>. The rest of you don't leave this office, and don't let these <em>scoundrels </em>go either."</p><p>I nearly black out after that. The fire crawls under my skin, leaving no inch of my muscles alone. It's under my face, eating away at my cheeks and jaws and singing my hair off. Draco tries to get me to stand up, but I can't move a single thing. I can't feel a single thing except for the fire.</p><p>I think he's picking me up. I'm numb under my knees and around my back where his arms would be. I can't feel my legs or arms, and the only thing letting me know that they're still there, that I've still got a head attached to my body is the burning sensation ripping me apart.</p><p>I think we're walking, or he's walking while he's carrying me.</p><p>"Take it off," I manage to whisper, my hand somehow, despite its numb state, touching my locket. "Take it off..."</p><p>The second I say this, it turns to lead on my chest. I feel him setting me down somewhere, probably a cot in the Hospital Wing. I feel his fingertips skipping my collarbones, and then he's touching my locket, but he can't pick it up.</p><p>"It's heavy," he says, sounding distant. "Why's it so heavy?"</p><p>I have a bad feeling.</p><p>—</p><p>When my eyes open, I'm still burning.</p><p>It's different now, though. It hurts in a different way. Before, it hurt so badly I could hardly move. This time, the more I stay still, the worse it hurts. My limbs itch to get out of this cot I'm laying in, they itch to sprint across the school, across the court yard, run <em>somewhere</em>. It's like my body knows it's desired destination but my mind is lost, unaware.</p><p>I turn my head to see Graham laying in the cot next to mine. Draco's sitting in a chair between us, though he's looking at Graham. They seem to be in conversation. Graham's gotten better, so he can speak in full sentences now, but they still don't make any sense.</p><p>"It was the red...it was the red <em>imps</em>," Graham groans, his lips blue from that potion Pomfrey's been feeding him.</p><p>"Yes, I know," Draco sighs irritably, "you've said that a thousand times."</p><p>"They're the ones that locked me in there."</p><p>"In <em>where?</em>"</p><p>"The closet, the <em>closet</em>. No, it was a wardrobe, or a cabinet. There was a room, all of a sudden, and the. they locked me in a cabinet."</p><p>"What in heavens..?" Draco responds incredulously. "Just...go back to sleep, Montague."</p><p>"I couldn't get out," Graham whimpers, all of a sudden looking so young. He's big and burly and has dark hair all over his muscular arms, but he looks like a lost child with his eyes glazing over. "It was locked, maybe. I was in there for weeks."</p><p>"You were only gone a few days."</p><p>He shakes his head violently. "It was weeks, I promise. I wasn't in <em>this </em>world when I was in there...it functioned differently. Time was different. Space was different. It wasn't this world...if it was this world, I wouldn't have been able to..."</p><p>Draco sighs.</p><p>"I couldn't have App-Apparated out of there and into Hogwarts. It was...there were so many voices. Sometimes I could hear Hogwarts, the professors talking. Sometimes I could hear a...a store? I think Borgin and Burkes? And sometimes...I didn't know where I was. I couldn't get out, I couldn't get out, I couldn't..." he trails off, and then his eyes snap to me. "She's up."</p><p>Draco snaps his head over to look at me.</p><p>I start to sit up, the burning feeling lessening as I move. He instantly gets up and tries to usher me back down onto my back, but I push his hands away and sit up, my body trembling.</p><p>"Stop moving," he snaps as I swing my legs over the side of the cot and plant my feet on the floor, spotting my shoes at the bedside. "I'm getting Pomfrey."</p><p>He walks away, but I don't pay attention. I stare at my feet. They still feel numb, but I press them against the floor until the feeling comes back, and then I'm reaching over to lace my shoes on. Graham's eyes watch me the entire time, but I couldn't care less about him. I have to move. I have to move. I have to go.</p><p>"What are you doing?"</p><p>I ignore Graham as I get up and walk over to the window. My body moves on its own, but my mind has accepted it when the fire fades away at the movement until it's just my necklace searing my chest. At the window, I lean forward to look out at the Forbidden Forest right as I see Granger and Potter running out to meet a gaggle of other students at the end. I squint, recognizing the blonde hair of Lovegood, the awkward posture of Longbottom, and the bright hair of the two Weasleys.</p><p>How did they get out?</p><p>Where's Umbridge?</p><p>"Celeste," I hear Draco's voice, prompting me to turn around to see him walking out of Pomfrey's office with a stern look on his pale face, "you should lay back down. I couldn't find Madam Pomfrey, but I think sh—"</p><p>The doors to the Hospital Wing burst open to reveal Crabbe, Warrington, Pandora, Adrian, and Zola, each looking like they've been through hell and back. Zola's tight curls are all over the place looking like they've been pulled right out of her scalp. Adrian had a bloody nose and is covering his eye with one hand, wincing softly. Pandora looks absolutely furious, her ears enlarged to her elbows and making her wobble slightly, and in her hand, the tip of her wand has nearly completely snapped off. Warrington looks like he's recovering from a Stunning Spells, carried by Zola and Crabbe, who is suffering from an impressive Bat Bogey Hex.</p><p>"What are you idiots doing here?" Draco seethes, turning on his heel to storm over to them. "You're supposed to be watching over—"</p><p>"They got away," Pandora interrupts almost coldly, her green eyes ablaze.</p><p>"<em>How?</em>"</p><p>"A couple Stunning Spells, Impediment Charms, nasty hexes. They got their wands and got away," Adrian spits sourly.</p><p>Draco goes rigid. "I gave you Potter's wand, Crabbe."</p><p>"One of the Weasley's got that."</p><p>Draco curses harshly, beckoning the five of them to enter. They sit around a cot, dealing with their respective injuries while Draco shouts at them and demands to know how they managed to screw up so badly.</p><p>I, in all the commotion, walk swiftly across the Hospital Wing.</p><p>Right as I'm about to head down the hall, wherever it is my burning locket and numb body desire to lead me, I glance back in to lock eyes with Graham. He's frowning at me, but when he makes eye contact, he gives me a short wave and turns over to fall asleep.</p><p>And then I'm speed walking down the hall. I'd be sprinting, but I force myself not to. Where am I going?</p><p>My body brings me to the stairs. It hurries down them as they move, wasting no time to get to the bottommost floor. I must look a wreck, my hair all ratted from the way I passed out on the cot, my eyes red from dried tears on my cheeks that I don't even remember crying.</p><p>I'm on the first floor, but it feels like my locket is trying to somehow drag me lower. To where, hell? I nearly laugh derisively at the notion, thinking it would be just perfect, just ironic, that my mother's locket would drag me by my neck all the way down to hell.</p><p>No.</p><p>To the dungeons.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yup yup</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. NOTICE ME NOT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>ummm just read</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI<br/>June 18th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>I'm sprinting off again, except this time I pull my wand out of my robes and mutter a quick Notice-Me-Not charm over myself when I realize that the first floor is usually crowded around this time. Sure enough, when I pass a group of students down a hall, their eyes skip over me instantly, and they go about their day like nothing's odd.</p><p>The dungeons, the dungeons. Is that where my locket wants me to go? The dungeons?</p><p>I stop in front of the door to the Slytherin common room. If my locket could speak, it would be whispering to me, <em>So close, so close, but not quite</em>. No, not these dungeons...</p><p>I walk slower this time, dread settling into the pit of my gut when I realize where I'm going. The door is a bit further down the hall, unguarded, but most definitely magically locked. No <em>Alohomora</em> or magic penknife will open it for me, but I just know that's where I need to be. Not just the dungeons, but <em>the</em> dungeons, one of the parts of the castle where no student is ever allowed nor should ever <em>want</em> to venture.</p><p>I stop in front of it, my locket beating with my heart. It'a urging me to keep moving, like if I don't burn its energy, it's energy will burn me. Sure enough, the longer I stand there in front of this door, students passing by me and their eyes automatically skipping over me—a useful charm—the more that burning feeling returns, and though I know that there's nothing I can do to unlock this door, I grit my teeth and place a heavy hand on the doorknob, twisting it.</p><p>It unlocks.</p><p>I stand there, gaping, staring down at the doorknob. My eyes drift down to the locket sitting on my chest, hot and burning the skin between my breasts through my sweater.</p><p>I wait until the two seventh years down the hall walk away before pushing the door open and slipping inside.</p><p>"<em>Lumos</em>," I whisper as the door closes, startled by the sound of my voice. It's mine, for sure, but it has this almost echo to it that isn't familiar. It's the first word I've spoken since waking up, and it leaves my throat parched for water.</p><p>It's like the darkness of the dungeon soaks the light from my wand until it's just a dim glow, hardly illuminating one foot in front of me. I grip the railing beside the stairs for dear life, ignoring the slime and grime on it and the eerie noises of creatures scuttling about on the walls while walking down carefully. The stairs aren't steady, even worse than those leading to the Slytherin dungeons. I gasp when one crumbles under my foot, nearly sending me tumbling all the way down.</p><p>But I managed to get to the bottom safe and sound. Something tells me I'm not alone, however, so I'm quick to whisper a <em>Nox</em>. My wand goes out, but I keep it firm in my palm as I walk into the open expanse of the dungeon.</p><p>It's pitch black, but I can make out a few odd shapes. My vision slowly clears as my eyes adjust, and I can make out a few shapes in the differences of light. There's something across the room, something like a large, disfigured man...</p><p>Security troll.</p><p>I freeze. <em>Oh, fuck. Okay, what do you know about trolls, Celeste?</em> They have absolutely shoddy vision, so it really doesn't make sense placing them in the absolute dark if they're meant to act as security. Well, nobody's supposed to be down here, anyway, so...That's fine, it can work in my favor. I have a Notice-Me-Not Charm on, anyway, just in case they happen to have excellent nocturnal vision. Do they rely on smell? They seem to be the type to rely on smell.</p><p>What the hell am I doing here, again?</p><p>
  <em>Okay, locket, clearly you're trying to tell me something. Why am I here?</em>
</p><p>A memory from just earlier today flashes through my head, something Professor Umbridge said.</p><p><em>Your Firebolt has been under strict guard in the dungeons ever since you </em>attacked<em> Mr. Malfoy, as you very well know, Potter.</em></p><p>
  <em>Your Firebolt has been under strict guard in the dungeons.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Firebolt.</em>
</p><p>I need the Firebolt. I have no idea what's going on, how I'm here, why my locket is trying to fucking kill me, but I <em>know</em> that I <em>need</em> that Firebolt, that broomstick. I don't know where I'm supposed to travel to on it, I don't know what I'll do after this, but I know my locket will burn me alive if I don't just take it.</p><p>I take a step forward, carefully not to scuff my feet against the ground. It smells foul in here, like something curled up and died and nobody ever bothered to collect it. I can make out more disfigured shadows around the dungeon, countless trolls, and I can hear them too. They grunt and snort and hack out massive balls of saliva and snot, scraping their clubs against the cemented ground and scratching their beer bellies with their no doubt yellowed teeth. I'm almost glad I can't see them, because I'm sure I would hurl at the sight.</p><p>Okay, Firebolt, where are you?</p><p>I'm so used to relying on my mind, but it's no help right now. My heart pounds wildly as I close my eyes for a moment, inhale deeply, and let my instincts, my body, my fucking locket that is <em>so</em> being thrown out as soon as it stops acting up, all of it just take over—take the wheel, as Muggles say.</p><p>When I open my eyes, I'm creeping quietly towards my left. The stench increases, and I wonder for a moment if these trolls go to the bathroom in this very dungeon.</p><p>Something glints against the wall. I squint, realizing it's a little gold embellishment, and with my eyes adjusting, I make out the vague shame of a broomstick leaning against a wall, in front of which stands a particularly large troll. Blinking quickly, my eye sight is suddenly much better than it should be in this kind of dark. The troll has mean eyes, mean, dark eyes. His nose is massive, sniffing like the odor in the room bothers him as well. His lips are pursed, but when he lets out a belch, I catch a sight of his crooked teeth (and a whiff of his terrible breath). He towers over me, his gut extending past his feet. All he wears is a pair of shorts, and his club is wrapped in barbed wire.</p><p><em>Quiet, Celeste. Not a single noise</em>.</p><p>I bet the troll can hear my heart beat as I take another slow step towards him. I could simply stun him and take the broom, but then he'd fall over and attract the attention of the others massive trolls in this dungeon. No, magic isn't an option, because even though I just unlocked a door I shouldn't have, there's no fucking way I can take on a dozen trolls fifty times my body weight.</p><p>So I creep forward slowly, praying to whichever cruel god is watching me from above that she show me mercy and allow me to leave this dungeon in one piece. I take one step after another, breathing softly through my mouth and practically tasting the stench on my tongue.</p><p>I stop when I'm right next to the troll, my body quivering in pure fear. The smell is overwhelming, making me feel close to passing out again, but my body keeps moving because the fear of feeling my body burn to a crisp is worse.</p><p>My foot scuffs against the floor when I lean in to grab the broomstick.</p><p>I freeze, my face frozen in terror, my ears alert. The troll grunts, his heavy feet shifting slightly. I hear him sniff this way and that, his head turning while the barbed wire on his club scrapes against the floor. And then he's leaning in towards me, his head just a foot above mine, and his massive nose sniffs right over me.</p><p>I swallow thickly, waiting. Waiting for him to lean away and go back to grunting and staring blankly. Waiting for him to grab me and tear me apart. Waiting, wishing something would happen so the waiting would be over.</p><p>He leans away.</p><p>I catch myself before I breathe out a sigh in relief. Instead, I extend an arm out towards the broomstick, my fingers brushing against the polished wood. Slowly, carefully, I trail my hand up to the very tip of the broom, and I drag it towards me without shifting the bristles against the floor. I wince as the seconds pass, but then I'm gripping the handle in my fist. And then, even slower, I lift it off the ground.</p><p>Clasping my wand in one hand and the broomstick in another, I slowly turn around, pulse beating faster and my blood starting to burn again when the troll grunts. He does nothing, though, so I continue walking forward toward the stairs, my heart beating so fast that I think I might just make a run for it all the way up to the door.</p><p>I force myself to stay calm as I walk, lifting my feet up so they don't scrape against the floor, clutching Potter's broom tightly. It's when I get to the archway to the stairs that the broom brushes against something on the wall beside the stairs, knocking it down to the ground and making it shatter upon impact.</p><p>I freeze. So do the trolls.</p><p>And then one of them makes a loud, bellowing noise, a throaty shout that makes the air ripple with a foul, disgusting smelling wind that practically throws my hair back. And then thudding, heavy but fast footsteps in the ground wake me up.</p><p>I dart up the stairs, not giving a damn how much noise I make while blindly running up and hoping that the door is near. They try to climb up behind me, but they're slow and hardly fit in the narrow stairway. Some of them are so heavy that I can hear them break the steps right when they put their weight on it. I laugh weakly at this, but then I trio in a cracked step and fall forward, hitting my jaw on the steps. I cry out, feeling my skin break and face go numb as my body falls down a few steps. I can feel a troll's odorous body beat near me, I feel a finger in my leg, and then in a panic, I scramble back up and practically leap the rest of the way up, not bothering to press my ear against the door to listen for anyone outside the hallway before bursting it open and shutting it behind me.</p><p>Luckily, nobody is out in the hallway.</p><p>I sigh in relief, casting another Notice-Me-Not on myself just in case it's worn off.</p><p>One of the trolls has somehow managed to make it all the way up, roaring loudly and banging against the frail wooden door. He should be able to break it with ease, but I'm sure it has magic protections.</p><p>That I managed to break.</p><p>When I run down the castle and onto the courtyard, Potter and his friends are gone, but I couldn't care less.</p><p>Somehow, with one hand stowing my wand away and the other gripping the broomstick, I know where I'm supposed to go, where my locket is telling me I need to be. I've got this terrible, horrible feeling in my gut, in my heart, in all my limbs. This feeling that something awful is going to happen tonight, and I need to be there to stop it. It's this feeling of dread, and it makes me want to both go back into the safety of this school and take off right away.</p><p>My mother had a bad feeling this morning. She felt like she had to go to the Ministry.</p><p>So, my body searing, my locket burning holes into my chest, I mount the Firebolt, praying that I remember anything from the last time I flew a broom. My instincts have been guiding me so far, I hope they continue to do so. I hope they somehow know how to get to the Ministry.</p><p>I kick off the ground, my breath snatched from my lungs from how fast I shoot up into the sky. I fear for a moment that I'll die the same way Icarus did, flying too close to the sun. Funny thing is, it's not the sun that would burn me out. But then I lean forward, and soon the broom has me flying faster than I ever thought possible, darting high over the grounds of the castle and the thick, dense forest, my heart pounding and my head reeling and my hands still feeling so numb as I wonder what a <em>foolish</em> mess I've gotten into, all because of one overheated locket.</p><p>I don't know how long I fly for. The sun was already setting when I left, and as I pass over mountains and gullies, the sky turns from burnt orange to a dusty blue, a threatening star above occasionally winking into existence and staring at me menacingly. I fly over villages, a lonesome road with a singular Muggle car winding down it.</p><p>The sky turns dark blue, so dark and so lonely that I want to weep in fear while my hands guide this broom. Stars twinkle above me while I fly haphazardly, jerking up and down and side to side while zooming at a speed that might peel my burning flesh off.</p><p>It's as I'm passing over a particularly busy Muggle town thag my vision disappears and turns into an image I don't recognize. I blink wildly, but even when my eyes are shut, I don't see black. It's like I'm in some long, long hall. Or a warehouse of some kind, but there is only one narrow passageway.</p><p>My hands grip the broomstick tightly, and I wonder distantly how I'm still flying when my mind is literally elsewhere.</p><p>I walk down the long, narrow passageway, gazing left and right at the tall stacks on either side of me. They're all practically identical, towering and housing thousands and thousands of dusty, milky blue orbs that swirl within their center, like bulbs that have been switched off and sentenced to live the rest of their existence in this eerie room. Some of them are massive, some of them the size of a thimble, but they're all that dull shade of blue.</p><p>Except one. It's glowing, a shade of blue so bright it's almost white, and it swirls furiously at its center. It beckons to me, smiles a charming, menacing smile, and coaxes me over. I walk over until I'm standing before it, leaning in, drinking in this little orb and all the magic it exudes.</p><p>And then I lift a hand up, but it's not my hand. It's darker, bigger, older. It's wearing my father's engagement ring and his wedding band and a third ring I don't recognize.</p><p>And then the image flashes, and I'm in a different room. It's a big, square chamber, lit only dimly. Stone tiers lead down to a pit in the center in which is a dais. A stone archway from which a tattered black curtain flutters sits in the very center of it, and it too pulls me in. It begs to reconnect with me, to have me give it one caress, whispering to me.</p><p>This time, when I blink, my own vision has returned to me, and I'm plummeting towards the ground.</p><p>I let out a loud scream, my hands instantly pulling the handle of the Firebolt up just in time so that my feet collide with the crowd rather than my head. I crumple instantly, my head knocking against the ground, and a jolting pain shoots up to my knees along with the burning sensation that resumes almost instantly. Wincing softly, I force myself to my feet, blinking the pain away while looking around.</p><p>I'm on a Muggle street. It's probably about midnight by now, so it's rather empty, though I see the lights on in a nearby apartment.</p><p>My body is jittery as I stand on pavement, feeling my head and legs pound from the crash and blood drip down my jaw from back in the dungeons. My body starts burning again, but I, still gripping Potter's broom, am completely lost. Because I'm on an empty Muggle street staring across the road at nothing but a dirty bench, a lamp post, and a telephone booth, wondering how and why I've got here.</p><p>I drop to my knees, my eyes wide, my head spinning, my heart pounding, and for a few seconds, I embrace that terrible burn. I let it crawl from the center of my searing chest to every corner and crevice of my body, licking its greedy tongue over my arms and clawing its hungry nails over my stomach. I let it wrap around my aching legs, strip my skin and muscles from my bones, burn it's invisible insignia into my flesh. I let it devour me, wishing the earth would swallow me whole and then spit me back out so I go flying home. Wishing my locket led me to hell instead of <em>here</em>, because I'm left with this burning feeling in my heart that something is about to go terrible wrong, a burning feeling worse than that the locket sends spiraling all over my body, and yet there seems to be nothing I can do about it.</p><p>A whirring noise suddenly fills the air.</p><p>I snap my head up to the telephone booth, frowning when I see a man slowly rising up until the platform he must be standing in stops with a sudden thud. He checks his watch, and then he steps out of the booth, revealing his robes. And then he Apparates away.</p><p><em>No way</em>.</p><p>I'm up and moving in an instant, running across the street and pulling the booth door open to slam it shut behind me. I pant softly, glancing frantically around until my eyes spot the receiver. My heart drops. I have to punch something in, don't I?</p><p>I close my eyes, willing whatever it is that's driven me to do all this stupid shit today to come to the forefront of my mind. <em>Come on...what do I press in? What's the code? I'm talking to a damn locket... Do your thing, then, c'mon, tell me.</em></p><p>It doesn't tell me. My hand doesn't move in its own and somehow press the right numbers. Instead, it does what it did with the door to the dungeon.</p><p>The magic just falls apart for me.</p><p>A female voice sounds through the box. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.</p><p>I blink blankly, and then I stutter, "C-Celeste Zabini. I'm here to...I'm here because..." My voice grows weak, and as the burning intensifies, so does the feeling that I'm the stupidest witch to walk the earth. "I have a bad feeling."</p><p>"Thank you. Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."</p><p>Where returned coins would slip out, a badge falls through the metal chute. I stare at it blankly, wondering how I'm going to explain myself when someone inevitably catches me, and then I pick the badge up to read the inscription.</p><p>
  <b>CELESTE ZABINI</b>
  <br/>
  <b>bad feeling</b>
</p><p>I pin it to the front of my sweater, choosing not to think too hard about it. I let Potter's broomstick lean against a wall of the booth as the whirring ensues once more. The floor shudders and the pavement rises above the windows until I'm submerged in darkness, moving underground.</p><p><em>Maybe the locket really is dragging me to hell</em>.</p><p>"Visitor to the Ministry," the voice says as I move downwards, "you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."</p><p>"What?" I whisper blankly, hardly having heard the voice over the sound of my rushing blood.</p><p>A light, golden glow submerges the box, slowly rising up as it descends. I peer out the window to the Atrium, looking for whoever it is that will be waiting for me in order to search me, but I find the vast, marble chamber to be empty. There are several mantelpieces on the side walls, probably for workers to Floo in, but the fires aren't lit. It's dim, and though I've never been here before, something tells me it shouldn't be so dark and empty.</p><p>"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening."</p><p>The box comes to a sudden halt, the door swings open, and I dart out with my wand at ready, leaving the broomstick in the booth.</p><p>It's silent and empty save for the sound of the running golden fountain in the center. I stare at it for a few seconds as if the warlock and the witch in the center of it will suddenly come to life and tell me why exactly my body is on fire, I've stolen a broom from trolls, and I've flown all the way to London. Maybe an explanation better than a "bad feeling."</p><p>But nothing happens. No security person walks in to check my wand. Maybe that's a good thing, because I really shouldn't be here, but the fact that there is nobody at all here in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic instead gives me an ominous, foreboding feeling. Like that bad feeling my mother had this morning and I later into the day was well credited.</p><p>There's no point standing here. I know where to go. The Department of Mysteries.</p><p>So I stride across the Atrium, hearing my footsteps echo off the marble floors, and I punch the button. The elevator slides open immediately, making me feel slightly sick from how fast. I step into the golden box, the doors sliding shut behind me, and I turn to gaze at the buttons.</p><p>
  <em>Which button?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gut feeling, Celeste, gut feeling.</em>
</p><p>My hand shoots out and punches the button number nine. The grills slam shut. The elevator begins its descent, a slow, pressure-intense descent, like it doesn't want to go any further down, like it wants me to stay up here for my own sake.</p><p>"Department of Mysteries," that same voice says when the elevator halts, making me let out a breath of relief and then tighten in fearful anticipation.</p><p>The grills open, and then the doors slide open as well.</p><p>I step out carefully into the corridor, feeling the doors shut behind me. It's dark, empty, not a single moving thing in sight spare for the flickering torches mounted on the walls. I smirk at them. I bet if I stuck my hand in one, it wouldn't burn as badly as the skin on my chest burns right now.</p><p>I walk down the torch-lit corridor, watching the fire dance at me, imagining it laugh at me as I pull my sweater up over my left hand to clasp my locket, wondering if it's actually charred my chest by now. My right hand clutches my wand at ready, my heart thumping wildly. It's around midnight, if my sense of time isn't shit. The work day is <em>supposed</em> to end up five o'clock for my parents, but they're always coming home late for some mysterious emergencies. My father could easily still be here. I'll find him, I'll tell him about the locket, and he'll help me. I couldn't seem to get the words out before, but he'll know.</p><p>I stop at a tall doorway, glancing up at its menacing size before opening it, stepping over the threshold, and pausing in my step.</p><p>So this is the Department of Mysteries.</p><p>I stand in the doorway of a large, obsidian, round room. It's pristine, everything black, and everything identical and symmetrical. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, all a nightly shade. Identical, unmarked, and handle-less doors line the round walls, blue-flames candles branching out of the walls between them. The blue light illuminates the room, reflecting off the dark marble floor and making me feel like I'm walking on water.</p><p>I close the door, instantly regretting it as the torch light from out in the corridor disappears, leaving me in almost complete darkness.</p><p>There are a dozen doors and no way to know which one to walk through, what to expect when I walk through them. I'm not even completely sure why I'm here now, only that I should be. My hand grips the locket tighter, and I silently beg for it to tell me what to do. It burns in my palm, but it's silent as ever. There is no instinct guiding me. There is no magic unlocking the door I need. There's only me, standing in a circular room, my body on fire.</p><p>Right as I take a step forward, the circular wall begins to rotate. I gasp softly as the room rumbled with the movement, watching the candles in their sconces shift clockwise. The walls spin fast, the blue flames turning into a neon streak surrounding me. The rumbling stops as abruptly as it started, leaving me wondering which door I even entered through.</p><p>Maybe I'll know the right one as soon as I'm in there.</p><p>Inhaling deeply, I walk over to the door next to me, wondering how to open it if it lacks a handle. My hand rests on it, and with the slightest push, it swings open to reveal a dimly lit room, green and blue light bouncing off its walls and floor and ceiling. Frowning slightly, I step inside.</p><p>The Brain Room.</p><p>
  <em>"Then there's the Brain Room. My least favorite. The concept of thought is interesting to me, of course, but the Brain Room is...There's all these brains with tentacles swimming around, and they're rather aggressive, you know. I have a work friend that nearly got her head strangled off while feeding the brains—they eat memories, by the way, it's so grossly fascinating. Legilimency, the ability to magically navigate through the minds of others, and Occlumency, the ability to shield ones mind from intruders and persuasive magic, were honed in the Brain Room."</em>
</p><p>My father wasn't lying. I look around to find desks scattered around the room, and at the very end sits a tall, deep tank filled with dark green water. In it swim what look like slimy grey cauliflowers. Brains.</p><p>No, this isn't it. This isn't the right room. I glance around further to see more doors in the back of the room, but something tells me it's one of these doors in this circular room that I have to take.</p><p>So I close the door, ready to move on, when I realize the room will probably start spinning again. Probably so I don't know which door I've come from.</p><p>"<em>Flagrate</em>," I mutter, flourishing my wand in the air to draw a quick <em>B</em> in the air, fire emitting and standing still in front of the door as I close it.</p><p>Not a second later, the walls spin again, leaving me not just burning from the inside out, but on the verge of puking. As soon as it's over, I'm pushing open the next door and walking in to find myself in a large, dark amphitheater.</p><p>It's dimly lit, bigger than the Brain Room and rectangular in shape. The temperature seems to drop a thousand degrees, making me shiver even as my skin burns, and I find myself clutching my locket as some sort of source for comfort. Stone benches run all around the room in tiers of steel steps, and I find myself slowly descending them while my footsteps echo off the marble. In the center of the room in the lowered floor is a raised dais, and upon it something sits that makes my breath hitch.</p><p>I saw this while I was flying.</p><p>It's a crumbling stone archway that looks as if the slightest touch will send it disintegrating or falling to pieces on the floor. It's beautiful, in an odd kind of way. From it hangs that tattered curtain, or maybe a veil. It's black, completely torn to shreds, and fluttering slightly despite the still air. I tilt my head at it, walking still slowly towards it, when I hear the whispering.</p><p>"Who's there?" I call out, my voice echoing back to me several times while the veil continues fluttering as though someone has just passed through it. It's hideous, looks older than Merlin, and yet somehow it's inviting. I want to walk through it.</p><p>The whispering persists growing louder while my locket suddenly grows hotter. I ignore it, frowning while I try to figure out what the voices are saying.</p><p>"Father?" I ask. "Is that you?"</p><p>The whispering grows louder still, and then my locket suddenly singes me so bad, it makes me cry out and nearly crumple to the ground. Cursing under my breath, I'm knocked out of my stupor and quickly race back up the steps and towards the door.</p><p>"<em>Flagrate</em>," I mumble, hesitating for a second before drawing a <em>D</em> in the air and closing the door.</p><p>The walls blur as they spin yet again.</p><p>The third door doesn't open when I push it, making me frown. I use <em>Alohomora</em>, I will the locket to do it for me (and feeling very stupid while doing so), but nothing happens, so I draw a question mark over the door and move onto the next one, praying that if a door doesn't open for me, then I'm simply not meant to cross its threshold.</p><p>My heart threatens to crawl out of my throat as I move onto the next room. My hand trembles as I push it open to reveal with is undoubtedly the Time Room. Compared to the two other rather dark rooms, it's almost glaringly bright, making me wince softly. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to focus, and then I see the clocks of all shapes and sizes cluttered about and lining the walls. Large and small, grandfather and carriage, clocks fill the whole room, ticking at their own beat and making my heart beat faster and harder and more anxiously as that terrible, loud noise of time passing shoves itself down my throat and into my ears and swallows me while. A diamond bright light dances at the end of the room in a big bell jar, inviting me.</p><p>I step inside, frowning to myself as my heart pounds harshly and my locket burns to reach it. This is the Time Room. My mother works in Love, my father in Death, but something tells me this is where I need to be.</p><p>I walk slowly down the time room, my eyes going to the bell jar. I smile slightly when I see a hummingbird fluttering at the top, but then it falls, feathers growing grey and bedraggled as it does so, and by the time it reaches the bottom of the jar, it's a tiny little egg. Seconds later it cracks open and out flies a baby bird, growing into an adult hummingbird by the time it reaches the top of the jar again.</p><p>I tear my eyes away, looking around the room. My eyes settle on the door behind the jar, and frowning again, I quickly walk around it to stare up at it. Unlike all the other doors in this department, though it too lacks a handle, it has a small label at the top. I squint at it, realizing quickly it's written in runes.</p><p><em>Come on, Celeste. You're good at foreign language. You've taken this class for years</em>.</p><p>
  <b>THE HALL OF PROPHECIES</b>
</p><p>My locket sears so hot so suddenly, I cry out and nearly crumple, anticipating yet another wave of merciless pain to take over my body and devour me whole.</p><p>But then the burning stops. It disappears, fading away until my locket is just a lump of cold metal sitting on my chest, inconspicuous. Panting hard, I stand up straighter, glancing down and moving my sweater out of the way to look at the skin on my chest. It's a little red from irritation, but it could easily be from scratching too hard. No sign of a burn.</p><p>So the pain has stopped. I suppose I've reached where it wants me to.</p><p>The Hall of Prophecies...I had two visions on that broomstick before I went falling to the ground headfirst. The second was of that tattered veil in the Death Chamber. The first was of a room with walls higher than any other, dusty shelves sitting one after the other filled with blue, milky orbs, only one of them shining as it beckoned for me to touch it. This must be it.</p><p>There's something behind this door waiting for me.</p><p>And I'm about to step forward and push the door open, my pulse in my ears, when I hear a muffled noise.</p><p>I freeze, looking over my shoulder, but there's nothing there except for a bunch of loudly ticking clocks. Frowning, I turn to glance at the door, adjusting my grip on my wand, but I turn around and start walking through the Time Room. My locket starts tingling again as I stray away from the door, but there's something...</p><p>I walk past clock after clock, my heart beating so erratically that sometimes it will join that of a fast, tampered little alarm, and sometimes it'll go slow to the languid pendulum of a grandfather.</p><p>And then I see the body.</p><p>The legs of a body, really. They're limp, unmoving. The crisp leather shoes of a diligent worker, the freshly pressed pants of someone who cares deeply about impressions. A hand lays just as limply near the hips, a hand with three glittering, gold rings.</p><p>My legs, previously frozen, dart forward as my head rises up my throat in a panic. I fall to the ground on my knees, ignoring the jolting pain as I hit them where I collided with the pavement earlier, and the sudden drop makes my wounded head reel. I ignore it all, I ignore the locket starting to burn me again and spread fire down all my veins as I grab my father's hand and crawl forward into the time, cramped space his body lays in to see his face.</p><p>He looks serene. His skin is black, a comforting blanket of night sky. His scars are his constellations, white, jagged lines across his face, stories for each one of them that he's never told me. I'm afraid I might vomit on him as I run a hand through his hair curls to shake his head, shake it violently, get him to wake up so I can see his hazel eyes that I've always wished I'd inherited. My eyes are black and empty, his are full of life and deep thought.</p><p>"Fa—" My breath catches in my throat as my heart pauses and then resumes a rapid pace, hardly a break between each throb.</p><p>My eyes sting, watering slightly as I stare at his beautiful, dark face, wishing for him to smile his lovely smile, open his eyes, ask me what I'm doing here, make a joke about how my mother  have a riot when she finds out.</p><p>"Father, please, I—"</p><p>I can't get much else out as I desperately shake his shoulders, my locket sending waves of pain and fire down my body now, but it's numb in comparison to this horrible feeling bubbling up from the pit of my stomach while I look pathetically at his motionless visage. I grip his hand tightly, feeling the cool metal of his rings and his warm palm.</p><p>"Father, wake—wake up. <em>Please</em>, Dad!"</p><p>His palm is warm.</p><p><em>Idiot</em>, I realize, freezing mid panic. <em>Be levelheaded. You don't freak out about a situation before making sure there is something to freak out about</em>.</p><p>Hands trembling, I sit up straight and grab his hand, squeezing it tight in mine. I close my eyes, cherish the warmth of his coarse fingers and weather worn palm, strong and tough like he's been rock climbing all his life, big and protective like I could hide under one of his fingers and me safe from all the woes of the world.</p><p>Then I push his sleeve back, my fingers gently tracing down his wrist, seeking desperately doe that thumping.</p><p>When I find his pulse, I let out a cry of relief, my mind and body flooding with hatred for my reaction and embarrassment and just so much relief. He's not dead. I am idiot. He's not dead. He's been knocked out.</p><p>He's been knocked out.</p><p>Who would knock him out? Why?</p><p>Whoever it was couldn't be bothered to go the extra step and kill him. Maybe they didn't have the heart to. Or maybe they did—but they didn't want him dead. Maybe someone like <em>Him</em> and his Death Eaters, someone who seeks his compliance and his submission and his value, someone who would need him alive, someone whose agenda he would never push, someone who would need to temporarily get him out of the way to get something done.</p><p>I kneel beside his body for at least a. minute just feeling his pulse against my burning fingers. The pain is excruciating. I can practically feel my skin reduce to ashes, my eyes melt within their sockets, my organs shrivel and turn crisp. I'm both numb and in excruciating pain. I can hardly feel my head attached to my neck or my aching legs to my waist. But I can feel his pulse on my finger tips. It's steady, thumping hard as an indicator of someone with a good, healthy heart. I sit there feeling it until my own frantic heart calms down to match his.</p><p>When I open my eyes, that third ring of his glints up at me. My locket pulls towards it, but I sit straight and don't let it bend me down, frowning while I twist it around his finger.</p><p>Why am I here again?</p><p>The Hall of Prophecies.</p><p>The locket sets off another wave of searing pain, and this time, I feel it all. Cursing, I lean forward to give my father's limp torso a tight hug.</p><p>"I love you," I mutter, standing up with weak knees, looking at him carefully. I pull a box to the side, hiding his body from plain view. I'll try to wake him up as soon as I figure out what's going on, why I'm here, why it's all happening.</p><p>I walk back down the room and towards that tall door to the Hall, stretching my hand out to push it open, but a noise stops me.</p><p>It sounds like crashing glass, like a thousand wine cups have been placed at the edge of a cliff and sent down to their demise all at once. I retract my hand, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion while I lean in to listen closer. There's shouting, very much human shouting. Some voices are low and gruff, others are high and giggly. It's all just shouting and crashing glass and...</p><p>It's getting louder. Closer.</p><p>I frown, my heart pounding rapidly again as I back away slowly.</p><p>I step off to the side just in time as the door bursts open. Out run Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter himself, panting as one of them instantly slams the door shut.</p><p>"<em>Colloportus!</em>" Granger shouts with her wand pointed at the door, and instantly it seals itself.</p><p>"Where—Where are the others?" Potter pants, his eyes skipping right over me as he turns to look at Granger. The charm is still working, then.</p><p>"They must have gone the wrong way!" Granger responds, horror written all over her face.</p><p>I pant softly, glancing between the three Gryffindor while fire burns hotter than ever, slightly numbed by my shock. I resist the urge to throw up, still trying to register the fact that these three are in the Ministry as well.</p><p>"Listen!" Longbottom then hisses, and the three of them tilt their heads towards the door.</p><p>I quietly creep forward to listen as well.</p><p>"Leave Nott—<em>leave him, I say!</em>" snaps a voice that's all too familiar. "The Dark Lord will not care for Nott's injuries as much as losing that prophecy the boy has—Jugson, come back here, we need to organize! We'll split into pairs and search, and don't forget, be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, you take the left," Lucius Malfoy's cold voice barks orders. "Crabbe, Rabastan, go right—Macnair and Avery, through here—over there, Rookwood—Mulciber, come with me!"</p><p>My stomach lurches at the sound of Malfoy's voice barking orders at these Death Eaters, telling them to kill children if need be.</p><p>The three of them glance at each other, glance around the room, their eyes naturally skipping over where I stand by nature of the charm, and then they take off running. I choke back a gasp, wondering what to do, and then I take off running as well against the will of my locket.</p><p>I run after them, passing that bell jar and nearly reaching the exit when there's a loud thud.</p><p>"<em>Alohomora!</em>" a gruff voice shouts, and the door to the Hall bursts open.</p><p>I freeze, watching the three dive beneath desks while I just pray that my charm works on Death Eaters as well. Slowly, I turn to look at two masked figures in black cloaks running down the room with their wands at ready.</p><p>"Check under the desks," one snaps as I slowly back away and towards the door, my mind fluttering to my father's resting body hidden behind a great clutter of clocks.</p><p>The other Death Eater crouches down right as a bolt of red light shoots out from under the desk and stuns him. Potter, Granger, and Longbottom dart out from under the desks.</p><p>The Death Eater points his wand at Granger. "<em>Avada Ked—</em>"</p><p>"<em>EXPELLIARMUS!</em>" Longbottom shouts with surprising ferocity, and the wands go flying out of the hands of both the Death Eater and Potter. The two go running hot on each other's heels for their wands while Longbottom shoots another curse, this time narrowly missing the Death Eater's shoulder and instead breaking a cabinet filled with little glittering hourglasses.</p><p>"<em>STUPEFY!</em>" Granger shouts, and the Death Eater goes flying, hitting a wall and instantly slumping over.</p><p>My heart pounding wildly, I see Longbottom and Granger scrambling my way towards the door while Potter curses and looks through the broken glass for his wand. I glance down to find it right next to my foot, hesitating for a moment before kicking it in his direction for him to find eventually.</p><p>"Harry, come on!" Hermione urges, holding the door open.</p><p>I slip through it quietly. I don't care anymore what this stupid locket wants from me, I don't care if it burns me alive, I'm not staying here to watch a bunch of adults and stupid children try to—</p><p>My father.</p><p>I curse quietly, looking across the circular room to an ajar door leading to the black torchlit hallway I came down not too long ago, and then I look over my shoulder into the room where he lays. Nobody should find him, but I can't just leave him there.</p><p>So while the door is still open, I slip back in, quietly running past clocks after clocks, trying to remember where it is that I found him. It takes a minute, and by then Potter has found his wand and the three of them have left.</p><p>I find where he should be, but no body lays there.</p><p>I freeze in a panic. Someone's taken him, someone's found him, someone's <em>killed</em> him.</p><p>Or he woke up. He woke up, he got up, he left.</p><p>I choose to believe the second version as I breathe hard and back away from the empty spot where his body was laying hardly minutes ago, my wand hand trembling and my skin crawling with living fire, and then I'm sprinting across the Time Room again.</p><p>When I'm back in the circular room, the three Gryffindors are talking with Lovegood and the Weasleys. I pause for a moment, listening to them talk about how the Death Eaters nearly got to them, but then I sigh in frustration to myself and storm around the circle room, passing the dark hallway. I'm not leaving until I find him.</p><p>Another door bursts open right before me, making me jump back in shock as Bellatrix Lestrange, looking exactly as chaotic her photographs in the papers, charges forward with two others behind her.</p><p>"They're they are!" she cackles, brandishing her wand towards my fellow students.</p><p>They shoot spells at each other, running into the Brain Room and leaving me alone in the circular room. I pant softly, my eyes flicking with tears as the first adrenaline coursing through my veins turns into a panicked realization that I'm here burning to death and watching adults fight with kids for a war lead by a man who shouldn't be alive, and my father is somewhere in this massive Department of Mysteries, hopefully alive.</p><p>I turn to look at the door Bellatrix and the two other hooded figures had come from, hesitating for a moment before walking in.</p><p>Two figures stand near the bottom of the amphitheater, one wearing black robes and a mask pushed up over his blond-haired head, the other in simply pants and a shirt. I swallow thickly, realizing that's my father standing before Lucius Malfoy, both of them glaring at each other with intensity and speaking in hushed voices that echo off of the dark walls.</p><p>"Stop this, Lucius," Father says calmly, his voice welcoming and making me sigh in relief, as if seeing him alive and standing wasn't enough proof that he's okay. "It's not too late to stop."</p><p>"Why should I?" Mr. Malfoy snaps, turning his chin up while twisting his wand at his side.</p><p>Father hesitates. "I'll do it," he then says solemnly. "I'll do what you and your master want. But stop this foolishness. There's no need for children to get hurt."</p><p>"It's too late, Alaric," Malfoy hisses, a cruel smile curving his lips as he raises his wand arm, crooked hand pointing the wand towards my father's chest. My heart leaps in a panic, but my father just blinks calmly, his own wand sticking out of his belt as he makes no indication to grab it. "You're no longer any use. Any second now, the prophecy will be ours. We won't need you."</p><p>"You know he doesn't just want my family for access to the prophecy," Father says coolly, his hazel eyes glittering in the darkness. "He wants to cheat death. Master it. But you cannot beat something if you don't understand it. And nobody," he says in a voice that's suddenly so harsh and cold and unforgiving, "<em>nobody</em> understands death quite as well as I do. I've only dedicated my life to studying it, after all." He waves carelessly at the tattered veil in the center of the room.</p><p>Malfoy sneers. "You think too highly of yourself. What real value are you to him if you aren't willing to die for him?"</p><p>Father smirks. "The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of a mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one," he says calmly, and then I whisper with his soft yet booming voice, "Wilhelm Stekel."</p><p>I can hardly hear my voice i've run rushing blood, but he snaps his head to the side with a deep frown, his eyes searching the topmost tier of the amphitheater, his eyes skipping over me again and again as he continues trying to glance back at where I'm standing.</p><p>"Spew all the quotes you want," Malfoy spits, walking forward, "it doesn't change your worth."</p><p>"My worth is higher than yours will ever be."</p><p>"I'll kill you!"</p><p>"And <em>He</em> will kill <em>you</em>," Father retorts with ease, his hand twitching at his side like it's taking all his effort not to pull his wand out and stun Malfoy this very instant. He laughs shortly as Malfoy's pale face somehow grows even more pallid. "The thought scares you, doesn't it? Of disappointing him? You're scared of him, aren't you? Tell me, Lucius. Do you follow him out of loyalty? Or fear of what he'll do to your family if you don't abide by his every wish?"</p><p>Malfoy doesn't say anything. His face twitches angrily.</p><p>"Call off your dogs. You said Potter has the prophecy? I'll get it from him myself. No blood spilled."</p><p>As if on cue, Potter runs into the room followed by five Death Eaters. My father steps back slightly in surprise, his brows furrowing, while Malfoy pulls his mask off completely and laughs lowly.</p><p>"Your race is run, Potter," he says, turning his chin up. "Now hand that prophecy over like a good boy."</p><p>"Let—Let the others go!" Potter pants, his eyes wide and glasses askew. "Let them go, and I'll give it to you."</p><p>"You aren't in a position to bargain, Potter," Malfoy laughs cruelly, flicking his long locks out of his face while creeping forward. I glance aside to see my father has pulled his own wand out, not pointing it, but clearly having it at ready. "You see, there are ten of us...and only one of you."</p><p>"You're forgetting me, Lucius," Father says coolly.</p><p>"You won't do anything," Malfoy sneers.</p><p>"And why not?"</p><p>"Because the <em>second </em>you make any indication to outwardly oppose the Dark Lord's agenda, he'll send us after your family. Your wife sitting at home, and your daughter..." Malfoy makes a soft noise at the back of his mouth. "Why, it seems she's disappeared from Hogwarts. I wouldn't be surprised if she's been taken on His orders. Would you?"</p><p>Neville Longbottom comes running through the door as Father's face pales. I'm tempted to take the charm off, jump forward and tell him I'm right here, that he doesn't need to worry, but I stop myself in time. It's better for <em>him</em> if he backs out of his fight. It's not his, after all.</p><p>"<em>STUBEFY!</em>" Longbottom shouts, lisping due to his abnormally swollen lip and and bleeding nose. Nothing spurts from the tip of his wand, and yet he continues shouting, "<em>STUBEFY! STU—!"</em></p><p>"<em>Crucio!</em>" Bellatrix cackles from behind me, and instantly he drops to the ground and begins writhing while a couple Death Eaters around the room laugh.</p><p>"Stop that!" Potter shouts while my stomach threatens to spew everything I've eaten today. My body is frozen and my eyes refuse to look away from the disturbing sight of Longbottom's body contorting in ways that aren't natural, his face struck with horror.</p><p>Bellatrix flicks her wand up, and instantly his body goes limp. She looks up at Potter, her black eyes wide in frenzy, her long black curls all over the place while she prowls towards him. "Go on, then, Potter," she whispers, licking her lips, "hand the prophecy over, or see your little friend die the h—"</p><p>Two doors burst open within the room. I watch in shock as five people jump out of them and quickly race down the steps of the Death Chamber towards the Death Eaters, their wands at ready. I recognize one of them from the papers—Sirius Black, his face slightly gaunt, his hair black and to his chin, and his eyes alive with fire. Right at his tail is a tall, almost feeble looking man with ashy brown hair and scars all over his face similar to my father's.</p><p>A disfigured man comes from my left, his false eyeball spinning in its socket and eyeing up everyone in the room. It pauses on me for a second, no doubt magic as it doesn't skip me over and instead scans me up and down while I stand there staring in a fright. He says nothing, just looks away and roars slightly as he jumps all the steps and lands near the dais, stunning a Death Eater right then.</p><p>A woman with purple hair and rather eccentric taste in clothes comes from behind him, and following her is a man in royal purple robes and dark skin, looking like he works here in the Ministry based on the clothes under his robes.</p><p>Malfoy raises his wand, but the woman is already sending a Stunning Spell on him. My father raises his wand again, seemingly forgetting Malfoy's threat, but then the Ministry worker in the purple robes clamps a hand down on his shoulder and pulls him away, shouting something I can't hear. As the five jump down step to step, they rain curses and spells on the Death Eaters.</p><p>I see one Death Eater slipping slyly into the entrance of the room, going unnoticed by all the rest. He scales the outside perimeter of the room until he's right behind my father, raising his arm—</p><p>"<em>PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!</em>" I shout without a second of hesitation, watching an electric blue light shoot out of my wand, hit the Death Eater, and instantly he toppled over as stiff as a board. My father glances over his shoulder at the noise, then glancing in my direction with a frown but not seeing me. Nobody else seems too notice—it's too loud and chaotic to single out a single spell.</p><p>It's like that one spell unsticks my feet from the ground. I'm moving, knowing fully well that I have three options. I can go out the exit right to my left. I can grab my father and then take him with me. Or I can stay.</p><p>I don't know where the two Weasleys or Granger are or what has happened to them, but I see Potter and Longbottom pressed flat to the ground avoiding spells from either side. I couldn't care less about them. One is a Bloodtraitor and the other is simply an insufferable, pompous Half-Blood, and while I've never agreed with the distasteful methods of the Dark Lord, I've always held myself and other Purebloods in higher regard.</p><p>But I see my father, shooting spells at the Death Eaters with a look of sheer, ferocious focus on his face, knowing fully well that if things go south here, his family is in danger. So much for living humbly.</p><p>My locket burns me, washes over me with searing heat, but I don't know what it's trying to tell me.</p><p>A particularly large Death Eater grips Potter form behind, his muscles around pressing down on his throat. Potter chokes, one hand clawing at the man's arm, the other point his wand back at him, but no air comes out of his mouth. The Death Eater tightens his grip, and, my body still on fire, I wince as I can practically feel my own windpipe crushing. It's at this moment that I have a decision to make, and my mouth and hand do it all on their own without consulting my head.</p><p>"<em>Stupefy!</em>" I call out, aiming my wand at them, and for a second I'm not even sure whether I'm pointing at Potter or the Death Eater.</p><p>But then the gust of red light knocks the bulky man off of Potter, who falls to his hands and knees and gasps for breath. The mask slips off the Death Eater's face, revealing an ugly face and bloodied eye.</p><p>Potter gets up shakily, glancing around to see where the spell came from, but then another Death Eater is <em>Accioing</em> the prophecy, the milky blue orb in his hand. Sirius Black quickly barges into the Death Eater's side while I leap down the last few steps, flying past the three of them and towards my father who grits his teeth while dueling with one particular Lucius Malfoy, their wands clashing like swords while sparks emit from the tips.</p><p>Father rears his hand back, slashing his wand in the air so Malfoy falls over. I look away to see Longbottom and Potter stumbling their way out of the room when the prophecy falls from Potter's fingertips and smashes against the ground. I gasp softly, my hand falling limp to my side as I watch a ghostly figure rise from the cracked glass, an image of an almost familiar woman mumbling words I can't hear over the commotion. Nobody else seems to notice, busy fighting to save their own lives and maybe take those of others.</p><p>And then I see Dumbledore, wand aloft, silver hair flying behind him as he charges. A few Death Eaters spot him and instantly make a run for him, but he wordlessly flourishes his wand and drags them back like an invisible hook in their clothes.</p><p>Most of the Death Eaters and the five fighting against them have paused, except Sirius Black and his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange are still at it, chasing each other around the dais, narrowing missing each other by mere inches as they shoot red and green and blue spells at each other, a hungry desire in both of their eyes to spill their own blood from the other's skin.</p><p>Sirius ducks her red light, laughing boisterously, "Come on! You can do better than that, <em>Bella!</em>" His voice echoes off the marble walls.</p><p>Bellatrix sneers, raising her arm up in the air, and while he's distracted, a second bolt of light hits him squarely in the chest, throwing him back with a surprised look on his face into the veil at the center of the room. I inhale sharply as I watch his body, somehow moving in slow motion, pass through the tattered material, and then when he doesn't come out on the other side, my wand drops and clatters to the floor in surprise.</p><p>I've seen it before, this veil. It was in a smaller quantity, trapped in a little glass vial in my father's hand. Neither liquid nor gas, a sort of week kind of solid. Tattered and greyish black, whispering to me.</p><p>Bellatrix turns when she hears my wand fall. She frowns, tilting her head while her crazed eyes bulge out of their sockets. Her eyes glance wildly around me, skipping over the spot where I stand frozen, my mind whirring as I try to piece what little hits of information I have together. She raises her wand in my direction, muttering something I don't hear at me. I don't feel any different afterwards, but I know the Notice-Me-Not charm has gone.</p><p>"Celeste," my father whispers in shock.</p><p>I turn to look at him while Bellatrix cackles loudly, attracting attention from Dumbledore across the room.</p><p>"Look!" she shrieks, waving her wand. "One of Potter's little friends was <em>hiding!</em>"</p><p>"Bellatrix, <em>stop</em>," my father growls out, darting over towards me as my mind, swirling slowly in my head, becomes aware of how I should really pick my wand up, but it's too late, because my father is still a foot away from me and pointing his wand at her when Bellatrix, staring into my eyes with her thick, clouded ones, lets out a mockingly soft whisper.</p><p>My skin burns to ashes as the locket lets out one last wave of pure heat, sending me crumpling to the ground while my muscles grow weak and my lungs incapable of sucking in any air, my body numb with pain as fire crawls over my eyes and blinds me with green light. It shoots towards my face, but at the very last second, it darts down to my chest.</p><p>"<em>Avada Kedavra!"</em> she whispers excitedly.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>honestly, not my best writing and a bit all over the place, but hi</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. I WONDER HOW</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>draco, blaise, and pansy wait to hear about celeste at st mungo's</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY<br/>June 18th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Last night, I got two hours of sleep at most.</p><p>I was studying for the History of Magic exam I took only hours ago. In hindsight, I probably didn't need to stay up. I probably would've done better if I had gotten enough sleep. But I couldn't fall asleep because of the stress for that last exam, so I stayed up reviewing the notes I'd been pouring over for weeks.</p><p>So I'm running on two hours of sleep, and it's currently three or four in the morning, but I still can't fall asleep.</p><p>It's the stress.</p><p>We searched the school five times over before deciding she wasn't there, and then we told whoever we could find. Umbridge wasn't back, so we found Snape, told him we had a missing student. He and the other professors didn't miss a beat before scouring the school just as we did, turning up empty. At that point, they had to alert her parents. Her mother arrives within the hour, a damning presence with her angry eyes and quiet mouth.</p><p>"You lost my daughter," is the first thing she says when she arrived. It isn't a question, it isn't a clarification, it is a seething statement that makes Professor Flitwick tremble slightly from the ferocity in her still, dark eyes. "You lost a <em>student</em>."</p><p>"Seven students, actually," Pansy mutters lowly next to me, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she leans into my side. I wrap an arm around her, glancing over her head to look at Blaise, who is leaning against a wall with a stony expression on his face, eyes glancing rapidly so as to not miss a single detail.</p><p>Professor Snape clears his throat, one hand placing purposefully stop Flitwick's head and promptly moving him out of the way to step in front of Mrs. Zabini. "I assure you, Mrs. Zabini, we <em>will</em> find your d—"</p><p>"I know where she is," Mrs. Zabini interrupts coolly, turning her chin up in a manner that reminds me so starkly of Celeste.</p><p>Snape's eyebrows rise slightly. "Do you, now?"</p><p>"Yes," Mrs. Zabini snaps, losing just a fraction of her composure as she exhales sharply through her nose and clutches her robes tightly. "I <em>know</em> my daughter, believe it or not. She's at the Ministry. A friend sent me a message saying he'll get her and my husband back, and any second now—"</p><p>She stops herself short when a lynx gracefully glides down the hallway, blue and shimmery and leaping a couple inches above the surface of the floor. A Patronus.</p><p>Mrs. Zabini's face grows grim as she turns to face the lynx and nods.</p><p>It opens its mouth, and a man's voice says, "They're in St. Mungo's, the fourth floor. There's been an attack at the Ministry. I'll meet you there shortly, I have quite a bit of work to do. I'm sorry."</p><p>The Patronus fades away as if caught in a gust of wind, but the air stands still in Professor Snape's office. And, when I turn to look at Mrs. Zabini, seeing the look of terror on her face, it feels as though time has gone still as well. His eyebrows furrow just the slightest, the corners of her firm lips tilt down, and her eyes turn to stone as she stares offhandedly in the direction where the lynx was moments ago.</p><p>She then moves, tilting her head down and picking her limp hands up from her sides, the sleeves of her robes falling down slightly to reveal a thin, golden bangle around her wrist. She shivers slightly while gently tracing her finger around the thin spine of it.</p><p>"Cor—"</p><p>"Is your fireplace connected to the Floo Network?" she interrupts harshly, her piercing eyes daring Professor Snape to say anything else but "yes."</p><p>"Of course," he drawls out, stepping aside to reveal the fireplace behind his desk. "Now—"</p><p>"Come, Blaise," Mrs. Zabini beckons, holding her arm out towards Blaise who instantly steps off the wall and walks towards her, his hands shoved into his pockets. "I'll send a message to your mother to tell her to meet us there."</p><p>I watch the two of them step towards the fireplace, Snape throwing the Floo Powder for them. The fire erupts with tall, green flames, licking hungrily, and I watch closely, my heart thumping inside my chest, as they approach it.</p><p>"Wait!" I call out before I can stop myself.</p><p>Mrs. Zabini, one protective hand on Blaise's back, stood abruptly and sharply turns her head over her shoulder to look scathingly in my direction. The animosity in her eyes fades when she realizes who has stopped her, but that intimidating intensity remains.</p><p>"Speak quickly, Draco," she says in a thin voice. "I have a daughter waiting for me in a hospital."</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but my voice fails me. I exhale softly, feeling my chest deflate, but Pansy is quick to swoop in.</p><p>"Take us with you," she says, Mrs. Zabini's eyes instantly narrowing. Pansy unwraps her arms from around herself, stepping forward slightly while my arm falls away from her. "Celeste will want us there too."</p><p>"Fine," Mrs. Zabini sighs, like she just wants to end the discussion and <em>go</em>. She turns around, and without giving a glance to any of the professors, she calls out, "Send a message to the Malfoys and the Parkinsons to let them know where their children are."</p><p>And then she's stepping into the fire, Blaise hot on her heels, shouting out her destination.</p><p>—</p><p>"I've never been in St. Mungo's," I murmur softly to Pansy.</p><p>We sit on a bench outside Celeste's room. Her father's room is further down the hall, but hers is right behind us. They won't let anyone in either room except her mother, so Blaise and his mother sit on the bench across from us, both looking positively stricken with worry.</p><p>They haven't given us a single bit of information. Mrs. Zabini disappeared behind Celeste's door and hasn't come out since. Apparently they have conjoining rooms, so what real reason does she have to leave her family?</p><p>"I have," Pansy whispers.</p><p>I glance over at her, my frown deepening when I see her brown eyes glimmering with tears.</p><p>"Hey, Panz," I say softly, not sure what to do and choosing to rest my palm on top of her hand, "it's okay. I mean, I don't know what happened to her, but it can't be worse than a broken leg or—"</p><p>"The fourth floor of St. Mungo's, Draco," Pansy starts, hesitating with a soft intake of breath while her shining eyes dart away to the floor, "is for long-term residents. For permanent spell damage."</p><p>My body tenses.</p><p>"What do you mean?" I ask lowly, pulse quickening as I know her answer.</p><p>"She's not up here for a broken leg or a charm that won't wear off," Pansy says in a wobbling voice, eyes slipping shut while her raw, gnawed-at lips quiver. "This is where they put McGonagall, you know. She took <em>four</em> Stunning Spells to the chest. Celeste didn't just break a leg..."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"Draco!"</p><p>I snap my head to the other side to see my mother rushing towards me, behind her Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson. Pansy and I stand up, her parents rushing past my mother to pull her aside and demand to know what's going on. I watch them warily for a few moments, seeing an irritated look on Mr. Parkinson's face while Pansy sighs in frustration and furiously wipes at a tear that drips to her cheek. She makes eye contact with me, rolls her eyes with a tiny smile, and looks back away.</p><p>I turn my head slightly to look at Blaise with Ms. Zabini, sharing a bench. She sits in the center of it, clearly trying to talk to him, while he sits at the absolute end of it, refusing to look at her while responding with one word to her each query. I quickly realize why he's being so cold. There's a massive, glittering diamond on her left ring finger that blinds me when the light hits it just right.</p><p>And then I turn to look at my mother, seeing the panicked look on her face as if it's <em>me</em> hospitalized in the floor of St. Mungo's meant for long-term, permanent injuries, as if <em>I</em> for some reason ran away to the Ministry, got caught in some attack, and got injured.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>There's been an attack on the Ministry.</p><p>I furrow my eyebrows at my mother standing a few feet in front of me, her watery blue eyes glancing between mine. And then I look over her shoulder, spotting the hallway empty, glance over my shoulder, seeing only a nurse pushing a cart behind the Parkinsons.</p><p>"Where is he?" I ask faintly, fearing I already know the answer.</p><p>"Come, Draco," Mother says in a steady voice, though her watery eyes almost seem to ripple as they glance between mine. Worry lines appear all over her face: between her brows, beside the corners of her lips. She holds a hand out to me. "Let's get a cup of coffee each upstairs and talk."</p><p>"Mum?"</p><p>"Come," she says simply, her hand reaching out to grasp mine tightly.</p><p>My throat tightens as she pulls me into her side, her hand squeezing mine tightly like I'll disappear if she lets go while we walk on towards the lift. She reaches forward to press the button, but before her fingertips can even graze it, the doors slide open to reveal two women and a man. The women wear small pins on their chests indicating that they're Ministry workers, whereas the man has a camera hanging from his neck and carries a notepad and quill.</p><p>My mother freezes when she sees them. They step out and almost passed by us without really caring for who is there, but then one of the women, dressed in a striped suit and with her hair pinned back simply, glances at us and freezes halfway out the elevator. Her hand then pushes against the side of it so that it doesn't close at her, and without blinking or glancing away from us, she snaps her fingers at the other two. They, a few feet ahead, turn around in confusion, and then they look at us, realization dawning on their faces.</p><p>My heart thumps wildly while Mother gives my hand another tight squeeze before letting go and discreetly stepping forward, her arm coming in front of me.</p><p>"Narcissa Malfoy?" the woman in the suit questions, green eyes boring into my mother's. "Mrs. Malfoy, that <em>is</em> you, isn't it?"</p><p>The two others come towards us, a man in a bowler hat and a woman in royal green robes holding a thick folder of files.</p><p>"That would be my name," Mother says calmly while I reach up to clasp her shoulder. Her frame trembles slightly while her hand in front of me curls into a fist and then gently unfurls. "Can I help you three, somehow?"</p><p>"Can I ask what you're doing here, Mrs. Malfoy?" the woman asks suspiciously, turning her chin up haughtily while the man with the notepad and bowler hat scribbles something with his quill. "Four in the morning, in a hospital?"</p><p>"My son is visiting his friend," she says coolly, nodding slightly back at me.</p><p>The woman's swampy green eyes dart at me. "Draco Malfoy, am I correct?"</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"Don't talk to her, dear," Mother says quietly, making my lips twitch slightly, threatening to turn up. I just nod as she says, "Yes, that is his name. Do you have any other questions for me? Or can I go get a cup of coffee, now?"</p><p>The woman's eyes narrow in anger, her nostrils flaring as she lets out a sharp exhale. "It's an odd hour for your son to visit his friend."</p><p>"She was only just admitted."</p><p>"Does she have a name?"</p><p>"Celeste Zabini," Mother says simply, a jolt running through my body as I turn my head to gaze with a deep frown at the door to her room, itching to walk away, get out of this conversation, get out of the damning conversation my mother wants to have with me upstairs, and wait with my best friends to see if she's okay. "You might know her father."</p><p>"Yes, Alaric and I occasionally cross paths," the woman sniffs.</p><p>"Wonderful. Have a great morning, th—"</p><p>"Please, ma'am, you should know that I'm <em>quite </em>important in the Ministry. It's in your best interest that you allow me to talk to you."</p><p>I scoff, feeling my neck burn while I look at this woman incredulously, wondering who the hell she is to act like <em>this</em> towards my mother.</p><p>Mother turns her chin up, watery eyes freezing over as she looks at this woman with well hidden disdain. "Go on, then."</p><p>"Are you aware of <em>why</em> Alaric and his daughter are in here, ma'am?" the woman asks, stepping forward.</p><p>I clench my jaw, instantly pushing my mother's arm out of my way and stepping back up beside her, seeing something falter in the woman's eyes before that ferocity is back as I loom over her by at least a foot. She's not very tall. Mother grabs the back of my robes, trying to pull me back again, but I refuse to move.</p><p>"There's been an attack on the Ministry," Mother says. "It's a shame his daughter somehow got caught in the crossfire."</p><p>The woman lets out an exasperated huff, her hand keeping the elevator open slipping to her side and forming a fist while she spits out, "Are you aware that—?"</p><p>A loud noise and a blinding light interrupts her, making all three of us flinch as we turn our heads to look at the man who is busy watching a picture slip out of his camera. I scowl at him before looking back at the woman.</p><p>She shakes her head. "Are you aware that your husband is currently in Ministry custody for perpetrating the attack on—?"</p><p>Another flash.</p><p>"Stop that!" the woman spits, the man hardly looking up at her while I fist my hands and hold back the urge to wreck his camera. "Merlin's <em>b—</em>oh...Mrs. Malfoy, are you aware that your husband is in custody for perpetrating the attack on the Ministry? On—On—" The woman sputters, her face growing red. "On <em>You-Know-Who's orders!</em>"</p><p>My heart stops.</p><p>I had no idea Father was planning this. I have no idea if Mother even knew. I suppose realization clicked when she showed up here alone, but to hear it...to hear that he's staged this attack and been caught...</p><p>I wonder if Aunt Bellatrix had—</p><p>Of course she did. She probably stormed in there eager to do His bidding.</p><p>"Yes, I am aware," Mother says in a voice so calm, I look at her blankly to see if I've heard her right. The woman malfunctions slightly, sputtering and turning red and an eye twitching, while the woman holding the files sighs impatiently and the man with the hat clicks a few more pictures. "A Ministry worker came by my home to inform me about an hour ago. Surely a woman as <em>astute</em> and <em>important </em>as you would know <em>that</em>."</p><p>The woman goes red. "Now, Mrs. Mal—"</p><p>"If you wish to keep questioning me, I'd prefer you take me into custody rather than corner me in the hallway of a hospital," Mother says smoothly, almost like she's bored.</p><p>"<em>Mrs. Malf—!</em>"</p><p>"And if you're going to arrest me and take me into custody, I'd appreciate it if you had a reason to. Now, will you allow my son and I to go purchase some coffee? We'd like to be awake to hear how his poor friend is doing."</p><p>The woman stares indignantly at my mother for a few moments until the other woman comes up and tugs on her arm. "Come, Calla," the woman in green sighs irritably. "I didn't wake up at two in the morning to watch you interrogate this woman."</p><p>The woman in the striped suit sniffs at my mother before turning in her heel and stalking off down the hallway, leaving my mother and I standing by the elevator, both stunned.</p><p>"Mum—"</p><p>"Come, Draco, <em>please</em>," she sighs softly, reaching over to press the button for the elevator again. "I can't have this conversation without coffee."</p><p>—</p><p>I walk out the elevator and down the hall towards Celeste's room, feeling my body trembling and my eyes burning as I do so. Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson seem to have left. Mother was going to stay, but after that conversation, I told her to go back to the manor get some sleep. I was surprised when she listened. Maybe she just needed to hear someone else tell her that.</p><p>"Hey," I say quietly, sinking down onto the bench, this time finding Blaise sitting with Pansy, him between us and his mother out of sight. "Anything, uh—" I clear my throat when I hear my voice start to shake, glancing away as my throat closes. "Anything new?"</p><p>They're deathly quiet.</p><p>I frown, turning my head back to look at them, taking in the way they're seated. Blaise is leaning into Pansy who has one arm wrapped around the back of his shoulders and her other hand squeezing his tightly, his head leaning down to rest in the crook of her neck while she murmurs softly. Her brown eyes snap open to look at me, garishly red, cheeks sticky with tears.</p><p>"They won't—um, they won't let us—let us see her, still, I don't—I don't know why," she stumbles with her words, her voice growing slightly choked as Blaise lets out a strangled noise. "But the Healers said that she's—" She cuts herself off as her eyes well up and spill over, squeezing shut as she buries her face in Blaise's shoulder and shakes softly.</p><p>I go still, watching in just pure shock as my two best friends embrace each other, shaking on a bench in a hospital while crying almost silently, my gut wrenching.</p><p>Celeste is dead.</p><p>And I don't know who's killed her, but it's my father's fault.</p><p>Papers were already out with the news by the time my mother and I finished talking. I bout one on my way up. The Minister has admitted that the Dark Lord had returned, and—</p><p>And the Second Wizarding War has begun.</p><p>I turn my head towards the door to her room, my chest growing tight, my pulse thumping quick and erratically and overwhelming my system while I fight for a full lungful of air, desperate for some sweet oxygen to coax my muscles into relaxing while they just grow tighter and tighter until my throat is closed off and my fists painfully curl so my nails dig into my palms.</p><p>I blink, and when I open my eyes, it's just white hospital lights in this stupid hallway, but my mind replays a memory from not too long ago.</p><p>I think about beautiful, hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind pianos, complete with horned snakes and serpents crawling over the carved wood, ivory keys that are slightly yellowed but in otherwise pristine condition. A melancholy melody and a painstaking harmony that my fingers make while I close my eyes and feel her staring at me. I can't see her, I can't see if she's looking at me with a bored or annoyed expression, but I can feel the way she watches me like she's completely enthralled, not just by my music, but by me. And I think about touching fingers on those ivory keys, freezing like I've been petrified into stone.</p><p>I think about the softest kiss I've ever shared with anyone, a hand cupping the side of my face like she doesn't want to break me, a kiss so gently passionate I am <em>glad</em> when she bumps into the piano and pulls away, because if it went on for a second longer, I <em>would</em> break under her touch, and it would be up to her to put me back together.</p><p>I think about her, and I wonder how I ever hated her.</p><p>The door swings open, jolting me back to reality as it slams angrily against the wall as if it's tired of being locked shut. I become so aware of how it's a little damp under my eyes, quickly and discreetly dabbing at them while turning to look.</p><p>"I am so sorry for your loss, ma'am," a Healer's voice comes from inside as Mrs. Zabini strides out, a look of fury on her face.</p><p>"My daughter is <em>not</em> dead!" she snaps, whipping around abruptly. I'm struck by just how <em>torn</em> she looks. I don't think I've ever seen her express more than mild disdain or amusement, but her eyes are narrowed and furiously black, her dark skin is reddened in anger and frustration, and her lips scowl deeply. "You call yourself a practitioner of magical healing? What a damn <em>fool</em> you are if you can't see magic right in front of your fucking eyes! My daughter is <em>not</em> dead," she seethes, pointing a finger at the Healer who has calmly walked into the doorway, though his hands quiver as he holds them up to placate her.</p><p>He sighs softly. "Ma'am—"</p><p>"Don't you 'ma'am' me," she spits, stepping forward closer to him while he shifts one foot back. "She's not dead."</p><p>"Please, she doesn't have a pulse, she doesn't have a trace of magic lingering in her, she—"</p><p>"She will wake up," she interrupts in a cold, stony voice, her hand dropping, her lips reverting to a firm line, her eyes glaring harshly.</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"She just needs some time."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oop</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. A FRENCH BAKERY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>June 21st, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Green turns to white rather quickly.</p><p>It's a little confusing at first. It's <em>all</em> white, like my eyes are closed but I'm not seeing black instead. It's all white. I try to lift up an arm, feel my face, kick a leg maybe, but it's like I'm not there at all. I'm part of the white nothing, a faint buzzing sound near the back of my head. Or maybe that's silence, so deafeningly loud. Not like the kind of silence when it's the dead of night and the house is still. The kind of silence where there's simply nothing, no house, no night, no air, no me. I simply don't exist, and then I wonder, if I don't exist, how can I think?</p><p>My vision slowly clears. Everything is still white, but I can make out shadows, the outlines of some objects. I'd squint if I could, but I'm not even there, and then—</p><p>It's like I come crashing.</p><p>Suddenly, I can feel my feet planted on the ground. I can feel my finger tips brushing against the sides of my thighs. I can feel my curls, knotted and a wreck, tickling the back of my neck. I don't feel my heart pumping in my chest. I don't feel my blood rushing. I bite down on the inside of my lip and feel nothing.</p><p>I'm sitting in a bakery. It's all white, every little detail from the tables and chairs to the ceiling and floor to the baked goods inside the display case. It's entirely empty, entirely white, and entirely familiar. I realize with a start, gasping softly, that it's <em>the</em> bakery, the one in France that my father and I would sit in for hours on the days he didn't have work. We'd order cakes and pastries and read books and talk about anything and everything that came to our minds. And the days that he couldn't sit in there with me, I'd sit there anyway. They had a special booth in the back reserved just for my father and me, a perfect little corner with a window for me to see the lazy street outside, feel the sunset wash on me, and pour through books while my coffee gets cold.</p><p><em>I'm dead</em>, I realize.</p><p>And I don't gasp, I don't jolt with the realization, I don't crumple over and descend into a great fit of tears. I don't despair over all the lost time, all the lost opportunities, all the lost adventures. I sit there blankly, staring at the little wooden signs, white instead of brown, that typically have printed on them the daily specials.</p><p>The silence hurts my ears. I lift my hand up, knowing I'm brushing it against my ear. I barely feel it, a whisper of a touch. I bite my lip again. This time I feel it, but only hardly, like I've had an Anesthetizing Spell placed over me.</p><p>
  <em>How am I still sentient if I'm dead?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Is there an afterlife? Is this the afterlife?</em>
</p><p>I glance around the empty, silent, blank bakery. It's a solace, a comfort, and I couldn't think of a better place to wake up once I've died. But it's eerie like this.</p><p>
  <em>It's a rather lonely afterlife.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe this is hell. An eternity of loneliness.</em>
</p><p>I look down at my hands, relieved to see them dark as always, relieved to see my skirt dark, my sweater grey, almost laughing when I still see the badge from the Ministry my chest. Losing every hint of a smile on my face when I see my locket.</p><p><em>I guess the whole 'burning in hell' thing isn't true. That's fine. I'm not a fan of burning</em>.</p><p>I think maybe I should be more upset. I should be terrified of the prospect of an eternity with just myself and silence, stuck in my favorite place on the planet that's been bleached white. I should cry, I should scream, I should beg for the higher forces to give me a second chance. I'll do better, I'll be better, all that.</p><p>The dying isn't fun, but the death...</p><p>It's calm. Death is so oddly calm when it's your own.</p><p>I wonder what they'll do with my body. Will they cremate me? Or give me a burial? They'll probably give me a burial. I remember attending my maternal grandmother's burial. I was young at the time, six. It was while we were staying in Brazil, but we went to France to give her a proper burial where she was born. We actually went to go see her before she died. I remember, it was the second day of the trip. I wasn't allowed in her room, so I only saw her alive once in my life to hug her when I arrived.</p><p>Something in my head, stored in the furthest filing cabinets, unlocks. A memory.</p><p>The second day of the trip, or really that night, I was supposed to be in bed, but I couldn't sleep. I got up, snuck down the hall towards my grandmother's room, and leaned in to listen and peek through the crack.</p><p>She was laying in bed, looking like she might crumble to dust in seconds. Her skin was dark, darker than my own and my mother's, as dark and warm and protective as my father's. It was wrinkled all over. Her eyes would hardly open, but when they did, they were dark and impenetrable even when it seemed the slightest nudge would break her. She was frail, but her eyes were strong.</p><p>There was a Healer by her side to ease her to her death painlessly. My mother was at her other side, kneeling next to the bed gripping her hand tightly and pressing it up to her mouth. I think she was crying. No, as the memory loosens itself from the depths of my brain, I realize she definitely was crying. Sobbing, weeping, begging. My aunt was sitting at the edge of the bed, a protective arm around her mother's shoulder.</p><p>Blaise wasn't there. He was with his father. He still had a father at that point.</p><p>My father was standing beside my mother, but then he knelt down beside her, one hand in my grandmother's arm, the other in my mother's back.</p><p>They were all whispering, but I could catch a few words.</p><p>"I can't do this without you," my mother whispered.</p><p>"You can. My mother did it. You <em>can</em>," my grandmother croaked in a feeble voice, her chest deflating and eyes falling shut as if that little expended her energy.</p><p>That response had struck me odd, and as I recall it now, it still does. Why didn't she say that <em>she</em> did it, so therefore my mother could too?</p><p>I remember turning away from the door before she actually died. I didn't see it. I didn't even hear it, because it was all so painless and quiet. All I remember hearing is my mother's weeping pleas.</p><p>The next time I saw her, she was laying in a box wearing a long white dress, clutching flowers in her lifeless hands. They covered her face with makeup to hide the toll of age-old disease, and they made her look youthful so you could pretend for just a second that she was sleeping. But then you notice the wrinkles, the grey and white in her thinned hair, and her eyes unmoving behind her closed lids.</p><p>I hope they cremate me. And I don't want them to put me in some pretty white dress.</p><p><em>I wonder if I can eat in the afterlife</em>, I think, staring at the display case housing tons of little white treats. <em>Unless this is hell. Everything probably tastes like warm beer and gasoline.</em></p><p>I don't mind it here. Maybe I'll go crazy after a week of solitude, but for now, I don't mind it.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>I snap my head forward</p><p>He's sitting across from me in the booth, looking unreal and <em>too </em>real to <em>be</em> real. He never leans back when he sits, he never rests his back against the booth or the chair or the seat. He sits straight. Not rigid, but straight, maybe even leaning forward slightly like he's completely enthralled by what the person opposite him is saying.</p><p>His hands are folded on the table, strong and big and dark, covered in rings and tiny scars just like all over his face. They twitch slightly when I look at them. And he's wearing what I saw him wearing back on the earthly plain. Work robes, work clothes, through they're all clean and finely pressed. He doesn't look like he's been through a battle. He's an endless force, strong and sturdy with broad shoulders and a muscled jaw.</p><p>His scars dance on his face with ever clench of his jaw or slight shift on his mouth. They're pale in stark contrast of deep skin, curving around his nose and lips and eyes, slitting his brows and staining his skin. His hazel eyes look at me carefully, peering at me like he's seeing into my head and pondering what makes me who I am, dissecting me with his scrutinizing eyes, so thoughtful and ever a comfort. I just didn't think I'd see them here.</p><p>"Am I dead?" I ask quietly, tilting my head at him.</p><p>Father smiles softly. "In a way," he says, flicking his hand in the air. Two cups of steaming coffee in white mugs appear on the white table before us.</p><p>"Are <em>you</em> dead?" I then ask in a feeble voice. My heart would pound wildly if I could feel it.</p><p>He glances up at me while lifting his mug up to his lips, taking a soft sip and exhaling at the heat. "Yes, my dear," he responds softly, gesturing for me to drink my own coffee. "I am."</p><p>"Oh," I choke out, my trembling hands reaching out to grasp at the mug, though I can't find the strength to bring it up to my lips. "H-How? Was it after Bellatrix...after she used the curse on me?"</p><p>He shakes his head, a serene smile on his lips while he takes another sip of coffee. "You know something nice about the afterlife? The coffee is exactly how you want it. Of course, <em>this</em> isn't the afterlife."</p><p>"It's not?" I frown, choosing to push aside for a moment the fact that he's ignored my precious question.</p><p>"I've studied death for many years, Celeste," Father says in a quiet voice, his eyes on the steaming liquid in his mug. "I never fully understood it, as I expect nobody <em>ever</em> will fully understand it. But I came to learn a few things about it. Death can be a comfort, Celeste, if we let it be." His eyes lift up to mine as he lets his lips and hesitates slightly before adding, "It's the moment that we try to <em>defy</em> and <em>deny </em>death that it becomes painful."</p><p>"Dad?" I question, my breathing shortening as I look at him in confusion.</p><p>"There are rules to nature. Sometimes you can bend them, but you can never break them. All those who try to break them will meet their maker in the end. Nothing lasts forever," he says sternly, looking at me like he wants me to remember that, "and especially not life."</p><p>He takes a long sip of the coffee, eyes closed like he never wants to open them again. "Now," he sighs, setting the mug back down, "your mother and I realized this. We realized we couldn't break the rules of death and nature, but we also knew that we <em>had</em> to find a way to bend them. For <em>you</em>."</p><p>"What are you talking about?" my voice breaks, my fingers tremble, my nonexistent heart shatters.</p><p>"I told you, didn't I?" he asks with a smile, though his brows furrowed gently. "They say that love is the only shield to the Killing Curse. Pure, self-sacrificing love. There's nothing else in the world more powerful, more <em>eternal</em>. Love and death, they're both the two eternal powers. Sometimes they battle each other, and sometimes they walk hand in hand."</p><p>I freeze.</p><p>"They can be generous, they can be understanding, but their rules will never break. So if a Killing Curse is destined to take a life, then some soul will have to part from the earth," he says, faltering slightly as he places his palm an inch above his mug to feel the steam. "There is no exception. Someone <em>will</em> die. Someone <em>had</em> to. But..." his eyes lift slowly to mine, "...it didn't <em>have</em> to be <em>you</em>."</p><p>I gasp wildly, desperately for a lungful of breath, feeling my eyes sting while I choke, "Please, <em>please</em>, don't tell me you're saying—"</p><p>"I love you very much, Celeste," he says calmly, pushing his coffee aside to twist a ring off his finger, that third ring that I couldn't recognize. "I'm dead now, but soon you'll wake up and be living proof that I'll <em>always</em> love you very much."</p><p>"Father, <em>stop</em> it, y—"</p><p>"Take your necklace off," he says, looking at me patiently.</p><p>My lip trembles as I stare at him incredulously, waiting for him to say more. Then my fumbling hands reach up to unclasp my locket, hold it tightly and slowly place it in his out stretched hand. I watch as he takes his ring and threads the chain through it, picking the locket up so that his golden rings hangs beside the skull with all the snakes. He then reaches his hand back out.</p><p>"Put it back on."</p><p>I listen, reaching out to take the locket from his hand, sobbing softly when I feel his warm fingers drop it into my palm. I struggle to clasp it back around my neck, vision blurring as I glance up at my all too calm father.</p><p>It's as he's pulling his hand away that I notice something on his finger where his ring was. I squint at it, trying to see what it is.</p><p>"Celeste," Father says softly, making me look back up at his warm eyes, freezing when I see them water slightly, "I wish I had the time to teach you everything I know. There's a locked drawer in my study. The ring should open it. It's filled with my memories. I want you to look through them all."</p><p>My mouth opens and shuts with nothing coming out. "But," I finally force out, "but you can't just—why are you acting like I'm—? I can stay here," I exhale, looking at him pleadingly. "I can stay here. With you."</p><p>He smiles almost ironically. "Death comes for us all, but it doesn't want you yet. I know it's tempting now that you're here. It's a comforting notion, but Celeste, we can't take the easy way out. Living a life full of love is <em>so</em> much harder than walking willingly into the arms of death, but death becomes so much sweeter at the end of it."</p><p>"Why can't I stay?" I ask in a cracked voice.</p><p>"Because you need to wake up," he says gently.</p><p>His next words sound whispered directly in my ear, crisp and booming and jarring.</p><p>"Wake up."</p><p>—</p><p>My eyes snap open.</p><p>I'm inside a cold, metal box.</p><p>I scream.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh hey she's not dead lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0045"><h2>45. AN APPETITE FOR TOUCH</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>draco visits celeste</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>July 5th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, <em>Dracooo</em>," Aunt Bellatrix giggles down the hallway, making me set my book down on my lap as I hear her approach my door. "I'm coming in!"</p><p>"I—oh, okay," I mumble as the door swings open to reveal my aunt, her crazy black curls falling into her face while she dances her way into my room, humming and laughing under her breath and carelessly dragging her hands over the carvings of my piano before seating herself in the armchair across from me by my bookshelf. "Good morning, Auntie."</p><p>"Good <em>morning</em>, Draco," she cheers back, her black eyes dropping to the book on my lap. "Reading, were you?"</p><p>"Yes," I say, clearing my throat while lifting the book up to slide my bookmark in place, glancing down at Celeste's scribbles in the margins before closing the book.</p><p>"Your father always read. Always had a book shoved up his nose distracting him, but I preferred to keep my eyes out of the pages. I suppose that's why he got caught and I didn't!" she laughs joyously. "He's got <em>so</em> many distractions. He wasn't fully devoted."</p><p>I smile tightly.</p><p>"We missed you at breakfast, dearie," she coos, her lips forming a soft pout while she blinks at me quickly with those wide eyes.</p><p>"Oh, I wasn't—I wasn't feeling too hungry," I say quickly, my stomach twisting at the mere <em>thought</em> of attending mealtimes with <em>Him</em> sitting at the head of the table where my father used to.</p><p>They didn't give him a trial.</p><p>Maybe it's because he's been caught once and got let go, and now that he's been caught again, they realize they got it right the last time. But they just didn't give him a trial. They didn't give us a chance to visit him, though they let Mother speak to him for five minutes before throwing him into Azkaban to rot, all because of stupid fucking Potter and that old man Dumbledore. He'd be free and sitting in his own chair if those two delusional little fucks didn't exist.</p><p>The Dark Lord wasn't happy with him. Father was one of his closest aids, a right hand to him, and this mission to receive the prophecy as Aunt Bellatrix filled in for me was <em>his</em> responsibility. How was it his fault if Potter fucking broke it? He didn't make Scarface a clumsy little shit. But now my family has gone from His closest confidant to scum. He's furious beyond measure with my father, and maybe Father is lucky to be locked away, because at least he doesn't have to deal with it the way Mother and I do. Father and ten others Death Eaters were captured, and now that the Malfoy name is tarnished in His eyes, he's using our home as his base. A punishment.</p><p>He took my father's manor, my father's wand, and my father's seat.</p><p>I glance across the room where my father's serpent head walking stick leans against the piano. At least I'm left with that.</p><p>"You didn't have dinner either, Draco," my aunt simpers, tilting her head at me. "You're <em>really</em> not hungry?"</p><p>"Haven't worked up much of an appetite, I suppose," I say quietly, avoiding her eyes.</p><p>Now that my father is more or less out of the picture, Aunt Bellatrix has become the right hand to The Dark Lord, a position shared only by my Potions Professor—or, as I've heard recently, my soon to be Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. I know Snape has been vying for that position for long. Now he has both that and the highest position one can have as a Death Eater.</p><p>"Do you know what it means to be a Death Eater, my love?" she asks in a sweet voice, an almost coy, babyish voice, her black eyes widening at me while her lips turn up in a smile that doesn't reach further than her mouth.</p><p>"Excuse me?" I choke out, snapping my head to look at her straight.</p><p>"I doubt you do," she muses, twirling a curl around her finger while eyeing me up and down. "No, your father probably never bothered to. It's honestly a wonder he lasted this long. Being a Death Eater, Draco," she says, leaning back comfortably in the armchair and swinging one leg up to rest over the arm, "means a lifetime of service to the Dark Lord. It means enforcing values and ridding the earth of the <em>dirt</em>. You know," she says, casually pulling the sleeve of her black dress up to reveal the skull and snake dancing in her forearm, a sense of cold dread washing over my body like ice water at the sight, "there's more to it than just having the Dark Mark. Not every Death Eater—no <em>most</em> Death Eaters don't even have it. To have it is a sign that you're of utmost importance to Him, that you're in his closest circle."</p><p>I swallow thickly. "I thought the hall have the Mark," I say when she looks at me expectantly, clearly awaiting a response.</p><p>"Ah! Of course you did. No, they don't. It would be foolish, honestly, because then all the Death Eaters would know who everyone else is, and if anyone isn't loyal, then they could easily turn in the others. No, no, it would be easy for traitors to be traitorous," she shakes her head with a sly grin. "Having the mark is a symbol of high status in the hierarchy. It's a dangerous burden, but <em>I</em> welcomed it with open arms," she says proudly, lifting a brow at me. "Would <em>you</em>, dearie?"</p><p>I open and close my mouth, unsure of what to say while my heart pounds wildly in my chest and my head goes light. "Of—Of course," I say finally, my throat hurting when I swallow thickly. Just months ago, I was wishing to get involved, wishing my father would tell me things. Now I see where my father has gone, I see what it's like to have Him in my house. I'm not as eager.</p><p>"You don't <em>have</em> to have the Mark to be important. I mean, of course, your mother is less than nothing to him now," she snorts while I clench my fists tightly, "but <em>before </em>your father screwed up so royally, she was on par as him and I. Those who aren't as important get to wear Death Eater robes, but they don't get Marked. Honestly, I'd be embarrassed."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>"As for the rest, they're all the just useless but loyal crowds. The Dark Lord doesn't bother dealing with them directly, because why should he? No, they get orders from his most trusted supporters. Would you like something like that, Draco, dear? Giving orders for him? Or, <em>oh</em>, this is my favorite—<em>Imperiusing</em> them to do His bidding?"</p><p>I press my mouth in a firm line, my eyebrows and shoulders tense. I dont lie when I say, "I'd do anything he asked of me," because I would.</p><p>She smiles at me brightly, her long lashes fluttering while she tilts her head to rest on her shoulder, a hand picking at her hair. "So how's your little friend going?" she asks with a soft giggle. "What's her name? <em>Celeste Zabini?</em> Have you seen her since she died?"</p><p>My breath gets caught in my throat from how easily she says that.</p><p>"No," I say quietly.</p><p>"<em>No?</em>" she preens. "Didn't she wake up three days later? Poor thing. Imagine waking up in a metal box in the morgue."</p><p><em>Imagine dying and waking up to find out your father is dead</em>.</p><p>"No, I—I haven't seen her yet," I stumble through my words, my nails digging into the arm of my chair as I glance around a bit anxiously. She's been out of the hospital for a few days, but I haven't seen her, I have written to her. I couldn't work up the nerve. I'm sure she doesn't want to see me, the nephew of the woman who killed her, or the son of the man who instigated the attack. I can't even imagine what it's like being her right now.</p><p>"Well, why not?"</p><p>"Well—she, uh—her cousin," I say hesitantly, "her cousin wrote to me and told me she's not really ready to see anyone yet. I mean, she did die, and her father is..." I trail off.</p><p>Aunt Bellatrix pouts. "Really?" she coos, her hand suddenly fishing into the side of her dress while I clear my throat and glance away. She pulls out a bit of parchment and unfolds it. "Because I found <em>this</em> in the trash, and apparently her cousin, <em>Blaise</em>, wrote to you asking if you and the Parkinson girl will come help him get her out of bed. You're lying now, Draco?"</p><p>I grit my teeth slightly, wondering what she's doing going through my trash. "I must have misread," I say, watching her toss the letter down onto the coffee table with my heart thudding.</p><p>"Yes, well, you should hurry along, or you'll be late. You have that wedding today, don't you? She might need help from her friends getting ready. Oh, dearie, would you mind telling her I meant no offense, by the way?" Aunt Bellatrix pouts softly, her long, yellowed nail trailing down her cheekbone. "I didn't realize she was one of us when I cast the curse!"</p><p>"Of course, Aunt Bella," I force out, darting my eyes away.</p><p>"I'll let you get ready then and go tell your mother you'll be at the Zabinis. Take your suit with you, your friend said to just get ready there," my aunt sighs softly as she swings her leg back to join her other and then stands up, brushing her frilly black dress. "Oh, and Draco?"</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"Don't forget to say goodbye to our guest before you leave. You're the <em>man of the household</em> now," she giggles with delight, "so don't be rude."</p><p>—</p><p>He isn't there when I leave.</p><p>Obviously relieved, I just grab onto my garment bag and use the Floo Network to get over to the Zabini manor, scaring Ms. Zabini so badly she screams and drops the vase she's holding.</p><p>"Oh, I'm so sorry," I cringe slightly, rushing over to help her pick up the broken glass, but she just laughs breathily and flicks her wand so that the glass mends itself and the vase floats back to where it belongs on a side table.</p><p>"Oh, don't worry," she says, tucking her wand away. "You never responded to Blaise, so we weren't sure if you were—Come," she shakes her head, leading me towards the stairs. "They're all upstairs," she says with a slight smile as I step in front of her and thank her quietly before starting up. "See if you can help them get my niece out of bed, okay? I miss her."</p><p>"Of course," I nod, already halfway up the stairs while she retreats back to the living room when I stop, hesitate, and then ask, "How's, um...How's she doing? I mean <em>really?</em>"</p><p>Colette Zabini looks conflicted, her eyebrows furrowing and her lips seemingly undecided on whether to frown in concern or smile to placate me. "She—She won't eat," is all she says, and then she hurries away.</p><p>I frown after her before shaking my head slightly and continuing up the stairs. The entire manor is accented with gold—gold lines on the trims of the walls, golden paintings on the ceiling above, golden frames for the portraits of Zabini women lining the walls, each with their chins tilted up regally and their dark eyes watching me quietly as I pass by like I've done so many times in the last seventeen years.</p><p>I pass by the master bedroom right as it swings open, cursing softly when it nearly hits me. Out walks Ms. Zabini's latest conquest—an old man who smells very strongly of honey. According to Blaise, the man pretty much only speaks Japanese and very minimal English. And he's rich. Very rich.</p><p>"Sorry," I murmur, sidestepping him while he nods and says something back, walking off the way I've come.</p><p>I stop by Blaise's room, knocking on it and leaning in to listen for a response. When silence greets me, I sigh heavily and realize they're likely in Celeste's room. My pulse pounds heavily as I walk at a much slower pace further down the hall, both eager to see her, to see if she's okay, and dreading the thought of her eyes landing in my face and filling with anger, hate, repulsion. I wouldn't blame her if they did.</p><p>She's died and come back to life. There's only one other person in history who lived through the Killing Curse, but he wasn't dead for <em>three days</em>.</p><p>I stop at her door. It's closed, so I reach out and knock on it three times.</p><p>"Who is it?" Pansy's voice calls out. Her sister is getting married today, so she should probably be in her own manor helping get ready for the wedding. I'm not surprised she takes more priority in this.</p><p>"Draco," I call out in a low voice.</p><p>A brief silence.</p><p>"Come in," Blaise says after a moment.</p><p>I hesitate slightly, realizing this is my last chance to leave. But I can't just leave, not like that, so I twist the doorknob and push the door open, stepping into Celeste's room and closing the door behind me. I lean against it, my eyes glancing around at the night sky painted on her ceiling, finding it remarkably similar to the galaxy in my watch, looking at her pristine desk and spotless floors, and finally looking at her bed.</p><p>Blaise sits at the foot of it, his hand on her knee from over the thick and many blankets she wears despite it being warm and July. Pansy sits against the headboard right next to her, slouching slightly to place a hand on her arm while she mumbles things I can't really hear.</p><p>Blaise looks up at me, glancing between my eyes. I wonder if he and Pansy know what happened at the Ministry, if Celeste told them who killed her.</p><p>Fuck. She was <em>dead</em>.</p><p>I spent three days thinking she was dead. In all honesty, I can't remember what those three days were like. I slept through most of it, spent most of my time up in my room with that bottle of whiskey I stole from my parents a little while back and occasionally picking at the food the House-Elves would bring up. I don't remember much else. I don't remember feeling anything. It's a small blur from between when we were told she was dead and then when we were told that she was screaming in her steel box in the morgue to be let out.</p><p>She got out by magic. She didn't have her wand on her body.</p><p>"Celeste, you don't have to come to the wedding," Pansy whispers softly, laying down fully and wrapping an arm around Celeste from over the blankets. "I'll skip it with you. But just get out of bed, baby, brush your teeth. Have some breakfast. Please?"</p><p>No response.</p><p>I push off the door, feeling my hands tremble so I shove them into the pockets of my pants. I quietly take a few steps closer, craning my neck to just get a look at her, but she's just a bundle of blankets. All I can see of her is a peek of her messy curls, frizzy and knotted and nowhere near as beautiful as they usually are. She's curled up around herself, her back facing me and front facing the window. She's silent. Unmoving.</p><p>"Cel, I brought breakfast up for you," Blaise says, glancing over at her nightstand where I see a plate filled with all kinds of foods. "You don't have to go downstairs. You can eat right here, just eat <em>something.</em>"</p><p>Still no response. No sound except for a soft sigh from Blaise before her quietly slips off the bed and walks over to me.</p><p>"Hey," I murmur as he approaches, taking in the heavy bags under his tired black eyes. "I'm so sorry about your unc—"</p><p>"It's fine," he interrupts, but he lets me pull him in for a loose hug.</p><p>I don't <em>do</em> hugs, I don't do affectionate, physical touch if it isn't sexual or unavoidable, or maybe if I'm drunk enough. I've hugged, and I mean really hugged, Pansy and Blaise only a few times in my life. He says it's fine, but he rests his head on my shoulder and let's out a heavy sigh while my arms squeeze around his.</p><p>"I'm used to losing all the father figures in my life," he quips in a dry, low voice, patting my shoulder and pulling away with a weak smirk that drops in half a second. "Anyway, at least it's not my father," he says, turning slightly look at Celeste with a worried frown. "I'm glad I was young. Look at her. I don't think she loved anyone in the world more than him."</p><p>I look at her as well, feeling something in my chest deflate as I watch Pansy rub her arm.</p><p>"Hey," I say softly, clenching my jaw as my irritation at myself bubbles up. "I'm sorry for not writing to you those three days—you know, when we thought she was—when she <em>was</em>..."</p><p>"Dead?" he supplies.</p><p>"Yeah...I'm sorry, I never stopped to think about how her cousin and <em>my</em> best friend might be..."</p><p>"She's alive, isn't she?" he says with a dry smile. "Don't worry about it."</p><p>She's alive.</p><p>I hesitate softly before asking the question that's been pounding in my head these past days. "How did she..?"</p><p>"Come back to life?" Blaise finishes softly, shaking his head. "I don't know. Her mother knows, I'm pretty sure, but she isn't..." He hesitates softly. "I haven't seen her around much, if I'm being honest. She checked in on Celeste the first two days, and when Celeste wouldn't even move...she just..."</p><p>"She won't even move?" I frown with a soft exhale through my nose. She was dead. She died and came back. She's allowed to stay in bed all day.</p><p>"She hasn't done anything. I'm not kidding, she's been in that same exact position since they discharged her from the hospital on the 26th. I haven't seen her eat a single bit of food, drink any water. My mother's been putting Sustenance Spells and Cleaning Charms on her, but they only work for so long," Blaise says hoarsely while I reach up to grip his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.</p><p>"She's grieving," I say quietly. "She's mourning." My pulse picks up as I close my eyes and try to imagine Celeste day in and day out for so many days just curled up in on herself, not moving a single muscle.</p><p>"She won't even speak. I..." Blaise inhales shakily, his hand gripping my arm for support while he clears his throat. "I don't know how to help her. We're gonna have to call a specialist or something. I brought the idea up, but her mother just shot it down."</p><p>"What did you do after your father had that accident?" I ask as we watch Pansy ease Celeste's blankets down a little to stroke her hair gently, careful not to break the curls that aren't already broken. "How did you mourn?"</p><p>Blaise laughs dryly. "I never really did. I mean, my mother never gave me a chance to. She never stopped and slow down, so I didn't get to either. She just..." Blaise trails off, shakes his head. He never talks about this. "It doesn't matter now. I don't know how to help her, D. Her mother should be here."</p><p>Pansy turns to look at us. She locks eye contact with me, waving me over with a small frown on her face.</p><p>I give Blaise one last pat on his back before walking forward and around the bed, my heart leaping up into my throat as I slowly make my way closer to her. My hands, shoved back into my pockets, jitter and tremble as I stop at her bedside, looking up at Pansy before slowly sitting down beside Celeste.</p><p>Her hair falls all over her face, so I pull a tentative hand out of my pocket and reach down, slowly pressing my knuckles to her cheek, waiting for her to flinch. Not a single muscle in her face even twitches. It's like she doesn't feel me, feel my hand as I carefully push her mangled curls out of her face, feeling her dark skin under my fingertips, noticing how they're dry. She hasn't even been <em>crying</em>.</p><p>"Is she asleep?" I whisper to Pansy while still looking down at Celeste, my fingers lingering just above her cheek.</p><p>"I don't think so," Pansy says with a heavy sigh. "She's just—She's just not being very responsive. I don't think she's asleep though. Cel, look who's here," Pansy says softly, propping herself up on one elbow from where she lays next to Celeste while Blaise walks back to sit near the edge of the bed. "It's your first time seeing her, right?"</p><p>A wave of guilt washes over me, though Pansy just looks at me casually. "Yeah," I admit.</p><p>"Celeste, Draco's here," Pansy says, "and he's gonna give you a lot of shit for not showering for a whole week, so <em>get up</em>. I'll help you shower babe, I just need you to get up."</p><p>Celeste's eyes open slightly when Pansy shakes her frame., her hair falling back over her face. I'm quick to push it away, frowning and tilting my head to look at her. Her eyes snap up to mine, and I freeze with my hand still on the side of her face. Her somber black eyes don't fill instantly with malice, hatred, fear, or disgust.</p><p>They look at me blankly, like she isn't really seeing me.</p><p>"Can you help me get her up?" Pansy asks with a soft grunt as she sits up and begins throwing the blankets off of Celeste's body.</p><p>Celeste instantly curls up even tighter around herself, her black eyes closing shut, her arms wrapped around her chest, her knees tucked in near her chin. She shivers violently, one of her hands digging into her arm harshly enough to draw blood, despite the warm summer breeze coming in through her window.</p><p>I glance up at Pansy in concern, seeing mild fright on her face, while Blaise is quick to move closer, his hands gently touching her arms and trying to pull her up.</p><p>Celeste shrieks softly, kicking him away while her eyes snap open. They're wide and crazed, filled with some frenzied fear as a choked noise leaver her throat. She scrambles away from him while he lifts two hands up to placate her, the panic clearly settling in on his face.</p><p>"We need to get her out of bed," Pansy mumbles, "but she won't let anyone touch her, not directly."</p><p>Celeste pants softly, slumped against her headboard while her now alert eyes watch Blaise carefully. Pansy reached out to touch her arm, but she instantly rips it away and sits up to reach for her blankets again.</p><p>I'm quick to stop her, reaching forward and clasping her wrist firmly but gently before she can grab the blankets and cover herself up again. She freezes instantly, her dark eyes set like unmoving stone on my hand wrapped around her wrist while her body starts trembling slightly. My pulse is erratic and wild, terrified to scare <em>her</em>, terrified she'll hate me,</p><p>Her other hand comes up to shove at my chest, making me lean back slightly. She moves to claw at my arm to make me let her go, but I calmly take her other wrist in my hand, forcing her to writhe her arms to try to escape my grasp while I frown down at her, my own breathing going hard because I don't want her to be <em>scared</em> of me or her cousin or her best friend.</p><p>I'm not used to seeing her weak like this. I'm used to seeing Celeste quick on her feet, quick with her tongue, armed with an arsenal of witty come backs that never fail to piss me off, constantly keeping me on my toes. She's supposed to be fearless. There aren't many reliable constants in my life, but one is that Celeste will always be insufferably stubborn and fearless. She's a force to be reckoned with, some who can whisper sweet words to lure you in and then turn you to stone should you anger her. This isn't natural.</p><p>Pansy and Blaise help me get her to her feet while she struggles against my hands. I wrap her arms around her and then wrap my arms around them to keep her from thrashing, her back pressing to my chest while she tries to kick her legs back, her devastating sobs cracking my heart just a little while I pick her up like that and carry her to her bathroom.  Pansy carries a chair into the bathroom for her to sit in and Blaise breaks down on her bed, his face buried in his palms and his breathing heavy.</p><p>After a couple seconds, though, she stops thrashing and goes limp. I frown and set her down on the counter while Pansy opens the shower door and positions the chair.</p><p>Celeste's head hangs forward while her shoulders shake slightly. I can hear her stomach rumbling violently, begging to be actually fed rather than simply kept satiated by Sustenance Spells. Her hands rest limply in her lap. When I reach forward to take them, she flinches slightly, but then I feel her squeeze mine tightly while Pansy clears her throat.</p><p>"Hey, babe, I don't really know how to wash your hair, but I'll try, okay? We can keep our clothes on, I don't mind getting wet. You think you can dry off and change on your own?" Pansy asks in a careful voice, her eyes briefly flickering down to our hands before looking back up to Celeste's face, a brush in her hands.</p><p>Celeste doesn't respond. Her eyes are fixated on her hands as I feel them squeezing mine in a pattern. Two short squeezes, and then a long squeeze. Two short squeezes, and then a long squeeze. She does it over and over, and I can feel her breath calmly slightly as the seconds pass.</p><p>I hear Pansy murmuring softly. "There isn't a towel...where are the towels? I'll be right back, you two," she says, and then she walks out and shuts the door just slightly.</p><p>I move to let go of Celeste's hands, but then she inhaled sharply. Instantly, I tighten my hold on them, mumbling, "Sorry, I—I won't—I won't let go."</p><p>My heart thunders at the feeling of her cold hands in mine, her thumbs reaching out to feel the rings on my knuckles while her fingers grip me tightly like she's afraid I'll disappear. I watch our hands carefully, and then I lift my eyes up to see her already looking at me, hair falling over her face. She looks ill, cheekbones more hollow than usual, skin purple and sunken under her eyes, lips bleeding and red from being gnawed on too harshly.</p><p>I squeeze her hands tightly while bringing them up so she knows I'm not letting go. Her eyes are so empty, hollow, like she's somewhere else. There's nothing in them but a touch of despair as I bring our hands up to carefully push her hair out of her face for the third time, brushing my knuckles against her cheeks and her jaw.</p><p>"Celeste," I say, faltering when my voice comes out croaky.</p><p>Her eyes don't light up, her eyebrows don't rise, her lips don't smile. She just stared right through me, giving no indication that she's heard me say her name.</p><p>I give her a small smile, my throat hurting when I say, "I'm glad you're not dead."</p><p>She gives me nothing, not a smile, not a laugh, not a glare, not a frown, but her hands squeeze mine tightly, her arms starting to shake. I place our hands back down in her lap when the door opens again and in walks Pansy with all the towels in the world.</p><p>"You can go now," she says with a soft sigh as she sets them down, "I can get her in the chair myself."</p><p>I watch her through the reflection of the mirror for a moment before looking at Celeste, seeing her face so empty, and loosening my hands. She grips mine tighter for a few seconds, but then she lets go, staring off at the wall while I walk away and back into her room, closing the door behind me.</p><p>Blaise is still sitting at the edge of her bed, his elbows resting on his knees and one hand covering his mouth as his eyes squeeze shut tightly.</p><p>"Alright?" I ask quietly, sitting down next to him.</p><p>He shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut tighter while his Adam's apple bobs. I wrap an arm around his shoulders.</p><p>"C'mere, then."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. STAIRCASES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste overhears something she probably shouldn't</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI<br/></em>
  </strong>
  <strong>
    <em>July 16th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Hey!" Blaise shouts, bursting my door open, "OWL results are here! C'mon, open yours up, rub in my face how you got more Outstandings," he says tossing my envelope over to me where I sit on my bed leaning against the headboard.</p><p>I watch in mild amusement as he practically bounces onto the bed to sit across from me, tearing his envelope open and scrambling to pull his letter out.</p><p>It's been seventeen days since I was discharged from the hospital. The first week wasn't terrible for me, but it had to have been awful for everyone else in the manor. I was numb to the point where that entire week was a blur. I have a few vague memories of people trying to shake me and make me move, sometimes someone setting food down beside me though I never touched a bit of it. It's like I could see what was in front of me, but my mind wasn't ready to go back to the real world.</p><p>It wasn't there either. It wasn't in the bakery with him.</p><p>It was nowhere. I don't remember much, though I do remember rather vividly sitting in a chair in my shower while Pansy struggled to wash my hair. I can't really walk on my own yet, or speak much without shutting down, or eat a lot more than a bit at each meal. Every little bit seems to expend all my energy, and I'm still not sure why. I heard Blaise talking to Aunt Colette about having some sort of specialist come see me, the thought of which making me both want to throw up and realize solemnly that might be exactly what I need. But nobody has come by. I've hardly seen my mother except when she passes by my room when the door is open.</p><p>I need answers, but I can't really ask for them.</p><p>"Ready?" Blaise asks, squinting slightly down at his letter. "Four Outstandings! Got Exceeds Expectations in Potions, Charms, and Care of Magical Creatures, and Acceptables in Divination and Astronomy. How'd you do?"</p><p>I stare down at my letter. Along with my OWLs, I know this envelope also holds my class rank. A month ago, the thought would make my gut twist, but I can hardly seem to care right now.</p><p>"I think I'll check later," I say quietly, grunting softly as I lean over to set the envelope down on my nightstand. I glance up to see Blaise gazing off slightly, his brows furrowed just slightly almost in concern, so I slip a small smirk on my face and say dryly, "but I <em>definitely</em> did better than <em>you</em>."</p><p>His brows loosen and his lips spread into a grin. "You're a bitch," he says with a roll of his eyes. "Wanna have lunch downstairs today?" he then asks, looking at me eagerly.</p><p>I look away at where Cheeky licks his paws at the edge of my bed, chubby and absolutely serene. I miss serene. I miss numb, even. I'm responsive now. I'll talk a little, I'll eat a little, I'll move a little, but I miss numb and serene. Because now my heart is constantly beating erratically, making me jumpy and scared and breathless. I'm hardly sleeping. Any time I sleep for more than three hours at time, I'll dream I'm back in that metal box, the walls slowly closing in on me despite how loudly I scream or pound at the metal. Or sometimes I'll be burning, be cremated alive, feeling myself slowly turn to ash.</p><p>Similar to the locket I now keep in my nightstand. I want to throw it away, but first I want to talk to Mother about it. If she'll look me straight in the eye, at least.</p><p>When I woke up, my father's ring was on the chain. It's the only reason I know I didn't hallucinate that whole thing.</p><p>I nod, shifting to sit at the edge of the bed while Blaise gets up, shoving his letter back in the envelope, and moves to stand in front of me. He holds his hands out, and I'm struck for a moment by how similar they are to my father's. Big, brown, slightly calloused and rough from wear and tear. I place my hands in his, noticing that they're still not nearly as warm, but they're still comforting as he bends slightly to place my hands on his shoulders and grabs me by my arms to help me to my feet.</p><p>"Honestly, Celeste," he says with a soft huff, slinging his around over my shoulders while mine goes around his back and hand tightly grips his shirt, "I get half my exercise in carrying you up and down these steps," Blaise turns to glance at me with a fond smile while we stumble across my room and out the door, his glittering eyes scanning my face like he wants to make sure I know he's joking.</p><p>"Shut it," I grumble, smiling slightly for him but letting it drop when he turns away to lead us down the hallway towards the stairs. "Are you trying to make me feel guilty? I only died and came back."</p><p>"Not very impressive," he jokes as we reach the stairs, his hand now gripping my arm tightly. "Careful, Celeste," he warns as I lower a shaky foot down to the first step. "</p><p>"Yeah, I know," I exhale, my face flushing slightly as I reach out to grip the railing, my knuckles nearly going white. "It's not impressive that I—?" I nearly lose my breath as I set my other foot down on the same step, wobbling slightly despite his tight hold. "That I—That I died and came back? Well, will my dead father earn me pity points, then?"</p><p>Blaise goes quiet, his hands holding my arms even tighter. I sigh softly, my arms tense as they hold me up while we walk down the stairs step by step. I try to walk normally, one foot on one step and the next on the one below, but I nearly lose my balance and Blaise is quick to pull me back.</p><p>Lunch is a quiet affair. Blaise tries to talk to me a little bit, but I'm just not in the mood to humor him. The House Elves have been making softer and mushier foods, lots of rices and soups, as if it'll make eating any easier. It's not my <em>teeth</em> that hurt.</p><p>Neither of our mothers join us, though Blaise's new stepfather does. He looks visibly uncomfortable when the frail old man with the wispy white hairs atop his wrinkly scalp sits down shakily at the head of the table, his meal appearing instantly before him courtesy of the Elves. He's a sweet old man. He looks up at us and smiles, his gums showing slightly, and gives us a short wave before digging into the soup. My face is too tired to smile back, but I give him a two-fingered wave, which is more than what Blaise does as he just looks away and grumbles softly into his soup.</p><p>"Hey," Blaise says as he stands up, his empty dish and my half-empty one vanishing almost instantly, "Pansy and Draco are coming over tonight, but I can cancel if you're not...in the mood."</p><p>"No, don't cancel for me," I roll my eyes, gripping the arms of my chair while I stand up.</p><p>"No, hold on," Blaise huffs, giving me a stern look that persists until I roll my eyes and drop back down into the chair, my muscles aching yet rejoicing at relaxation at the same time. "I'm gonna use the bathroom really quickly, and then I'll help you go upstairs. Okay?"</p><p>"Fine," I mutter with a sigh, resting my elbow in the arm of my chair and rubbing my face with my palm.</p><p>I can feel him still standing there, watching me warily, before he sighs softly as well and turns to walk away, his slippers muffled against the marble floors. I pull my hand away when I can't hear him anymore, staring quietly down the table where his stepfather still sips at his soup, looking completely happy just sitting there eating what he might not know will be one of his last meals. I feel sorry for him.</p><p>Blaise has been a godsend. He really has. I'm sure he'd rather spend his summer getting drunk and high with his friends, attending local Quidditch games and hitting on people at parties, but instead he's stuck at home practically carrying me around because I'm incapable of doing anything by myself. He's just a step away from bringing my spoon up to my lips and massaging my neck to make me swallow it.</p><p>He hasn't even asked me <em>how</em> I did it, how I died, spent seventy-two hours in the morgue, and then came back. I know he's dying to know, but he won't ask.</p><p>He's amazing, he really is. I can't imagine having the patience to do all this for someone else.</p><p>But I'm tired of being coddled and treated delicately, even if that's exactly what I need. I know I could collapse any second. I know I could pass out without any given warning. I could fall down the stairs walking on my own, slip in the shower if he doesn't remind me to take a chair. I know all this, even if I don't know why.</p><p>It's not him that's the problem. It's me—I'm tired of being useless and stationary, because the less I move, the more time I have to <em>think</em>, and that's the last thing that I want. I spent weeks numb. I don't want to wallow, grieve, or cry, I just want to forget and move on.</p><p>I can't even think about it, but everything reminds me of it. Blaise's hands, the books in my room, the shoes by the front door that Mother <em>always </em>yells at him to put in the proper spot, but he never remembers. It's been weeks, and nobody has moved them. I found one of his pens on my desk from when he was signing a permission slip a while back. I found a little stone in the pot of a plant in the hall that's the color of his eyes.</p><p>I don't <em>want </em>to think about it.</p><p>I want to move swiftly, speak freely, and have no reason to stop and think.</p><p>I get tired of waiting for Blaise, so I get up shakily. His stepfather glances up at me, but then he gives me a small smile that I return this time while hobbling around the table, all my limbs aching. It's not like the fire as I walk out of the dining room. It's not burning, it's <em>begging</em>. My body isn't on fire, but it's pleading with me, asking in desperate sobs to slow down, to stop, to let it recover.</p><p>I died and came back. And I hate being logical, because I know that both my mind and body need time to recover, and I know that the more I push it off, the harder the recovery will be. I hate being logical, because my logic doesn't matter when I just <em>don't want</em> to dwell on it. I want to be done with it all already. I <em>will</em> be done with it.</p><p>I rest a hand on the wall and lean into it as I walk, grunting softly while my eyes threaten to fall shut. Every little movement just seeps the energy out of me, makes me want to fall asleep, but I press on. I haven't tried magic since, obviously because I'm underage, but I can feel it's...<em>missing</em>. Almost like it's stored away, refusing to be touched and used, not until it's ready to be touched and used, and that itself drains me even more.</p><p>I stop near the stairs, panting softly and I glance at the closed door leading to one of the unused studies in the manor. I then look at the decorative mirror hanging above the accent table, stumbling forward to lean against the table and look at my reflection.</p><p>I washed my hair two days ago, and it's a mess. Sleeping on wet hair is never good for me, except I can't do much more than lay and sit around these days. My curls stick up everywhere. They're flat in some places and curlier than usual than others. The bags under my eyes are heavy, swollen, and purple, indicating the lack of sleep I've been getting despite how tired I am. I don't care if I throw up from sleep deprivation, I won't close my eyes if it means waking up in a steel box again.</p><p>My eyes drop down to my chest.</p><p>I haven't shown anyone yet.</p><p>I never saw his body, so I don't know for sure, but I think it's the same exact mark I saw on his finger. For a long time after I snapped out of my numb state, I still couldn't figure out what it was. My brain was still catching up—it <em>is</em> still catching up, but it took a few days for me to realize.</p><p>Glancing down the hall to make sure nobody is coming, I lean in, bring a hand up to the neck of my Weird Sisters shirt, and I carefully pull it down with one finger, dragging my finger down until it stops where my bra would be if I was wearing one.</p><p>On my chest, centered perfectly where my locket typically lays if it isn't clasped higher or lower than usual, is a rune practically tattooed onto my skin.</p><p>It looks like a scratched 'R,' one line straight down the side, a triangle at the top half of it, and a leg sticking out from the center. All in harsh lines as many runes are written in. It has many names. <em>Rad. Raido. Reidh. Reio.</em></p><p>It means progress, direction, rationality, growth, <em>journey</em>.</p><p>A sound behind the door next to the mirror jolts me. I instantly fix my shirt and glance back in my reflection to see if there's anything I can do to fix myself, but unless I have the energy to put on makeup or wash my hair again, I guess I'm looking like this.</p><p>"Don't ignore me," a voice sighs, clearly aggravated, from behind the door, making me freeze. Aunt Colette. "<em>Listen</em> to me, Corinne."</p><p>"This isn't any of your business," my mother's sharp voice responds, my mouth drying instantly. I haven't talked to her in days. "So stay out of it."</p><p>"You have—You <em>have</em> to talk to her. You <em>need</em> to tell her about the locket, Corinne, you can't just avoid having that conversation with her."</p><p>My hand flies up to my chest by instinct, but the locket isn't there to touch. Just the rune, the rune that I <em>also</em> need answers for.</p><p>"She's a smart girl, Colette," Mother responds with a rough sigh followed by the sound of her shuffling around, moving something. "I'm sure she's already figured out what happened. What do you want me to do, put it in words for her? I doubt she needs that."</p><p>"It doesn't matter whether she's smart or not, or whether she's figured it out or not, you <em>need</em> to tell her. Everything."</p><p>"Honestly, Colette, you act like <em>I'm </em>the failure of a parent here. <em>Obviously </em>I'm going to talk to her, but I'll be doing that on <em>my</em> time, not yours," Mother laughs almost ironically, making me flinch slightly at her scathing words like they're directed to me. "Of <em>course</em> I'm going to tell her. That's her father, of course I'm going to tell her why she's lost him."</p><p>"That's not everything," Aunt Colette says quietly. "You know that's not everything."</p><p>"There's no need for her to know everything," Mother responds dismissively.</p><p>"No n—no <em>need?!</em> That is her <em>life</em> at stake, Corinne! No <em>need—</em>honestly, what are you thinking? She needs to know everything! The poor girl is almost sevent—"</p><p>"What's with the sudden interest in my daughter, Col?" my mother interrupts in a cold, stony voice. "You couldn't be bothered to raise your own son. Why don't you leave me to raise <em>my</em> daughter?"</p><p>There's a long, lasting silence, in which I grip the accent table for support and stare in shock at the door, my mother's words echoing over and over in my head. There's no denying that Aunt Colette hasn't been the ideal mother for Blaise, but for <em>my</em> mother to say—</p><p>"Will you at least tell her about her father?" Aunt Colette asks quietly. "Forget my opinion. You know she at least deserves to know that much."</p><p>"I'll tell her about the locket and his ring and what happened to him and <em>why</em>. Are you done?"</p><p>"You know that's not what I mean..." Aunt Colette says in a low voice, making me lean in to hear better. "You should tell her about her father. I'm not talking about what happened with the locket."</p><p>There's another lasting span of just quiet.</p><p>"Worry about your own child. Or do what you do best, go worry about your<em>self</em>."</p><p>"Now you're not being fair—"</p><p>"I don't <em>care</em> about fair when I need to care about her <em>safety</em>," Mother snaps with a loud sigh, and I flinch when I hear a loud noise like the sound of her hitting a book against a desk. "And she will be perfectly safe not knowing a few things—"</p><p>"Have you even seen her? At all? Have you tried talking to her? She's falling asleep in the middle of her sentences. Blaise practically has to carry her up and down the stairs. She's in <em>constant</em> pain."</p><p>"Well she's not supposed to be."</p><p>"Well—"</p><p>"The magic was flawless," Mother says agitatedly. I can hear her pace around the room, her shoes scuffing slightly against the floor. She's always in our asses about picking our feet up when we're walking, but she can't seem to care less right now. "It was <em>flawless</em>. She should've woken up within the hour, not <em>three days</em>. And she should've recovered in at most a week. She shouldn't—She shouldn't still be in pain or incapable of moving."</p><p>"But she <em>is</em>, and she needs <em>you</em>, and she needs to <em>understand</em>," Aunt Colette sighs tiredly, her voice getting higher at the end.</p><p>"Don't you understand?" Mother whispers harshly. "She doesn't <em>need</em> anything. No potion, no spell, no <em>words</em> can heal her. The spell is supposed to let her heal instantly, so if it isn't the magic that's holding her back, what <em>is?</em>"</p><p>There's another long stretch of silence where the only noise is some shuffling around, feet scuffing on the floor and things being moved.</p><p>"It's herself," Mother says when my aunt doesn't respond for a while. "Her body won't heal because she won't <em>let</em> it, because she doesn't want it to. She's punishing herself."</p><p>"And how can you expect her to let herself heal if she doesn't understand?" Aunt Colette asks quietly, her voice soft and tired.</p><p>"Didn't I say I'll tell her?"</p><p>"You did," she responds lowly, "but not everything. Where have you even been that's more important than by your daughter? You're a smart woman, Cor, surely you know that even if you pay the hospitals to keep quiet about this, the Dark Lord has eyes and ears <em>everywhere</em>. When he catches wind of the girl who died and came back, don't you think that she'll be in—?"</p><p>"I <em>am</em> a smart woman," Mother interrupts coldly. "You think I haven't considered that already? That's exactly what I've been doing out of the house, trying to figure out how to—how to keep her safe. We never anticipated that the magic would ever actually have to be used, but—I think I've found a solution."</p><p>When nobody speaks up again for at least forty-five seconds, I slowly begin making the rest of the way down the hallway, feeling lightheaded as my pulse pounds into oblivion.</p><p>She's hiding so much from me.</p><p>"Celeste!"</p><p>I flinch when I hear Blaise's voice as I reach the bottom of the stairs, glancing to see him hurrying down the hall with a frown on my face. The door to the study instantly swings open, though only Aunt Colette walks out. She gives us both a sweet smile that I struggle to return.</p><p>"You got here on your own?" Blaise asks when he reaches me, his hand coming out to grab my shoulder.</p><p>I shift away, tired of needing a crutch. "Yes," I say in a voice more seething and angry than intended. He doesn't flinch, he isn't hurt or surprised, he just frowns as he looks down at my legs that shake from holding my weight up, my arm that clutches my stomach in pain.</p><p>"I'll help you up," he says, coming behind me.</p><p>"Please don't," I shake my head, feeling my eyes start to sting as I move up onto the first step, gripping the railing for dear life while bringing my other foot up to join.</p><p>"Celeste—" He cuts himself short with a hesitating breath as I move up the next step. "Cel, you'll fall."</p><p>"I won't."</p><p>"Cel—"</p><p>"You'll catch me then, won't you?" I cough out, my stomach lurching as I move up the next few steps a little too fast, the little lunch I had disagreeing with my movements and threatening to come out the way it entered me.</p><p>Blaise says nothing back, but I hear him slowly and quietly walk a few steps up behind me while his mother watches us.</p><p>"Careful, Cellie," she says, that nickname making me grit my teeth.</p><p>"I'm—"</p><p>My foot slips slightly, and I stumble back a few steps. My eyes go wide as I nearly fall back, but Blaise is right there to wrap an arm around me and move walk beside me, holding me firmly and refusing to let go until I'm steady.</p><p>I pant heavily, blood rushing and pulse pounding and my face just feeling so warm.</p><p>"One step at a time, Cel," he says quietly, giving my arm a tight squeeze before guiding me up the next step.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what do you want for your bday?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0047"><h2>47. A GUILTY CONSCIENCE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the four hang out !</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY<br/></em>
  </strong>
  <strong>
    <em>July 16th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The living room is filled with Death Eaters.</p><p>It's also where our fireplace connected to the Floo Network is, which means I, standing near the entrance waiting as if they'll disappear for me, have no choice but to walk in there if I want to leave this place.</p><p>They're lounging about on our expensive, carved sofas, sipping from my father's favorite whiskeys he's been saving, eating fruits from silver platters, letting their dirty shoes muck up our coffee table. The Carrow twins are cackling about something, digging through a box of chocolates that I have no idea how they got their hands on. Gibbon leans back and lazily flicks his wand in the air, smirking at the screeching toad that dances with the movements, limbs outstretched and gut pulsing.</p><p>"Who's lurking?" Alecto Carrow suddenly snaps, and the toad drops to the ground and the twins both look in my direction. A devilish grin then spreads across her face, showing off her pointed, damaged teeth. "Oh, it's baby Malfoy!" she cackles. "Come in, don't be shy. Would you like a chocolate? I've tried them all, but <em>this</em> one in particular is my favorite!" She holds up a half eaten chocolate, filling dripping out of it and down her hand.</p><p>"You going somewhere, Malfoy?" Amycus Carrow asks with an amused grin, his voice thick due to all his ingrown and crooked teeth disabling his tongue from moving properly. His dark eyes gleam at the bag I have slung over one shoulder while the squat man with the doughy face let's put a wheezy laugh. "You don't want to stay here with us?"</p><p>"Come <em>in,</em> baby Malfoy," Alecto giggles. She's a sticky woman with stubby, greedy fingers that she licks the melted chocolate off of.</p><p>I clear my throat, glancing over my shoulder before walking quietly into this room with my heart pounding. The Malfoy name used to be threatening. It was indicative of money and power, and to those in the Dark Lord's ranks, superiority and high rank. And now our home is the Dark Lord's headquarters, and there are Death Eaters all over the place sullying our furniture. Half of them aren't even Pure-Bloods, and yet they have the audacity to act as though they're above me.</p><p>"So where are you going, Malfoy?" Amycus presses while Gibbon, with his sunken, pale eyes, stares at me quietly, his wand lifting the struggling toad up into the air once more.</p><p>"The Zabini manor," I say simply, forcing my eyes away from the toad and walking over to the fireplace to pick the bag of Floo Powder up off the mantelpiece.</p><p>"Zabini manor, hm?"</p><p>I freeze, a disturbing chill passing over my body and turning my bones to ice when that thin, high, and cold voice reaches my ears from the entrance to the room. Clutching the bag tightly, I tense my arms to keep my hands from shaking while I turn slowly to see the Dark Lord standing just a few meters away, dressed in black robes that make His pale skin look even more veiny. His eyes are as beady and red as ever, looking at me like He can see right through into my head. He <em>can</em> see right into my head. He's a Legilimens, after all.</p><p>Resisting that urge in my stomach to throw up, I nod simply, saying, "Yes, my Lord."</p><p>"You wouldn't be running away, would you?" He asks in that voice of his thats so quiet yet seems to echo off the walls of the room and inside my head, making me wince slightly in a phantom pain. His red eyes drop down to the bag on my shoulder.</p><p>"No, my Lord. I'm only staying there for the night," I say, tightening my grip on the Floo Powder, "if that's alright with you."</p><p>"It's your home, Draco, you don't have to ask permission to leave," He says slyly, tilting His chin up while gazing at me curiously, Alecto muffling a laugh in her brother's shoulder. "I don't blame you. I wouldn't want to stay in the home of my father if he sullied my name like that."</p><p>I'm not sure how to respond, so I shift slightly in my spot next to the fireplace, glancing over at Gibbon who stares intently at the Dark Lord's feet, the toad limp on the coffee table.</p><p>"<em>Zabini</em>," He whispers, stepping forward slowly. I hear a hissing sound, and I first I think it's Him, but then I notice his snake, Nagini, slithering by his feet. "Zabini. The girl is a Zabini, isn't she? The one who..." His lips turn up into an ugly smile, "...<em>bested</em> death?"</p><p>I hesitate, my pulse panicking now. "She is, my Lord."</p><p>"Curious," He says as Nagini quickly snatches the limp toad into her mouth, "and even more so curious <em>how</em> she did it. I was enlightened earlier. Greet her for me."</p><p>"Of course," I nod, pressing my fingers tightly into the Floo bag and my side before turning around and letting them tremble where my body can cover them. I exhale deeply, well aware of the many pairs of eyes, human and snake and something in between all alike, watching me closely as I loosen the bag and pulling out a fistful of Floo Powder and toss it into the fireplace. "Zabini Manor!" I shout while stepping into the green flames, welcoming them with a soft sigh.</p><p>—</p><p>"I still can't believe I got an Acceptable in Herbology. <em>Herbology," </em>Pansy huffs softly from where she lays on her back on Blaise's bed, her head hanging off the edge while her choppy black locks fall down. She brings the joint to her lips, taking a short puff before passing it over to Blaise who sits on the ground leaning against his bed right next to her. "I know <em>tons</em> about, like, herbs and stuff."</p><p>"The only herb you know anything about is Alihotsy," Celeste deadpans. She sits next to me on Blaise's bed, leaning against a dozen pillows with her legs bent to prop open the book she's reading. "And that too, you thought the leaves grow on <em>bushes</em>."</p><p>"They <em>don't?</em>"</p><p>"Alihotsy <em>tree</em>, Pansy," Celeste stressed weakly, a slight laugh shaking her frame as she flips a page and leans her head back tiredly. "It's a <em>tree</em>."</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, how did <em>you</em> do in Herbology, then."</p><p>"Outstanding," Celeste responds simply.</p><p>"No way."</p><p>"Yes way," Blaise coughs softly, taking a long drag from the join before leaning back for me to reach forward and grab it form his fingertips. "She got <em>all</em> Outstandings—"</p><p>"<em>Except</em> for Arithmancy," she interrupts with an irritable huff, glancing up from her book to watch me lazily bring the joint up between my lips and take a short sip from it. Her dark eyes glaze over as she watches me, lips parting slightly and her hand absentmindedly rubbing her jaw. "Got an, uh, Exceeds Expectations in that," she says slightly glumly, shaking her head when I offer the joint.</p><p>"Which is <em>good!</em>" Blaise stresses irritably like they've been arguing about this all day.</p><p>Celeste gives me an eye roll in response to his words, making me smirk slightly. "Maybe that's good for <em>you</em>, Blaise, b—"</p><p>"Oh, you're <em>such</em> a bitch. Pansy, tell her that's good."</p><p>"It is," Pansy grunts, lifting her head up to glance between the two of us with nearly closed eyes. "Verona took the Arithmancy OWL last year, and almost everybody got Acceptables and Poors."</p><p>"Yeah, well, I consider myself to be on a different level than everybody," Celeste huffs, shooting me a glare when I snort at her dryly and take another drag of the joint.</p><p>"Oh, my fucking—She's not gonna listen to us. Draco, tell her that's a good score," Blaise grumbles, throwing Exploding Snap cards down on his floor and waiting for them to combust spontaneously.</p><p>Celeste turns her head to look at me expectantly. "Don't sugarcoat it," she warns, closing her book after haphazardly dog-earing a page and then turning to rest on her side, leaning on all those pillows while her tired black eyes manage to look at me sternly still. "Just cause I <em>died</em> doesn't mean I need <em>you</em> of all people to be <em>nice </em>to me now."</p><p>"Wow, lemme tell you, that <em>canny </em>sense of humor of yours definitely survived," I say dryly, shifting to slip under Blaise's duvet after passing the joint back to him. "It <em>is</em> a good score—"</p><p>"Oh, <em>c'mon!</em>"</p><p>"I'm not done. Did I say I was done? It's a good score," I repeat, ignoring the pouty scowl on Celeste's face as I rest my arms under my head with a soft sigh, staring up at the ceiling before turning my head to look at her.</p><p>She looks like she hasn't slept in days, and I've seen her tired while at school. Her skin has lost some of its color, looking pallid and weary, and there are purple bruises under her eyes. Her lips are bloody and raw from being chewed on, and her hair is a mess. Overall, I'd say she looks good for the living dead.</p><p>"But?" she asks almost hopefully.</p><p>"But...I studied Arithmancy with you, and even though you're hopeless at showing up on time and focusing—"</p><p>"Thanks," she interrupts dryly.</p><p>"You told me not to sugarcoat, so shut up and listen to me," I snap, seeing her lips briefly twitch up into a smile before she's back to scowling. "I've seen you doing Arithmancy, and I've helped you with it, so I know to what extent you're good at it. The Exceeds Expectations is good, but you could've done better."</p><p>"Exactly!" she throws her arms up in the air with exasperation. I don't miss the way she winces softly and brings them back down to rub slightly, making the grin on my face subside a little. "See? He gets it."</p><p>"That's cause you're both fucking psychotic," Pansy deadpans while Blaise snores, seemingly having fallen asleep in the past three minutes.</p><p>"And you're not?" I scoff.</p><p>"I'm a normal psychotic."</p><p>"How'd you do?" Celeste then asks, resting her cheek on her chin. "On your OWLs?"</p><p>My smile drops suddenly, but I'm quick to slap it back on. My father's threat is still fresh in my mind, that I'll be sent to Durmstrang if I don't have Outstandings on all my OWLs. Potter put him in Azkaban now, so it isn't really much of a threat anymore.</p><p>"All Outstandings," I see, seeing her roll her eyes in irritation and then give me a short smile, "<em>except</em> in...can you guess?"</p><p>"Ancient Runes?" she asks, her hand going up to her chest where her locket isn't resting for once.</p><p>"No, actually. I guess all those hours listening to you rambling and struggling to read your shitty notes rubbed off on me," I say sarcastically, smirking when she glares at me. "No, it was History of Magic. Exceeds Expectations."</p><p>She snorts humorously. "<em>Loser</em>. That shit was easy."</p><p>"Yeah, shut up," I roll my eyes at her. "Who here got an Outstanding in Arithmancy again? Hm? Cause it sure as hell wasn't <em>you</em>."</p><p>"I—"</p><p>"I'm trying to <em>sleep</em>," Pansy groans, rolling over onto her stomach and resting her head on her arm, knocking into the still snoring Blaise. "Can you guys, like, flirt or whatever this shit is somewhere else?"</p><p>Celeste's mouth snaps shut as she glares furiously at Pansy, who drifts off to sleep with her mouth tipped open drooling on her arm. Celeste then huffs softly, tucking her book under her arm and moving to swing her legs over the edge of the bed while I throw the duvet back off me. I watch carefully as she stands up, her legs shaking crazily almost instantly as she falls back down onto the bed.</p><p>"Just wait for me," I say quickly, climbing off the bed and walking around, nearly tripping on Blaise's outstretched leg, to reach the other side where Celeste sits at the edge of the bed looking very angry. I grab my bag along the way, slinging it over my shoulder.</p><p>"I don't need your help," she snaps sourly, leaning away when I stand in front of her.</p><p>"Sure, you keep telling yourself that," I say dryly, holding my hands out for her, "but in the meantime, why don't you grab my arms? You know, just for fun. Not gonna help you. I've been working my triceps and biceps out recently, figured you might want—I said to <em>grab my arms</em>, not <em>punch</em> them!"</p><p>"You deserved that," she huffs, sliding her hands over my arms to grip them just below my shoulders while I bend down to hold her waist, helping her up to her feet while she shakes softly. "Ow," I hear her whisper softly, one of her hands leaving me to clutch her side.</p><p>"Alright?"</p><p>"Just perfect. Never felt more <em>lively</em>."</p><p>I sigh softly, shaking my head while I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into my side. "You are..."</p><p>"Did you get my joke?" she asks in a weak voice, nails digging into my skin as she grips my arm and hobbles along beside me, leaning into me when I stop to open Blaise's door. "Get it? <em>Lively?</em> Because I d—"</p><p>"I was wrong before," I groan softly, helping her out into the hallway. "Your sense of humor? Didn't make it. Shall we hold a funeral?"</p><p>"Oh, like <em>you're </em>the funniest little shit in the world," she mutters, panting softly as we pass all the sleeping portraits lining the hallway. She pulls away form me slightly so I'm no longer holding her, but she's hugging my arm to her torso, forcing me to bend down a little.</p><p>"Honestly," I grumble, feeling her nails scratch into my skin, "this is like taking care of some old woman. You're quite high maintenance now, you know that? I mean, you always were, but—"</p><p>"Malfoy, I swear to Salazar, keep talking and I'll knock one of your teeth out."</p><p>"You can't do that," I tease, turning my head to glance at her to see a furious look of focus on her face.</p><p>"Why not? I might not be at my best right now, but I can't till throw a mean right h—"</p><p>"I'm too pretty for you to deface me. I mean, you're the Devil incarnate, but even <em>you</em> wouldn't go as far as defacing the most beautiful thing to walk the planet."</p><p>"Oh, <em>I'm </em>the Devil incarnate?" she scoffs incredulously as we stop at her door, Celeste pulling away to swing it open. "Please. You think very highly of yourself, Malfoy."</p><p>"Should I not?" I ask with a small smirk, offering my arm to help her inside. She waves me off and hobbles in on her own while I walk cautiously and close by to break any potential falls. "You <em>are</em> the one who told me that I'm <em>pretty</em>, and then you kissed me in front of your cousin."</p><p>"Yeah, whatever, Pretty Boy," Celeste snorts, falling back onto her bed with a slight wince, startling her Chicken who yowls slightly before leaping off the bed to duck underneath it. "You're full of yourself."</p><p>"You like being full of me too, don't you?"</p><p>Her eyes snap wide open as she turns her head up to look at me, completely and utterly aghast. With her skin so pallid, I can see it tint just slightly red with warmth, making the smirk on my face just grow as I step closer to stand in front of her.</p><p>"You—You can't—Hey, I died!" she pouts slightly. "Aren't you supposed to, like, take pity on me, and not be a total dickhead or whatever?"</p><p>"Is that what you want me to do?" I ask calmly, my lips twitching as I try not to grin. "You want me to pity you, Celeste? Coddle you? Baby you?"</p><p>She glances between my eyes slowly, her pout fading away into a neutral expression while she leans back to rest her weight on her palms. "No," she concedes quietly, tilting her chin up lazily. "Thanks, actually, for being an asshole."</p><p>I quirk a brow at her. "Was that sarcastic?"</p><p>Celeste laughs softly while I adjust my grip on my bag.</p><p>"No, it wasn't, actually. I'm being serious. I'm not stupid, I know I'm like, weak as fuck, or whatever, but I'm tired of people treating me like I'm gonna break down and sob at any given moment," she says with a roll of her eyes, rubbing her face with a dry smile on her lips. It fades away slightly as she adds, "A lot...A lot changed recently. Everything did, and I can't even—" Celeste interrupts herself with a dry laugh, "—I can't even tell you <em>half</em> of it. But I'm glad you're a constant, y'know? You and your insufferable personality and..." She takes a deep breath, "asshole tendencies and honestly shitty sense of humor."</p><p>I look at her carefully, seeing her examining me back with just as much tenacity. Last time I saw her, she was so different. She was curled in on herself, hollow, a ghost of who she is. Her eyes were distant. Today, she's more woken up, she's a little more alive, but everything about her is still weak. I've seen her rubbing her arms and legs while biting back grimaces, seen her eyes water at random flashes of pain that she tries so hard to mask. She can hardly walk. When she talks too much, even just now, she loses her breath.</p><p>But her eyes are back to normal. Her bags are heavier, but her obsidian eyes are just as strong and powerful as they used to be.</p><p>I smile at her dryly, opening my mouth to give her some sarcastic remark that'll make her roll her eyes. Instead, I say, "I get that. Not as much as you do, but I get it."</p><p>Her eyebrows lift slightly. "Right. I'm sorry about your fa—"</p><p>"Sure," I shrug, clearing my throat and glancing away. "I'm really sorry about y—"</p><p>"Yeah," she exhales breathily, blinking quickly and looking away as well. "Thanks, I guess."</p><p>"Hearing that just means...<em>nothing</em>, doesn't it?" I ask quietly, my bag suddenly so heavy on my back as I stare absently at her slipper-clad feet, abruptly reminded of the dragon slippers sitting in my room. They make me laugh, and I would wear them, but I'm never in the mood to laugh knowing who is living in my house. "Celeste?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"You saw him there, didn't you? At the Ministry? You saw my fa—?"</p><p>"Draco," she interrupts in a soft voice that makes my eyes snap up to see her looking at me almost <em>pleadingly</em>, her face suddenly looking so thin like she hasn't been eating properly—which I wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't. "I'm sorry, I just—I don't want to talk about that day. Or...what happened three days later."</p><p>I smile at her tightly, nodding while forcing out with a laugh, "You've had no problem joking about it."</p><p>She speaks softly, "That's different, Draco, but you know that."</p><p>"Yeah," I sigh softly, running my hand through my hair, "sorry. I'll go find a guest room. Night, Cel, sleep w—"</p><p>"Stay," she says, closing her eyes while arching her back and throwing her arms up in the air to stretch, a satisfied noise leaving her mouth.</p><p>I furrow my eyebrows, already turned to go and glancing over my shoulder. "Huh?"</p><p>"I said <em>stay</em>, dumbass. I mean, unless you're super exhausted, but if you're not, I'm not planning on sleeping soon. I need your help, anyway," she yawns out, rubbing her face before dropping her hands in her lap and looking at me bored.</p><p>I smirk, exhaling a laugh through my nose while turning back around to look at her. "You just yawned."</p><p>"Yup."</p><p>"You tired?"</p><p>"Very."</p><p>"But you're not planning on sleeping?"</p><p>"Not even for a second," she grins at me dryly, her eyes growing slightly heavy. "Stay, please."</p><p>My smirk grows. "<em>Please</em>, huh? Look at you, you're begging even when I don't ask you to. <em>Such</em> a good girl."</p><p>"Shut up!" she groans, leaning forward to rest her elbow son her knees and bury her face in her hands. In a muffled voice, she says, "It's <em>so</em> fucking hot in here. Do you mind grabbing me a change of clothes?"</p><p>"What am I, your servant?" I scoff dryly, letting my bag drop to the ground while I walk over to the dresser she points me to.</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Wonderful," I say dryly. "What do you want?"</p><p>"Just a shirt and some shorts would be nice, please."</p><p>"You've got such good manners today," I remark, practically hearing her eyes roll in their sockets. "Let's see..." I murmur, grabbing a drawer and pulling it open. "Is it in h—? Oh, my," I laugh lowly, picking up a skimpy, lacy green pair of panties and turning around to see Celeste's face growing with horror. "Aren't these just <em>adorable?</em>"</p><p>"Put that back!"</p><p>"As you wish," I hum, smirking to myself as I drop it down and close her drawer. "I'm your humble servant, after all, following your each and every whim and desire—"</p><p>"It's the drawer right below that one," she grumbles. "And then the drawer next to that one."</p><p>"I'd like another please, please."</p><p>"Draco," she sighs irritably, "<em>please</em>."</p><p>"Right away, dear," I deadpan dryly, opening the correct drawers this time, picking out for her a simple baggy black shirt and a pair of grey cotton shorts, nudging the drawers shut before tossing them towards her. "Where's my 'thank you?'"</p><p>"I'm going to <em>murder you</em>," she huffs, making my brows rise when she takes her pants off right there on the bed and wiggles into the shorts. "Thank you," Celeste snaps, bunching her shirt up to her breasts and then freezing all of a sudden, an odd look in her eyes. "Can you turn around?"</p><p>I furrow my eyebrows. "Shy, are we?" I ask curiously, walking over to her desk to face my back to her while looking through the short stack of books she has sitting there.</p><p>"Sure," I hear her grunt softly, the sound of ruffled cloth filling the air. "Something like that. You can turn back around now."</p><p>I turn around to lean against her desk, watching with lazy eyes as she turns, still sitting on the bed, and tosses her clothes in her hamper before crawling to sit at the center of her bed leaning against the headboard. She sits on top of her covers and nestles back against a thousand pillows and looking up at me.</p><p>"Are you just gonna stand there?" she asks curiously, practically melting into her bed. "Get over here, and bring a book with you."</p><p>I shake my head. "You're <em>so</em> demanding," I huff, grabbing a random book from the top of the stack and walking over to her with it. I then grab my back from the floor and toss it onto the bed, opening it up to sift through my things. "Spoiled little thing."</p><p>"Yeah?" she asks dryly, taking the book from me and placing it on her lap. "Are you gonna do anything about it? Teach me a lesson or two?"</p><p>"I might just have to," I mutter, pulling out my change of clothes. "I'll head to the bathroom since you're so <em>shy—</em>"</p><p>"Oh, no, please," Celeste laughs softly, opening her book up to some page, "give me a show.</p><p>"Pervert."</p><p>"You're the one who was watching Pansy and me make out," she says bluntly, making me choke on my spit rather violently and feel my face start to warm<br/>up. "Not your finest moment, huh?"</p><p>"Shut up," I cough out, giving her a glare as I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it up over my head. Surprisingly enough, that effectively <em>does</em> shut her up. Her mouth closes when I toss my shirt onto her bed, but her lips slowly part while her dark eyes scan over my torso, drinking me in rather greedily. "You're staring," I say, unbuttoning my jeans while her eyes drop down to watch.</p><p>"I know," she says simply. "Do you want me to <em>stop?</em>"</p><p>
  <em>Not really.</em>
</p><p>"Oh, no, after all you've been through, giving you a strip tease is the least I can do," I respond dryly, giving her a teasing grin that she just absently flips me off for without taking her eyes off of my hands. "Careful there, Zabini, or you'll drool all over yourself," I grunt as I pull my jeans off my legs and quickly fold them up, pulling my sweatpants out of my bag and slipping them on.</p><p>"Very funny."</p><p>"Get one last look, I'm putting a shirt on," I warn her, rifling through my bag.</p><p>"You're not <em>that</em> pretty," she huffs, moving her book up to read from, though her eyes flick back up to me to watch me slip my shirt on.</p><p>I give her a grin, dropping my bag back on the ground before getting onto her bed to lay down slightly askew next to where she sits. I grab a pillow, shoving it under my head while sighing softly and craning my neck to look up at her face. She peers down at me curiously, messy curls falling into her eyelashes and lip slightly purses. I glance down at her chest, wondering on the absence of her locket.</p><p>"What are you reading?" I then ask, turning onto my side to look at her better.</p><p>Celeste sighs softly, slipping down from her sitting position to lay on her back. "Move over," she orders, wincing while one of her hands moves to rub her ribs. I give her a small frown while shifting down so my head rests at the edge of the pillow, giving her room to rest her own head. She curls slightly facing me, holding her book open against my shoulder. "It's <em>Oliver Twist</em>," she says, flipping the page. "Another Muggle book, yes. It's my second time reading it."</p><p>"You and your Muggle books..."</p><p>"Hey."</p><p>I look at her inquisitively, seeing her grin slyly.</p><p>"So, you're glad I'm not dead, huh?" she teases without looking at my eyes, her own frozen on one spot on her book. "How <em>flattering</em>."</p><p>My face warms slightly. "Well, what else was I supposed to say?" I grumble softly.</p><p>"Oh, I don't know, maybe, <em>I'm sorry for your loss</em>, or <em>I'm glad you're okay</em>, or <em>I'm desperately in love with you and it took you dying for me to realize</em>," she scoffs dryly, her grinning lips twitching slightly. "Not <em>I'm glad you're not dead!</em> Idiot boy."</p><p>"Hey," I say sternly, making her eyes flash to mine as I glare at her. My glare then turns into a cheeky grin as I point out, "I thought that I'm <em>Pretty </em>Boy, not <em>idiot</em> boy."</p><p>"Oh, you..." she huffs and shakes her head, grumbling softly while reading her book.</p><p>I watch her carefully, seeing a loose curl falling over her face as her dark eyes move side to side calmly reading the words on the page, eyelashes fluttering slightly every time she blinks. The back of her hand holding the book rests against my shoulder while her other hand keeps the book open.</p><p>Celeste's eyes snap up to mine, her brows furrowing and her lips pursing. "You're staring at me."</p><p>"You asked me to stay here, and then you disappear into a book," I tease, seeing her eyes roll. "There isn't much else to do but watch you."</p><p>"Fair," she huffs, setting the book down. "<em>Fine</em>, I'll pay attention to you, you needy little—"</p><p>"Can you read out loud to me?" I ask.</p><p>She lifts her eyebrows. "Oh. Sure."</p><p>I grab another pillow to hold against my chest, turning slightly to face her better while she starts reading out loud, her voice soft and smooth. I watch her carefully as she reads, noticing the way she licks her lips with every page turn. Some people are terrible at reading out loud: they can't pronounce words properly, or they won't enunciate the right amount, or they'll pause at all the wrong times. Celeste reads out loud as if the words on the pages are right from her own head, leaving eloquently from her lips to lull my eyes shut while I listen.</p><p>And I notice, despite how in conversation she runs out of breath quickly, it's like the more she reads the more oxygen that inflates her lungs.</p><p>"'At times he turned with desperate determination, resolved to beat this phantom off,'" she reads, turning a page, "'though it should look him dead.'" I don't open my eyes, but I smile just slightly as I imagine her licking her lips with that focused gleam in her eyes.</p><p>"'But the hair rose on his head and his blood was still, for it had turned with him and was behind him then. He had kept it before him that morning, but it was behind now—always. He leaned his head back against a bank,'" she says, my eyes opening when I feel her cool finger tips brushing against my cheek while her speaking falters, that same look of concentration still in her eyes, "'and it felt that it stood above him, visibly out against the cold night sky.' Sorry, you had an eyelash," she smiles slightly, holding her finger out in front of my face for me to see.</p><p>I roll my eyes at her. "Keep reading," I say, closing my eyes again and getting more comfortable.</p><p>"Oh? You like the Muggle book, Malfoy?"</p><p>"Oh, if you're not going to read, then just <em>shut up</em>."</p><p>"Fine, I'll read," she laughs softly. "Where was I? Oh, right—'He threw himself upon the road—on his back upon the road. At his head it stood, silent, erect, and still—a living grave-stone, with its epitaph in blood.'"</p><p>I open my eyes once more to see her eyebrows furrow, her lips tilted down slightly as she continues reading in a slightly graver voice.</p><p>"'Let no man talk of murderers escaping justice, and hint that Providence must sleep. There were twenty score of violent deaths in one long minute of that agony of fear,'" her voice trails off into a soft whisper as she stares at the page in her book for a moment longer before dog-earing the page and setting the book down in the space between us.</p><p>"That's it?" I ask quietly, tilting my head at her.</p><p>"Yeah, I think—I think I'm done for the day."</p><p>"What was going on? What was he running from?"</p><p>Celeste nods carefully. "His name is Sikes. He was feeling London after murdering someone," she says quietly, her eyes trailing off and gaining a distant gleam as her hand absentmindedly traces patterns onto the bed. Her eyes then snap back to mine. "But his conscience wouldn't let him escape. I've noticed, Muggle authors like writing about the idea a lot."</p><p>"What idea?" I press, watching her turn onto her back and stare up at the painting on her ceiling.</p><p>"That a guilty conscience is the worst punishment one can ever suffer."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's ur least favorite book/fic trope? and what's ur MOST favorite trope?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0048"><h2>48. SHOULD HAVE BEEN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste has a lil talk with her mum</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>very short chapter oops</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>July 28th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>I freeze at the sound of my mother's voice, distant and stony from where she stands in my doorway looking at me. My eyes are stuck on my book, and even as I relax my tense muscles and flip the page nonchalantly, they aren't reading a single word on a single page.</p><p>"Yes, Mother?" I ask coolly, refusing to look up from my book.</p><p>"We need to talk."</p><p>I know I should be civil. No conversation with my mother goes well if I'm passive aggressive or angry or excited or...well, no conversation with my mother goes well. But still I say—</p><p>"Oh? We do?"</p><p>Mother huffs softly. "Put that book down, Celeste, and look at me when I'm speaking to you."</p><p>"So we're speaking, now," I say dryly, feeling my throat start to close up and heart pump wildly while I flip another page nonchalantly, hardly registering any of the words my eyes skim. "I didn't realize. I thought you were still avoiding m—"</p><p>I interrupt myself with a gasp when my book goes flying out of my hand and across the room to land right in hers, a slight thumping sound of the cover being snapped shut while she looks at me with clam irritation, shoving her wand away and setting the book down on my desk as she walks over to me.</p><p>"You didn't need to do that," I say as calmly as I can, my eyes shooting daggers at hers while she sits down at the edge of my bed, back straight and hands folding in her lap.</p><p>"Clearly, I did, since you couldn't find the common decency to put the book down yourself," she responds simply. "I'm not here to talk to you about some silly book, Celeste, so get that childish pout off your face, and take that hood off."</p><p>My <em>childish pout</em> curves down in a more furious scowl as I reach up to pull the hood of my sweatshirt off my head, crossing my arms as I watch my mother shift to face me better. I have to admit, she looks tired, but I also have to admit that after overhearing that conversation she had with Aunt Colette, I don't <em>care</em>. I don't care that her eye bags are purple and big enough to rival mine, or that her hair that's usually never even a strand out of place is pulled back in a wrangled bun.</p><p>She sighs softly, opening her mouth to talk, when her eyes go down to my neck. Mother frowns harshly, tilting her head before asking in a cold tone, "Are you wearing your locket?"</p><p>I inhale deeply, my hands shaking so I slip them under my blanket, and I say, "No."</p><p>Mother's dark eyes turn to stone as they stare at me gratingly, a quiet anger assuming her face as she inhales deeply, her own hands starting to tremble as they clasp each other tightly. "<em>No</em>, Celeste?" she asks challengingly, her voice light and lethal as her eyes narrow at me. "Have you lost it yet again?"</p><p>"I took it off," I say simply.</p><p>"Now, <em>why</em> would you—?"</p><p>"Why?" I scoff incredulously, loudly. My trembling hands go rigid, my body goes rigid, and the thick, furious tension in the air goes still like all the particles of oxygen between us have frozen, turned on their axis to look at me expectantly while my blood, the only moving thing in this room, boils and rises steadily and threatens to burn a vein in the side of my neck. "Well it tried to <em>kill</em> me, Mother, and then it <em>killed</em> my father. Is that a good enough reason for me to take it off? Or would you like me to write you an essay? I have parchment and ink lying somewhere around here, I can do it right in front of you if you w—"</p><p>"Celeste," she snaps quietly, my mouth instantly closing as I look at her with the most neutral expression I can muster, my chest heaving as I breathe heavily. Mother then sighs softly, her body deflating and her spine curving <em>just </em>the slightest while her eyes trail down.</p><p>"You know," I say quietly, my eyebrows slightly furrowed as she looks up at me, "maybe if you bothered to talk to me, you'd have realized I took it off a month ago."</p><p>"A <em>month—</em>Celeste, you need to put it back on," she says with an urgent, almost fearful look on her face, one of her hands tightly gripping the duvet cover in my bed and twisting it. "You <em>know</em> you're not supposed to take it off."</p><p>"Yeah, you know, I'm getting <em>really</em> tired of hearing that," I scoff, my stomach wringing itself out and my face growing hot as I sit up a little bit straighter, steam practically escaping my nostrils, "but I'd <em>love </em>to know just why I can't. You seriously can't expect me to do something without telling me why I have to."</p><p>"Fine," she snaps, shaking her head and rubbing her temples. "<em>Fine</em>," she says in a more strained but more gentle voice, a deep sigh leaving her lips. I watch her whip her wand out again and wordlessly flick it, my door slamming shut instantly. "I'm sure you've already figured some of it out already," she says, shoving her wand away and lifting her dark eyes to look at me intently. "Haven't you?"</p><p>I'm quiet for a moment, that anger that's been bubbling in me subsiding and turning into this feeling that I won't like this conversation. I frown slightly, nodding.</p><p>"You and he put some sort of protection spell on the locket, didn't you?" I ask quietly, seeing her face grow tight, though she doesn't say anything. "So if anyone—if anyone tried to use the Killing Curse on me, it would..." I struggle with my words, my hand going back up to my chest by instinct to fiddle with the locket that isn't there. Instead, I gently rub the rune on my chest. "My locket and his ring were connected, right? So when—So when Bellatrix shot the curse on me...I saw it go down to my locket, it then it—It took him instead?"</p><p>She inhales slowly. "There are <em>many</em> protection spells and enchantments on your locket, Celeste," she says in a grave voice, eyes looking at me insistently to make sure I catch every word. "Some of them are older than I am. Some of them were cast on it centuries ago. And some of them are more recent. Your father and I were...recently being apprehended by a certain Dark wizard and his followers," she says, slowly pushing the sleeve of her dress up to reveal a thin golden bangle around her wrist. "He wanted us to join him. Our...positions at work hold great importance to him. We said no, of course," she says almost bitterly, "all nearly a <em>dozen</em> times we were asked, but we knew we weren't safe anymore. We knew <em>you</em> weren't safe anymore."</p><p>I'm quiet, glancing her up and down while absently rubbing the rune—<em>Raido—</em>through my shirt. "So you decided, without my permission, that Father should die instead of me," I then say coldly, my voice growing unsteady as my breathing grows heavier as well.</p><p>"<em>No</em>, Celeste," she sighs tiredly, irritably, her brows furrowing slightly. "We didn't want to lose you, believe it or not," she spits almost sourly, the pinched look on her face and the irritated tone on her tongue in harsh contrast with her words. "Do you—Do you think we wanted to see our <em>only daughter—</em>? Nevermind that. We put a spell connecting your locket to his ring and my bangle," she says, my eyes drawn to her wrist where she traces the spine of her golden bangle, my lips curving down into a frown while my throat closes and heart desperately tries to get past its closed barrier and leap right out. "And the spell—The spell was that if ever, for any reason, you were about to die, the magic in your locket would jump either to your father's ring or to this," she says carefully, raising her hand again. "Whichever was closest..."</p><p>My breath hitches.</p><p>
  <em>"Please, Corinne," Father sighs harshly, his frustration so tangible in his voice that it hits me like a wall of bricks and makes my chest grow tight with the pressure. "Think of Celeste. We can't do this."</em>
</p><p><em>"I </em>am<em> thinking of Celeste," Mother snaps slightly, but then her voice softens. "She's why we have to, Alaric."</em></p><p>My pulse picks up as I look at my mother carefully, seeing her analyzing me with those stoic eyes of hers that I inherited.</p><p>
  <em>Mother turns her chin up slightly, her steely dark eyes looking beyond conflicted as she stares unflinchingly at my father's scarred face. "I still don't agree with this," she says coolly. "I really doubt it's our only option."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It's a failsafe, Corinne," he responds calmly, twisting the top of the bag. "I doubt it'll ever be necessary. I'm gonna go wish Celeste a good night. Are you coming?"</em>
</p><p>"How did you do it?" I demand, my voice all too loud and panicked while my breathing grows rougher and harsher and paining my lungs.</p><p>Mother clenches her jaw, her eyes flicking between mine firmly like she wants to look away but is forcing herself not to. "When you were at the Ministry, you must have seen the Death Chamber. Sitting at the center of it—"</p><p>"That curtain?" I choke out.</p><p>"It's called The Veil," she says, brows slightly furrowed, her nose straight and sharp. "Your...Your father knew more about it," her voice is solemn, "but I think I can tell you what I know without breaking my Vow. It's something of a doorway, a barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead. And it's a one way trip. Your father and I managed to harness it. He managed to extract a bit of it."</p><p>
  <em>They were in Knockturn Alley, and while I don't know much about the creepy shopping area, I do know one thing—nobody ever goes there unless they have matters concerning the Dark Arts. All the shops there meddle with it, the antique shops, the quill shops, all of them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And they were standing outside the door to The Spiny Serpent.</em>
</p><p>"The Spiny Serpent," I gasp out, feeling my eyes start to sting as I grasp at my chest, at my rune. It doesn't burn like the locket does, but I grasp at it. No, I grasp for my heart, aching in its protection behind my skin and bones. "That's where—That's where—?" I look at her desperately. "You stole my locket and pretended I lost—lost it, and then you..?"</p><p>"We took it and the bit of The Veil to the Spiny Serpent, yes," she nods, her brows furrowed. "You saw us?"</p><p>"Keep talking."</p><p>She clenches her jaw. "They work in the Dark Arts at the Spiny Serpent, so—"</p><p>"<em>Every</em> shop in Knockturn Alley deals with the Dark Arts, <em>Mother</em>," I spit out spitefully, wiping the back of my palm against my face and frowning down at my hand when I feel something wet smear across my face.</p><p>"They <em>sell</em> objects of the Dark Arts, but not a single one of them specialize in the practice except for the Spiny Serpent. They used The Veil, they harnessed the barrier between worlds and put a bit of it in your locket and his ring and my bangle, and that's how..."</p><p>
  <em>He chuckles, the kind of rumbling laugh that's contagious around a dinner table. "Oh, yes. And then there's the Love Chamber. It studies love, of course, which is only the most powerful and mysterious magic of them all. Don't look at me like that," he laughs when he sees the incredulous expression on my face. "Your father isn't just a sap, he's telling the truth. They say that love is just about the only shield to the Killing Curse, self-sacrificing love. It's sad, but sweet."</em>
</p><p>"That wasn't all, was it?" I ask in a shaky voice, my eyes drifting off while my hands begin trembling once more. "It couldn't—It couldn't <em>just</em> be the—the—<em>The Veil</em>," I spit out distastefully, vision growing blurry.</p><p>Mother's face grows grave. "The Veil was the only item we needed that we didn't already have," she says coolly. "Everything else—Everything else was already there. It wouldn't have even worked if we didn't—"</p><p>"<em>Love</em> me?" I ask spitefully, a cruel laugh leaving my lips as a drop of my tears slips past my lips and tastes salty on my tongue. "All you had to do was <em>fucking love me?</em> That's bullshit, <em>Mother</em>," I laugh again, ignoring the scandalized look on her face as I throw the covers off of me, swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and stand up slightly shakily.</p><p>I can walk by myself now, even if it still hurts. She gets up anyway, looking like she's about to walk over and make me sit back down, so I through her a harsh glare.</p><p>"You don't know fucking <em>shit</em> about <em>love</em>," I spit at her. "You wouldn't know it if it slapped you in the face, and you spend all your damn time at the damn Ministry learning about it. Merlin, if you fucking knew love, you'd know <em>me</em>, and you'd know that I didn't want my father of all the people in the world to die for me! It should have—It should have—"</p><p>
  <em>Today your mother and I were supposed to take a day off and visit some old places from back when we were your age, just for the memories. But you know how your mother is. She woke up and told me she had a "bad feeling" and that she HAD to go into work today. I told her she's just overworked and needs some good sleep and a relaxing day. She insisted, though, so I told her I'd go instead. So now I'm spending my day off in the Ministry, currently writing this letter to you in the break room while drinking subpar coffee. The things I do for your mother, Celeste.</em>
</p><p>My face grows grave, and hers does as well, as if she knows what I'm thinking.</p><p>She doesn't know what I'm thinking. Parents always think that they know their children better than anyone else in the world, but the sad truth is that most of the time, their children are strangers to them.</p><p><em>It should have been me</em>, I sigh internally while tears slip from my eyes and streak messily down my face, while I finally face the thought I've been pushing away for a month.</p><p>She steps forward, hands up like she might cup my face, like she might try to be a mother and comfort me for once in my life, but I push her away and storm towards my bathroom as well as my shaking legs and aching body will allow.</p><p>"It should have been you," I snap.</p><p>I slam the door shut and fall back against it, my body giving out as I crumple to the tile floor and feel everything inside me shatter as I sob silently, crying for the first time in weeks, tasting my tears in my mouth, feeling my abdomen ache worse than ever as my sobs shake my frame.</p><p>I hear her shift quietly in my room, and then I hear her muffled voice. It's cold, distant.</p><p>"Shower and get dressed quickly. We have somewhere to be."</p><p>She walks off.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's ur favorite chapter so far ?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0049"><h2>49. HAPPINESS, OR FREEDOM?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a lil meeting yessir</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>DRACO MALFOY</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <strong>July 28th, 1996</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>I turn my head just slightly to look at my mother, to ask her silently with just my eyes, <em>What's going on?</em></p><p>She looks at me carefully for a few moments, her eyebrows furrowed. I glance between her eyes, struggling to read them, to figure out if that's dread or confusion behind them churning in her head. She steps closer to me, her arm around my back for her hand to gently clasp my arm.</p><p>Not even an hour before, Aunt Bellatrix came into my room to tell me that the Dark Lord returned from his trip—where it was, what he was doing, I haven't the slightest clue—and to get dressed because he wants to see me.</p><p><em>He wants to see me</em>.</p><p>That couldn't possibly mean anything good.</p><p>I stand in our parlor dressed in one of my simpler black suits, doing my best not to fidget with the sleeves or button and unbutton my jacket repeatedly to ease my nerves while we wait for Him to arrive. My eyes land on the piano in the corner of the room. It's beautiful, made of polished wood, but nothing like the one upstairs in my room. Sometimes when we'd have guests over, Father would have me play to impress them.</p><p>My eyes shift over to Aunt Bellatrix, seeing the sheer excitement on her face. She catches my look, black eyes growing wide and shiny while she grins at me, flashing those sharpened teeth at me while twirling her black curls in her hair.</p><p>"Right this way," I hear Alecto Carrow's wheezy voice say, my eyes then flashing over to the doorway and heart picking up in anxious anticipation. "The Dark Lord isn't here yet, but you don't mind waiting, do you?" Another wheezy, disgruntling laugh.</p><p>The door swings open, Alecto leaning her short body against it to keep it that way, while Corinne and Celeste Zabini walk in.</p><p>Mrs. Zabini's chin is tilted up, her dark eyes stoic and unreadable as they quickly scan the room. When they land on Bellatrix, she clenches her jaw rather noticeably, the daunting tilt of disdain permanently etched on her lips deepening while I see her hand subtly move to her outer forearm where her wand sits in its holster. She looks at Mother, some of the disdain melting away into a look of almost mutual respect as she gives her a curt nod. When she looks at me, she just gives me a quick scan up and down before turning her head over her shoulder to look at her daughter who has stopped just a foot past the doorway.</p><p>Celeste is walking on her own, nobody by her side to use as a human crutch. She looks almost shrunken, caved in on herself, one arm wrapped around herself to clutch her side like she's still in pain. Her face is almost blank, but then I look closely.</p><p>Her eyes look brown today, dark brown and a little watery. The skin under her eyes is slightly swollen and more red than purple, and her skin looks flushed even though it has slowly been regaining its color throughout the weeks. Her hair is loose, curls wild and slightly tangled, casting shadows over her cheeks and making her look gaunt. She looks filled with fright.</p><p>I follow her gaze to see her staring at Aunt Bellatrix, and my stomach lurches slightly. She's frozen. Her eyes don't blink, her pressed lips don't part, her brows don't furrow. The girl who's shocked me into stone so many times before stands unmoving, her eyes becoming distant like memories are flashing before them.</p><p>"Celeste," her mother says in a firm but quiet voice, reaching forward to brush her daughter's elbow.</p><p>Instantly, Celeste snaps out of her stupor. Her still body trembles, fingers shaking at her sides, knees wobbling as she clears her throat and takes a step forward. Her movements are slow, languid, and though she doesn't need help to walk anymore, it's so obvious that each step makes her body ache. Mrs. Zabini moves to grab her arm and help her, but Celeste pulls away from her, curling her trembling hands into fists.</p><p>She looks up at me while walking to stand near the wall, her eyes flashing slightly. I open my mouth, try to smile at her, try to let out some comment she'll scoff at, but nothing comes out, so we just watch each other in silence for a couple seconds before she tears her gaze away and leans against the wall to steady herself.</p><p>"Hi, dearie," Aunt Bellatrix coos, Celeste's head snapping over to look at her in an instant. A slight shrieking laugh, more high-pitched and grating than Pansy's, leaves my aunt's lips as she lazily twirls her wand and takes a few steps across the room towards Celeste, the latter clearly tensing up. "Aw, don't be <em>scared</em> of me, <em>Celeste</em>," she drawls, blinking her wide eyes innocently, long lashes fluttering. "I won't curse you." A smirk finds her lips while she shrugs. "This time."</p><p>"Bellatrix," Mother snaps beside me, her nails digging into her arm while she glares at her sister.</p><p>"Yes, Cissy?" she giggles softly, her mouth tipped open while she tilts her head. Her eyes then flash back to Celeste. "Oh, look at her, poor little thing. Looks about ready to jump out of her skin. Boo!" she cackles, stomping forward with her long-nailed fingers spread wide.</p><p>Celeste doesn't move a single inch, stuck against the wall with her eyes watching carefully. Her mother steps in front of her, though, fury on her face.</p><p>"Stay away from my daughter, Lestrange, or I promise, your years in Azkaban will seem like <em>heaven</em>," she sneers, and behind her, Celeste is glaring.</p><p>My aunt pouts, rolls her eyes, and walks back across the room, a little sway in her step.</p><p>I turn my head back to look at Celeste to see her already looking at me. She clears her throat and glances away when our gazes meet, straightening her spine slightly and running her hands down her clothes to straighten them out as well. Celeste sighs softly, turning her head back to look at me again. Her brows furrow as she searches me, her eyes inquisitive as she turns her chin up at me, asking silently why we're both here.</p><p>My eyes flick down to see she's wearing her locket. There's something else on the chain too, a <em>ring</em>, maybe.</p><p><em>I don't know</em>, I try to tell her with my eyes, one shoulder rising an inch as I shake my head.</p><p>Her lips tilt down as she crosses her arms tightly, her eyes warily flicking to Aunt Bellatrix who is busy picking at her long nails, a bored expression on her face. Her brows furrow tightly as she watches my aunt, and when she looks back at me and sees me still looking at her, her eyebrows rise as if she's been caught. I look away from her, clearing my throat.</p><p>I feel His presence before I see Him.</p><p>It's like all the Dark magic inside of Him radiates out of Him, permeating the air until it turns as thick as lead and weighs my shoulders down. It practically manifests itself physically, the drawn windows doing nothing to combat the sudden dimness of the room. A chill passes by, cutting through the muggy atmosphere of late July weather, freezing me down to my bone and making every hair on the back of my neck stand up.</p><p>I know everyone else feels it. Mother gives my arm another tight squeeze while we all suck in a gasp for air, like it's the last taste of sweet oxygen we'll get before He walks in.</p><p>Footsteps echo down the hallway, and then the door that's slightly cracked open is being pushed open. In walks Peter Pettigrew, a man I've seen groveling and sniveling around the Dark Lord many times in my very own house, and I recoil slightly at the sight of him. He looks a mess, his greying hair ratty, his silver hand clutching his wand tightly as he hunches over, stepping aside to look at his master.</p><p>The sight of <em>Him</em> makes my throat close up.</p><p>Pale skin, with purple, green, and blue veins crawling up the sides of His bare, scaly head, a whirlpool of blood underneath His thin skin. His red eyes could be looking at the piano across the room, but they feel like they're boring right into me, skipping past my eyes and instead delving into my brain to read every thought I've ever had or memory I've ever experienced. He can see the palpable fear in my head that spikes up in His mere presence, the way I'm wondering how, if I'm struggling to hold myself up under His presence, Celeste hasn't collapsed to the floor.</p><p>He smiles slowly.</p><p>—</p><p>I remember the earliest years of my childhood being exceptionally happy.</p><p>Not all Purebloods get lucky with their arranged marriages. Many of them end up with those that at first, before their arrangement, they simply tolerated and acknowledged, and then through the years being stuck in a home together, grow to resent each other. Some are lucky to end up with a partner that they tolerate even throughout the years, or perhaps grow to share a friendly relationship with within their contract.</p><p>But very, very few manage to end up with someone they love.</p><p>My mother and my father went to Hogwarts together. They were only a year apart, so they spent most of their years growing up together. Even before Hogwarts, even during the summers. Eventually, they fell in love, so when the time came for them to marry someone suitable, the choice was obvious.</p><p>My earliest years were good. There was the Boy Who Lived, but there was also the assumption that he would grow to become a Dark wizard capable of amounting to and surpassing the reaches of the Dark Lord, someone my father could follow one day in the far but foreseeable future. And until then, there was no Dark Lord to worry about or please—just tales to tell of what could be while I sat on my mother's lap.</p><p>It wasn't a perfect childhood, but those were the best years. I was still punished for being a mess, for making mistakes. He was never perfect, and because I wasn't either, a perfect childhood grew less and less sweet. I remember being caught playing Exploding Snap with a House Elf when I was five, maybe six, and the next thing I knew, I was being locked in my room for a week without much explanation.</p><p>But the day I got out, he ordered the Elves to prepare a feast with only all my favorite foods, and then he spent the night telling me about all the things I'll become while Mother told stories about all the stupid things <em>he'd</em> done when he was younger, and he chased her all around the house before capturing her and pulling her into a tight hug while she shrieked with laughter. That was the first and last time I saw her laugh so unashamedly, without holding back or worrying how proper she looked.</p><p>He's always been a little distant. A little cold. But when I was younger, it was undeniable that he loved my mother and me.</p><p>He didn't really grow resentful until I began Hogwarts.</p><p>When first year came, he realized that Potter wouldn't become what he expected. Second year, he snuck the diary in, helped open the Chamber of Secrets, and when Potter got in the way of it all, that's when he became angrier, colder. He and Mother fought more often over all sorts of things, from the social events they did or didn't want to attend, to whether I should be switched to another school, to whether the Elves should dust the portraits every Tuesday or every Thursday.</p><p>He doesn't hit often, or <em>didn't</em>. Sometimes he would get uncontrollably angry, and he'd usually take it out on some unsuspecting vase imported from foreign countries, or at the very worst, a House Elf that happened upon us at the worst possible time. He usually had somewhat of a reign on his anger, but I remember when he hit me abruptly when I got back home after second year because I was talking too much. Then when I went home for winter holidays in third year, he hit me again after I woefully informed him that I'd gotten a mere Acceptable on my Divinations essay. And sometime fourth year was when he choked me out, palm pressed against my throat so I couldn't get a hint of a breath in. I don't remember <em>why</em>, but I remember his livid eyes frozen to ice, and I remember him just yelling angrily and squeezing my through against the wall, and I remember he didn't stop until Mother heard and came running.</p><p>I wonder, when he finds out that I am being punished for his mistake, will he feel pain? Will he suffer knowing I'll spend this year suffering for him?</p><p>It's everything I've ever wanted. To be involved. To be taken seriously. To do it all right so he could just tell me he's proud.</p><p>This is my one chance to make up for his mistake, and as much as I want to throw up, as much as my forearm burns like it's infected with parasites, I stand there feeling determination and resolution course through my veins with my blood.</p><p>Because the Malfoy name cannot remain a pariah among Wizarding society. I'll make sure of it.</p><p>Celeste and I haven't moved a muscle in several long minutes. We stand next to each other, her right shoulder brushing slightly against my arm. It's just the two of us in this room—silent, hardly breathing, and not daring in the slightest to use our muscles to even look at each other. He's gone, he's been gone for what feels like both thirty seconds and thirty minutes. The room has returned to humid, warm. I have this itch to take my suit jacket off and air out, but I don't move. Because his presence might be gone, and the room may be warm again, but he has left me frozen solid.</p><p>The air can't thaw out the ice in my bones.</p><p>The back of my hand knocks gently against her arm as we breathe cautiously, hardly daring to move our chests and stomachs with each inhale of humid air, the smell of incoming rain from the open window permeating my nostrils. Her arm brushes against me, moving just under a centimeter once in a while. It's the only way I know that she's alive, that she isn't dead again somehow and turned into a statue.</p><p>It's her birthday in a couple days.</p><p>I remember now. Those three days I thought she was dead, they've been coming back to me in bits and pieces. It's mostly just me drunk, spending hours in bed, refusing to get up and shower in the morning, and then spending all night under burning hot water sitting against the wall of the shower, fully dressed.</p><p>What are you supposed to do when you think you've lost a friend?</p><p>She isn't Blaise, she isn't Pansy. I don't know what I would've done if it was one of them. We'd only really just become friends, and even then, she was to me more like a pest I'd frown somewhat fond of, and yet I spent three days drinking until I was throwing up, and then drinking some more.</p><p>It doesn't matter if she was my friend, my enemy, my anyone. She was someone dead, and I didn't want to think about it.</p><p>Blaise wrote to me those three days, and being the shitty person I am, I never wrote back. Maybe he was looking for comfort. He sure as hell wasn't getting it from home. His mother is a lovely woman, the ideal protector to everyone but him. She cares for all his friends, for all of her friends' children in a way that she won't care for him. He says she resents him for ever happening, and for that, he resents her.</p><p>But he wrote to me, and I remember him saying that he hates that he only got to celebrate one of her birthdays before seeing her dead. August 1st.</p><p>I spent three days just gone when I thought someone was dead. I wonder what I'll do after someone is dead because of <em>me</em>.</p><p>A shuddering breath leaves my lips, and I can sense Celeste finally moving to turn her head just slightly to look at me. I don't look back, though. I swallow thickly and stare ahead at the door behind which my mother, my aunt, and Celeste's mother all talk loudly.</p><p>"Call Him back here!" Corinne Zabini practically roars, making this the second time I've ever seen her lose her composure. "You call Him back here right this instant!"</p><p>"Oh, Cissy, get this <em>dog</em> to calm down, won't you?" Aunt Bellatrix drawls in a bored voice. "I'm tired of all her barking. Shut up, or I'll get you a muzzle. I won't be calling the Dark Lord just for him to see your disgraceful face again."</p><p>"<em>You little—</em>" Mrs. Zabini interrupts herself with a loud sigh, and I feel Celeste turn her head back to look at the door. "This—<em>This</em> is <em>not</em> what I had discussed with Him. If you think I'm going to sit here and let him—let him send my daughter on a <em>suicide mission,</em> and for—and for what? You get him back here right this instant, Lestrange."</p><p>"Oh, it's cute!" Aunt Bellatrix cackles, laughing in shrieks and inhaling dramatically for air. "It's <em>so</em> cute that you think you can tell me what to do! I'd have you <em>dead</em> on this floor if—"</p><p>"Bellatrix," Mother snaps, and my aunt's high-pitched talking and Celeste's mother's angry sighs cease into silence.</p><p>"<em>What</em>, Cissy?" my aunt sighs irritably when several silent moments pass.</p><p>Mother ignores her. She just sighs, and I assume she addresses Mrs. Zabini when she says, "Even if you manage to get her to call Him back, you won't be doing anything but angering. I'm...I'm sorry, Corinne, there isn't much that can be done."</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"I'm in the same position as you," Mother then says in a sharper voice, softening once more as she says, "Do you think I want to see my son go through this? I would—I would do something if I could."</p><p>Mrs. Zabini sighs loudly, and then comes a loud thudding noise that makes both Celeste and I jolt. She instantly reaches up to grab my hand in a tight, vice-like grip, but then she's letting go just as quickly.</p><p>"Will you be careful, Bella?" Mother sighs harshly.</p><p>Aunt Bellatrix giggles.</p><p>"You can't really be telling me that all I can do is watch from the sidelines while my daughter tears her soul apart," Mrs. Zabini snaps. "Are you really willing to watch your <em>son—?!</em>"</p><p>"Severus," Mother then says.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Oh, not <em>Severus</em>," Aunt Bellatrix scoffs. "I don't trust the man. Too good of an Occlumens to not be hiding something, and a double agent? Please."</p><p>"What are—What about him?" Mrs. Zabini demands to know.</p><p>"Come, come," I hear Mother say, their footsteps retreating from the door and their voices growing muffled.</p><p>And then Celeste and I are left in deafening, humid silence, my knuckles still brushing against her outer forearm, my inner left forearm burning and itching and screaming at me, but I resist the urge to scratch at it. It feels like a dead weight on my arm, an infection that wants to crawl up past my elbow, last my shoulder, and seep into my heart and head until it's taken over me.</p><p>Until I'm no longer Draco Malfoy with the Dark Mark, but the Dark Mark using Draco Malfoy as a vessel.</p><p>Celeste laughs softly next to me, and that's what breaks me out of my frozen state.</p><p>I turn my head, ignoring the way my hair falls into my eyes as I frown down at her. Her wild curls cover the side of her face, but then another soft laugh wracks her body, making her head shake and her hair fall out of the way as she looks up at the ceiling. Her lips are quivering as they spread into a grin, another laugh leaving her lips.</p><p>"Celeste..." I start warily.</p><p>She just laughs again, this time bringing her right hand up to her mouth to muffle the noise. Her eyes start to water as I turn to face her and reach tentatively for her wrist, prying it off her face with ease.</p><p>"How—How—?" she keeps interrupting herself with quiet but manic giggles, her hand balling into a fist while the tendons in her wrist flex against my hand that holds it loosely.</p><p>She tilts her head back, and my pulse that has been so absurdly languid and lazy speeds up as her through bobs with her heavy swallows. She continues laughing, her trembling body shaking from both her pain and her laughter.</p><p>My left arm burns. It's a slow, spreading pain, and I think it might consume me entirely one day.</p><p>"How is this hap—?" Celeste giggles, tilting her head back upright, her eyes watery with tears. "Fuck, I'm—these are tears of <em>laughter. </em>I'm so fucking—I'm so <em>fucked</em>."</p><p>She unfurls her fist to grab my suit jacket, twisting the material in her grip while another laugh leaves her lips. I gulp thickly, frowning down at her while my face feels frozen in that expression. I let go of her arm, shaking my hand out from between us to let it rest limply, uselessly at my side.</p><p>"How is this happening to <em>me?</em>" she finally lets out with a sigh. "<em>Your</em> father is the one who—who—"</p><p>"Who is a Death Eater?" I ask coolly, hearing soft laughs leave her lips.</p><p>She nods. "What did I—What did I even do? Fuck, I die and come back, and the next thing I know, I'm..." She trails off, suddenly going still. No laughs, no giggles, no movement, just her gripping my jacket in her hand.</p><p>"You're a Death Eater?" I supply in a cold voice, an ironic smirk slowly finding my lips as the cold dread and anticipation and resolve settles in my bones, kicking the defrosting ice out to make room.</p><p>"No," she says softly. "I'm going crazy."</p><p>My right hand trembles at my side. I move it cautiously, feeling her flinch when I brush it against her hip. But then she exhales softly and closes her eyes. The thumps of my heart echo throughout my body, sending my blood in ricocheting, surging pulses. I think if I tried to move my legs, I'd go lightheaded and pass out. My mouth is dry, and yet somehow with all of this combined, I feel calm. I feel sick and calm at the same time.</p><p>I move to wrap my arm around her waist right when she steps away abruptly, and so I drop my hand.</p><p>Her eyes are completely dry, and there's no hint of a quiver on her lips. She doesn't look like she might pout and burst into tears, nor smile and descend into another fit of psychotic laughter. She looks at me blankly, though her eyes are inscrutable and unreadable as ever as they scour my face, reading me with as much intensity as I read her.</p><p>"We'll be seeing a lot of each other this year," she says in a steady voice, brows furrowing slightly.</p><p>I watch her tiredly, feeling about ready to collapse, close my eyes, and let the dark ink behind my eyelids consume me whole until I no longer exist. Maybe I'll be a faint memory in everyone's head, or maybe a strange face in the dreams they forget when they wake up.</p><p>Something hurts in my chest. It claws at me chest, punctures my lungs with my ribs, pushes my stomach up towards my mouth. I'm so ready to fall asleep, but I know I won't be resting for a very long time.</p><p>I should be glad.</p><p><em>This is a good thing</em>, I remind myself, briefly closing my eyes and imagining my father behind bars, slowly going insane like my aunt while Dementors haunt him. I imagine my mother, the soft cries she thinks I don't hear at night while she despairs over what her family has become, while heathens traipse our home.</p><p>I imagine a world my father promised my mother only months ago in an overheard conversation.</p><p>He promised a perfect world. The beginning of a new era. It was a promise he could only deliver with success, and he failed.</p><p><em>I should be grateful</em>, I tell myself.</p><p>He failed, and now the Malfoys are untouchable among Purebloods, among other Death Eaters, even among other witches and wizards. One of us is in Azkaban. My father is in Azkaban, rotting away. The Dark Lord could break him out with ease, but he won't, because he wants to make the Malfoy family suffer so we learn his lesson. So we learn to never fail him, to never disappoint him.</p><p>This is my one chance to fix my father's mistake. I can save him. I can save my mother. I can save myself.</p><p>I just have to kill one man.</p><p>"It's a good thing we're friends now, then," I say simply, my face relaxing into a hardened mask as I watch Celeste's do the same.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>lollll this happened yup !</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0050"><h2>50. NOT JUST ANY GIRL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>its our bbgirl's bday!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>CELESTE ZABINI</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <strong>August 1st, 1996</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>"I'm <em>what?!</em>"</p><p>I stare at my mother incredulously, feeling hollow as I stand in my room, hands limp at my sides. She stands in my doorway, a grim look on her face.</p><p>"I said that you're going to spend the rest of the summer at the Malfoy Manor," she says curtly, glancing away from me to peer at my unmade bed. "You won't be visiting anyone, nor will you have anyone come to visit you."</p><p>I scoff softly, my face hot as the blood in my veins rage and deaden my ears. "Is this some sick attempt at a joke, Mother? Father was always better at those."</p><p>She falters, clearly surprised by what I've said. Her brows furrow, and then she inhales deeply and shakes her head as if to clear her mind. "It isn't my choice, Celeste," she says simply, flicking her wand so that my closet snaps open and out floats two empty trunks, resting on my bed before opening as well. "And it isn't yours."</p><p>"Can I at least know <em>why?!"</em> I scoff in disbelief, my hand trembling as I look at her completely aghast. "This is wonderful news to wake up to on my seventeenth birthday, Mother, by the way."</p><p>She purses her lips. "I'm sorry this has to happen on your b—"</p><p>"Don't bother. Just tell me why."</p><p>Mother hesitates slightly, glancing over her shoulder before stepping into my room. I frown at her deeply as she closes my door and casts a quick Muffliato over it.</p><p>"The Dark Lord wants you and the Malfoy boy to train for the month you have left before school begins and your task officially begins as well," she says in a sturdy voice, walking over to my closet and giving her wand a swift flick so that several of my shirts and sweaters come off their hangers, fold in midair, and float over to place themselves in my trunk. "So you should pack all the things you'll need for Hogwarts."</p><p>"Train?" I echo blankly, my throat closing up and heart pumping wildly as I watch her magic more of my clothes into the trunks, snatching. "Train for my task? What training—?"</p><p>"Occlumency, Nonverbal spells, Unforgivable Curses, Apparition, dueling skills," she lists off in a tired voice, her eyes closing for a second while all the clothes midair fold themselves neatly into my trunks and all the magic pauses. She inhales deeply, opens her eyes, and says, "He finds it best that you and Draco train together."</p><p>I stare at her, completely stunned, my jaw dropped and eyes wide and eyebrows lifted. My heart threatens to burst through the confines of my chest, fall down onto the floor below me and pulse rapidly while leaking blood onto the hardwood. My limbs feel numb and achy, and my left arm screams for attention from the Dark magic poured into my skin there and slowly infecting my veins.</p><p>"But..." I'm lost for words.</p><p>She doesn't look at me, continuing to magic the clothes and shoes and accessories out of my dresser and my closet, my books and supplies from under my bed, her magic going increasingly aggressive as the seconds pass until the clothes folding themselves look more like they've been thrown in and my ink bottles nearly shatter from how harshly they fall into the trunks. She then sighs heavily and just stops the magic, everything midair falling where it is.</p><p>"We're underage," I then say, swallowing thickly. "If we practice magic outside of Hogwarts—"</p><p>"The Dark Lord has <em>plenty</em> of people infiltrated within the Ministry," Mother scoffs, a dry smile finding her face as she resumes the magic, this time near and calm and fixing the rumpled closed. "Many of whom I work with... Any reports of the two of you using magic out of Hogwarts will go unnoticed."</p><p>I'm quiet, watching her pack for me with this powerful urge to just collapse to the floor, close my eyes, and let sleep envelop me.</p><p>"I can't believe you're letting him do this to me," I then murmur quietly, looking at her with empty eyes. "Father wouldn't like this. He wouldn't allow it."</p><p>Mother laughs abruptly, everything falling from midair again while that cold, ironic, and tired noise leaves her lips, her eyes wide and bright. "You," she exhales out, gripping her wand so tight that her knuckles go white, though I'm looking at the golden bangle on her wrist that matches the locket she's forced me to wear again. "You will <em>always</em> assume the worst of me, won't you? Honestly, Celeste, do you think I want to see you dead? To see you perform this task? Do you really think I'll sit back and just watch it happen with no complaints? Do you think I <em>hate</em> you, Celeste? You're only daughter, after all," she snaps angrily in a voice that's so bitter and cold and quiet, magicking the rest of my clothes away.</p><p>I grit my teeth at her, white hot anger flashing before my eyes as my chest heaves with every breath I take that aches my ribs. "Well, this is all your fault, isn't it? I never asked you to put this spell on my locket! I didn't ask you to have yourself or Father <em>sacrifice</em> your lives for—for <em>me!</em> But you did it anyway! And maybe I'm not dead, but what does—what does it matter if—if...if you can't even keep me safe!"</p><p>"Celeste!" she snaps loudly, whipping her hand to the side. One of my floating textbooks crashes angrily against the wall, making both of us jolt.</p><p>I stare at her indignantly, my lungs burning with each breath like I've run a Muggle marathon. She stares back at me with just as much ferocity. I've always, <em>always</em> wished I inherited my father's eyes. They were hazel and warm, comforting even on the rare occasion where he got angry. My mother's eyes are cold and calculating. They haven't got a single nurturing bit of pigment in them. They're just dark and distant, cruel.</p><p>"Well, you can't," I then say, my voice trembling slightly as I throw my hands up with a sigh. "Look where I am now. You can't protect me."</p><p>She frowns at me deeply, her lips pressed together and her brows furrowed. Her dark eyes drift between mine as she lowers her wand arm and clutches her cardigan tighter around her.</p><p>"I didn't want this to happen to you, Celeste," she says insistently, speaking slow like she doesn't want me to miss a single word. Her eyes burrow holes in mine, holding me still. "I never wanted this to happen to you. It was your father's idea, you know, to connect the locket with us. I didn't like it. Of course I'd give my life for yours in a heartbeat," she sighs tiredly when she sees my face fall slightly. "I know what you think of me. I'm not stupid. You can think I'm callous and cold all you want, but know this: the last thing I want is for you to <em>suffer</em>."</p><p>My frown is frozen on my face as I briefly glance away, swallowing thickly.</p><p>Mother takes a step towards me, and it takes all my effort not to step away. "Everything," she says in a grave voice, a voice that's almost <em>threatening</em> in stark comparison to her words, "<em>everything</em> I have <em>ever</em> done, every decision I have <em>ever</em> made, from marrying your father to charming that locket, it's all been for <em>you</em>. It's all been for your safety. I miss your father dearly, Celeste, and I regret that he ever had to leave—"</p><p>"He died," I spit out bitterly, seeing her eyes twitch. "He died. Say it how it is."</p><p>"Fine," she says like it was hard to get that word out of her chest. "I regret that he had to die, but I will <em>never</em> think that saving you was a mistake. You're a smart girl, Celeste, so don't be a fool now. There is no way for me to get you out of this task. I would have already if I could. That doesn't mean I'm letting you go in blind with no assurance you'll come out on the other side <em>alive</em>."</p><p>I stare at her for a few moments, watching her look away as she closes the trunk filled with my clothes.</p><p>"Pack anything I missed," she says simply, glancing up at the clock on my wall. "I've told Blaise and your aunt you're being committed to St. Mungo's because I caught you trying to hurt yourself. Be downstairs as soon as possible, we—"</p><p>"<em>Excuse me?</em>"</p><p>"—have to leave soon." She looks at me blankly. "What did you want me to tell them? We're all sworn to secrecy. We can't tell the truth."</p><p>I open and close my mouth, but nothing comes out while she just watches me tiredly.</p><p>My mind goes back to that overheard conversation she had with Aunt Colette.</p><p>"You're hiding things from me," I then blurt out, seeing her eyes narrow.</p><p>"Celeste," she says calmly, but I don't let her say anymore.</p><p>"The locket led me to the Hall of Prophecies," I say, taking a step towards her while she glances down at me. "Why?" I demand to know.</p><p>She glanced between my eyes. "I can't tell you."</p><p>"Wonderful," I scoff out with a roll of my eyes, choosing not to press—it won't yield any fruit. "And this?" I pull my shirt down to reveal the black rune sitting in the center of my chest, a scratchy R.</p><p>She doesn't look surprised. She doesn't lift her eyebrows up in confusion. She just stares at the rune in dread, conflicted.</p><p>"I can't tell you why you have that—"</p><p>"Of <em>course</em> not—"</p><p>"But I can tell you what it means."</p><p>I frown. "I know what it means."</p><p>She ignores me, slipping her wand away. "Your father had the same rune on his finger when they...found him. <em>Reido</em>. It means—"</p><p>"Journey, I kn—"</p><p>"It means the end of his journey marks the beginning of yours."</p><p>—</p><p>I step into my father's study.</p><p>I don't know what I'm expecting. Maybe to be hit by an overwhelming wave of emotions as I look over at his desk where he would sit for long hours into the night pouring over papers and books and files, a quill in his hand and blots of ink over his fingers. He was always rather clumsy with ink. Maybe I was expecting to cry when I look at his bookshelf, crammed with hard covers that he'd lend to me. Sometimes I'd grab a book from my library below my room, and I'd stay here with him and read into the night during the winter holidays.</p><p>But there's nothing. It's just an old study that's already accumulating dust.</p><p>
  <em>"Celeste," Father says softly, making me look back up at his warm eyes, freezing when I see them water slightly, "I wish I had the time to teach you everything I know. There's a locked drawer in my study. The ring should open it. It's filled with my memories. I want you to look through them all."</em>
</p><p>I pull my locket out from inside my shirt, holding it in my fingers while I look down at it. Next to the tarnished pendant is his golden ring, a thick band with no embellishments, entirely unassuming.</p><p>I slip my locket off from over my head, unclasping it and carefully slipping the ring down until it's resting in my palm. I slip the locket into my pocket before looking up, taking another few tentative steps into the study. Despite it being afternoon and summer out, it looks like dusk has fallen. Dark blue light is cast over the desk, dust dancing where shadow doesn't reach.</p><p>I walk around his desk, pulling at drawers until I find a deep one that doesn't budge. I rattle it around a bit, but it won't pull out, so that's when I crouch down to face it better.</p><p>Right below the handle is a circular indent in the wood. I clamp my lips together, fiddling with the ring in my hand before aligning it with the indent. I gasp softly when it instantly slips into the wood, locking into place—a small round of metal lost in there.</p><p>Frowning, I pull the handle and straighten back up. The drawer slides out in ease, and inside is a big box covered in velvet, much like a jewelry box.</p><p>I stare at it cautiously for a few moments like it might come to life and bite my hands off, but it just sits there quietly. So I reach in, grab it hesitantly, and pull it out of the drawer to set it down on my father's desk. When I nudge the drawer closes, the ring falls down and clatters to the floor.</p><p>I'm quick to head out of the study, ring and locket back around my neck, box in my arms, and careful not to give my father's study one last look. Just in case the wave of tears and grief is simply delayed.</p><p>—</p><p>"I'm so sorry," Blaise mumbles, his arms tightening around me.</p><p>We're in the foyer, my mother watching rather impatiently as he hugs me tight like he'll never see me again.</p><p>"It's fine."</p><p>"I should've paid more attention," he exhales softly, holding me tighter while I snake my arms around him and give him a looser embrace, looking off distantly and resting my head on his shoulder. "I should've realized, <em>fuck</em>."</p><p>"It's not your fault," I breathe, my left forearm burning. Glamour Charms can hide an ugly scar, but they can't take them away.</p><p>"I'll visit you every day."</p><p>"She can't have visitors," Mother says.</p><p>"Then I'll—I'll write to you. Every single day. I'm not letting you disappear on me, do you understand, Celeste?" he says insistently, his voice shaking slightly.</p><p>I close my eyes when I feel them sting.</p><p>In a way, I'm glad I can't tell him and Pansy. I'd hate to see the way they'd look at me if they ever found out.</p><p>But this doesn't feel much better.</p><p>"I'll see you in a month, Blaise, it's no big deal," I force out in a joking voice, even rolling my eyes for effect even if he can't see them. "You're such a drama queen, honestly. Have you considered acting? I think you'd be a w—"</p><p>"Shut up," he laughs in a choked voice, groaning in irritation. "You're so annoying."</p><p>"Exactly. You'll find a month with me a way to be a blessing in disguise," I say with a slight grin, reaching up towards his head to give it a slight rub. He subsequently lets his head fall forward to rest his forehead on my shoulder. "You won't even notice I'm gone."</p><p>"I doubt it—Why are <em>you</em> comforting <em>me?</em>"</p><p>"Because you're an idiot."</p><p>"Fair. Don't do anything stupid, Celeste, please," he sighs tiredly, his hands gripping the back of my shirt tightly. "I'm gonna be so mad if you do anything stupid."</p><p>"Oh, shut up."</p><p>"Celeste," Mother says, making me tense, "we need to go now."</p><p>Blaise and I are quiet, enjoying for however many seconds longer we have our shared, rare embrace. I close my eyes again, allowing myself to imagine just for a second that it's my father holding me instead. The details are off, though. His arms aren't muscled enough, his shoulders aren't broad enough, her chest isn't warm enough. But I melt into him anyway, wishing I hadn't missed out on so many years of him.</p><p>"Happy b—" He catches himself. It just isn't right, and we both know it. "I love you," he says instead, his voice softly while his arms give me one last squeeze.</p><p>"Shut up," I whisper. "I love you too."</p><p>He lets me go, and I walk over to my mother, taking her hand begrudgingly. My luggage has gone on before me, taken by the Elves and likely sitting in some guest room waiting for me.</p><p>"I want to see Pansy first," I say.</p><p>"You can't."</p><p>We Apparate away with a loud crack.</p><p>—</p><p>The idea of sleep is so comforting. The thought of it makes my eyelids heavy, my muscles relax. I haven't slept well in weeks.</p><p>That's because sleep is a deceiving, conniving, two-faced monster. It's a devil wearing a halo and a pair of gleaming white wings, horns hidden away. It's so enticing, a promise of hours of sweet, soft rest bundled in swaths of blankets despite the summer night heat.</p><p>In reality, it's waking up screaming for help and banging on the imaginary metal walls of a box in the morgue. Or, occasionally, it's hearing muffled shouts from inside my coffin six feet under ground while my body decays before my eyes, dressed in something pretty and white. Sometimes it's seeing a flash of green, except instead of death, it's first torture from when my locket tried to burn me alive. Sometimes I'm frozen on the spot, forced to watch my father die slowly. Those are the dreams that are hardest to wake up from, because as much as I hate to watch it, I just want to see his face again.</p><p>Pansy and Blaise have already written to me, and their letters sit on the desk in my new bedroom, waiting for me to open them. I can't bear to read them now, just like I can't bear to look at the gifts they've sent for me sitting right next to their letters.</p><p>The sun set a while ago. Dusk drifts in past my sheer curtains and settles on my room, casting a dark blue glow that illuminates everything in an eerie way. I lay in an uncomfortable position on my new bed. The mattress is too soft, too plush. By the time I'll get used to it, I'll be leaving for Hogwarts.</p><p>I didn't go down for dinner. An Elf brought food up for me, though I haven't touched it.</p><p>Cheeky is curled up near my feet, occasionally judging his furry face against my legs and making soft, tired noises while shifting around in his sleep. I watch him, my cheek resting on my arm, my body curled in on itself slightly. I watch him in the dark blue light, wanting to scoop him up and cradle him to my chest and savor what little comfort I have left in this world.</p><p>A Death Eater.</p><p>My forearm itches at the thought, and my chest hurts when I realize that my father would be ashamed. He's always wanted peace, and now I embody the exact opposite.</p><p>I'm so terrified that I'll close my eyes, and when I open them, I'll be dying again. I'm so terrified of dying. I'm terrified of flashing green lights, burning fire swallowing me whole. I'm terrified of all white bakeries, in which my father sits and looks at me calmly. I'm terrified of coffins underground and morgues that smell of the cold and potions to mask the smell of death.</p><p>I'm so scared of dying, but when I try to imagine the last time I felt any comfort, it was when I was dead.</p><p>There really is no comfort left in the world. No comfort to be found in tight embraces with family, nor in libraries filled with my favorite person's favorite books, nor in lifelong companions bearing coats of grey fur, nor in sleep. Inviting, duplicitous sleep.</p><p>My mother has never been a comfort, but she had always been at the very least dependable. Now I know she has an arsenal of secrets, secrets about myself, my locket, my <em>father</em>.</p><p>There's nothing to store my hope in, nor to have faith in. There's no person nor anything left in the world to trust anymore, nobody but myself—</p><p>And even I am a stone wall threatening to crumble at any given moment.</p><p>I don't want to be alone right now.</p><p>My body protests at the idea of moving. It groans and pleads and begs, whining as my achy bones shift so I'm sitting up and swinging my legs off the edge of my bed. My muscles cry out for mercy when I force myself up onto my feet, the very feet that shout at me angrily as I slowly walk across the guest room towards the door.</p><p>Out in the hallway, I stare quietly at the door just a few meters down, closed with no noise coming from it. I close my own door behind me, wincing when metal clicks and echoes in the empty hallway, making generations of Malfoy snap their heads towards me from their portraits on the walls.</p><p>I ignore them though, and I force my feet to propel me towards the door. I don't want to disturb him. In fact, I don't even want to talk to him. I change my mind, I'd like to be alone today, I don't really want any company, and, anyway, Cheeky is more than sufficient company—</p><p>I knock my knuckles against the door.</p><p>There's silence at first, but then I hear the rustling of him getting out of his bed, and I wince when I realize he could've been trying to sleep.</p><p>The door swings open, and Draco's eyes take a moment to glance down at me. He furrows his eyebrows when he sees me, one hand holding the top of his door frame and the other clutching the side so he can lean forward and loom over me. I inhale slowly, taking in his familiar smell. The bittersweet green apple, the natural musk, the faint cologne. His pale hair is a mess, flopping all over the place and falling into his silver, scrutinizing eyes boring holes into mine. His skin looks <em>cold</em>, a dusty rose blush under his prominent cheekbones inside the hollows of his cheeks. All his features are so hard, angular, statuesque, carved from refined ice.</p><p>I realize I'm just standing here in front of him, and he's probably wondering what I'm doing here, but I have nothing to say.</p><p>It's too warm. The Malfoy Manor is usually cold, but it's just so warm in this long-sleeved sweatshirt. I can't handle the thought of rolling it up, though.</p><p>"Celeste..." he says in a wary, prompting voice, tilting his head at me almost expectantly.</p><p>"Were you sleeping?"</p><p>"No, I was—I was reading," he says quickly, running his hand through his messy hair before gripping the door frame again. He frowns at me deeply, scanning my face over.</p><p>I glance away from his eyes, choosing to focus on his neck instead. I can't handle his gaze, especially because I have no idea what to say, no idea how to tell him that I don't want to be alone right now, and somehow, he's my <em>only</em> choice of company right now. Will he laugh at me?</p><p>I'm breathing rather hard.</p><p>"Celeste," he says again in a softer voice, my eyes snapping back up to his in a mild panic, "what are you doing right now?"</p><p>I furrow my eyebrows at him in confusion. "What?"</p><p>"What are you doing right now?" he repeats calmly.</p><p>"I'm—I'm <em>standing in front of you</em>, stupid," I scoff out, wondering why my pulse is going crazy as I glance to the side with furrowed brows.</p><p>He doesn't scowl, doesn't smirk. He just tilts his head at me, eyes hardening as he looks at me carefully. "No, I meant—are you busy right now?" he asks, a slight icy edge in his voice.</p><p>I frown at him ferociously. "Well, I'm on <em>house</em> arrest in <em>your</em> house, so no, not really. Thanks for asking."</p><p>"Wanna come in?" he asks without missing a beat, ignoring my sarcastic quip while leaning closer to me and inhaling deeply. My lips part and eyebrows rise in surprise, but he just looks at me with a bored expression. "Come in."</p><p>I glance between his eyes, my lips twitching slightly and my brows conflicted over whether they should furrow in confusion or relax with relief that he's asked me to come in and I don't have to make a fool out of myself by telling him that I'm <em>lonely</em> and want his <em>company</em>. Merlin, it's just humiliating to think about. The only thing making me feel better is the fact that I don't have much of a selection to choose out of. He's the default answer.</p><p>Draco lifts an eyebrow. "Well? Can I get an answer? Why are you just—?"</p><p>I don't let him finish. I grab him by the front of his soft shirt and tug him down towards me while pushing myself up onto my toes, smashing our lips together with a hard kiss all while pushing him back into his room. He makes a muffled noise of surprise, his hands flying to my hips to steady himself so he doesn't fall over backwards. One of my hands slips up to his white hair, tangling with the messy locks and pulling harshly to hear him hiss while I reach behind me to slam the door shut.</p><p>He instantly presses me up against it, his hands gripping my hips through my lounge shorts and using them to pin me against the wood. I make a soft noise against his lips, pulling on his hair and fisting his shirt in my hands while he pushes his tongue past my lips to brush roughly against mine. A low groan leaves his lips when I smooth my own tongue against his, making my knees weaken slightly.</p><p>One of his hands slips behind me and down until it reaches the hem of my shorts before reaching up beneath the fabric to squeeze my ass. I gasp as his strong, big hand grips me tightly, cold rings biting into my skin.</p><p>Draco pulls away abruptly, his hands leaving my body so his arms and prop up on the door on either sides of me. He groans softly and leans in to rest his head against the door next to mine, a soft curse leaving his lips.</p><p>"Why'd we stop?" I pant, twisting his shirt in my hand.</p><p>"Wait, we can't—we can't just—"</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"You—You're—It's your <em>birthday</em>," he sighs exasperatedly, his hands curling into fists near my head while his chest heaves right in front of my eyes. "This is what you wanna do on your birthday?"</p><p>"Forgive me if I'm not in the mood to eat <em>cake</em>," I snap slightly, letting go of his hair and shirt and letting my hands fall back down to my sides. "Just fuck me, Draco, and I'll be on my way."</p><p>"I can't just <em>fuck</em> you," he snaps right back.</p><p>"Why the hell not?" I scoff.</p><p>"Because! Because, you're..." He trails off, sputtering slightly like he can choose or find the right words, his eyes translucent and striking.</p><p>My face grows grave as I watch him pick his head up off the door to look at me, neck bent down so our eyes are aligned and my own head tilted up. Our foreheads are close, our noses nearly brush, and I'd just have to go on my toes to press my lips back against his. He looks at me searchingly, almost pleadingly, begging me to pick the words from his thoughts so he doesn't have to say them.</p><p>"Because I'm <em>weak?</em>" I suggest stonily, glaring at him harshly as my mouth presses in a grim line.</p><p>"You—"</p><p>"Fuck you, Malfoy, honestly, I'm so done," I scoff, bringing my hands up to rub my face harshly.</p><p>"What the fuck do you want me to do?" he says coldly, eyes glaring right back at me. "Take advantage of you? I'm a lot of things, Celeste, but I'm not—"</p><p>"<em>Take advantage of me?</em>" I repeat incredulously, dropping my hands from my face to give his chest a rough shove that barely even shakes him. "For fuck's sake..."</p><p>"Well, <em>yeah</em>. You're fucking traumatized, you idiot," Draco snaps harshly, one hand coming down from the door to grip my wrist tightly between us, "and you can barely hold yourself up on your fucking feet. I'm not gonna <em>fuck </em>you, I'm not that guy."</p><p>I glance between his eyes, a sound of disbelief leaving my parted lips while I shake my head.</p><p>"<em>What?</em>"</p><p>"Are you fucking with me right now? The one moment I need you to be an asshole, you're suddenly <em>Mr. Considerate?</em>" I snap at him, twisting my hand to get my wrist out of his strong grip, though all he does is hold it tighter while his eyes grow harsh enough that I falter slightly.</p><p>"'Need' me?" he frowns in confusion.</p><p>I ignore him, saying, "Since when do you give a damn what a girl is <em>feeling</em> or what <em>state</em> she's in when she comes to you telling you to <em>fucking fuck her?</em>"</p><p>"You're not just any girl anymore, idiot," he seethes, his nails starting to dig into my skin, though he loosens his grip when I wince softly and frown at him in panicked confusion. "Oh, shut up," he says when he sees the look on my face. "I don't mean it like <em>that</em>. Get over yourself. I just mean—well, we're supposed to be <em>friends</em> now, right? That means I'm supposed to, <em>I don't fucking know</em>, think about how you're <em>feeling</em> or what <em>state</em> you're in. Merlin. You're so dumb."</p><p>I squint at him, still shocked at what I'm hearing. "Are you, like, trying to turn over a new leaf or something? Try a hand at being a good person? Well, stop it. Just...<em>Merlin</em>, just <em>fuck me</em> you insufferable, egomaniacal, <em>absolutely</em> fucking <em>idiotic</em> little piece of shit!"</p><p>"No," he says firmly, giving my wrist a tight squeeze and shake before throwing it back to me. He pushes off the door and turns around to walk away, rubbing the back of his neck and sighing heavily.</p><p>"Is it because you genuinely don't want to?" I ask, rubbing my wrist and tilting my head at him with a deep frown. "You can just fucking say it. There's no need for you to worry about hurting my <em>feelings</em>. Absurd..."</p><p>"It's not that I don't want to," he groans frustratedly, lacing his fingers together at the back of his head and looking up at the ceiling as if the chandelier hanging from there will offer any support.</p><p>"So you <em>do</em> want to fuck me?" I confirm.</p><p>"<em>Very</em> much so."</p><p>"So then who the hell are you to say no?" I ask incredulously, throwing my hands up in the air.</p><p>"I <em>just</em> told you—"</p><p>"Please, Draco," I sigh, slumping against the door and closing my eyes tiredly. "I'm telling you I <em>want</em> you to—I really fucking <em>need</em> you to just fuck me right now. Okay? I'm giving you consent to fuck me as hard as you possibly can. Okay?"</p><p>"Again with the 'need—'"</p><p>"I need a <em>distraction</em>," I snap, my eyes flying open as I stand up straight again to see him facing me, a deep frown on his pink lips, one hand slowly mussing his hair up. "You don't want to fuck me because you think, what, I'm too fucked up in the head to think straight? I need you to fuck me because I need to stop thinking about the things fucking me up."</p><p>"Celeste, I don't—"</p><p>"Stop it!" I groan exasperatedly. "What the fuck else do you need to hear from me? Stop trying to be some fucking <em>saint</em>, Malfoy, when we both know you and I are nothing more than two Death Eat—"</p><p>That seems to do the trick.</p><p>Before I can even finish my sentence, he's back up against me, a strong hand gripping my neck tightly around my throat so that the rest of my sentence comes out as a strained gasp as I stare up at him in shock, lips tipping open for him to smash his mouth against and force his tongue inside roughly while his other hand pins my hips against the door.</p><p>I make a muffled noise against his lips, my brows furrowing tightly as I reach my hands up to his hair. He squeezes my neck tighter, effectively reducing my breaths to shallow inhales that make my face flame up while he kisses me aggressively, making dark, low groans in response to the soft noises I make.</p><p>His hand on my neck goes up to grip my jaw tightly, forcing my head up and to the side and ignoring my sound of protest as he latches his lips to my neck. He aggressively nips, sucks, and bites at the skin, my breath growing haggard and slightly whiny, punctuated with embarrassing moans as I grow limp in his hands. He bites down harshly near the base of my neck, a low chuckle leaving his lips when I cry out. His tongue smooths the spot over before he sucks on it harshly, fingers digging into my jaw.</p><p>"I fucking hate you," he snarls into my neck, letting go of my jaw to slip his hand between my legs and abruptly grind his palm up against me, making me whimper.</p><p>"Good," I exhale breathily, my eyes closing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's the first thing you would show draco/any hp person in the muggle world?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0051"><h2>51. TO HAVE YOUR CAKE AND EAT IT TOO</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>just read :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>DRACO MALFOY</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <strong>August 1st, 1996</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>At first she disappears into my bathroom, muttering something about a Glamor Charm, and for a moment my mind is on the mark on my arm, hidden by my own charm but constantly twisting and turning and coiling on my skin.</p><p>But then she's back, catching me off guard by pushing me onto my bed, and climbing on top of me.</p><p>All the air in my lungs escapes with a great gust when my back hits my mattress, my body landing with a slight bounce. I move to prop myself up on my elbows to look at her, but she's already crawling over me and shoving at my shoulders to push them back down against the bed. I chuckle darkly at her eagerness, resting back flat while my hands go to her hips and help her position herself so that her legs are on either side of my body.</p><p>She leans down and crashes her lips to mine, her curls, smelling strongly of bitter blackberries, cascading down as a curtain that brushes against the sides of my face. Her hands lace into my hair, pulling harshly as she presses her tongue into my mouth and aggressively brushes it against mine.</p><p>My hands squeeze at her hips, moving back to grab at her ass and massage the flesh tightly, enjoying the way she squirms slightly in my grip and lowers her hips down onto mine. I thrust my hips up lightly, hearing her gasp when my growing erection pressed against her. I then slide my hands up until they reach the hem of her sweatshirt, tugging at it until she pulls away from me and holds her arms up so I can pull the sweatshirt off of her in one swift motion, leaving her panting softly and straddling my hips in a simple black bra. Just as I expected, her forearm is barren of any mark. Her hand flies up to her locket, and then she clears her throat and leans back in, this time grinding her hips down against my erection.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," I curse, but she practically swallows my curse when she kisses me again as aggressively and, dare I say, <em>dominantly</em> as possible, her hands seemingly unsure of what to do.</p><p>One is planted firmly near my head, the other snakes her my shirt to scratch at my chest. I groan slightly at the feeling of her nails taking down my skin harshly, maybe breaking blood but at the very least leaving swelling lines. I hiss when she finds one of my nipples, pinching it between her fingers while rolling her hips down on mine. But just as soon, she's slipping her hand out of my shirt to tug my hair, grip my jaw, scratch my arms.</p><p>She's hungry. No, she's beyond insatiable, someone who has been starved for months and then locked in a room with <em>me</em>. She moans lewdly, sounds lingering with my groans while my bulge grows larger and harder to press against her pussy through her underwear and shorts.</p><p>"Such a needy little girl," I rasp as she pulls away form my lips to kiss down my jawline, my eyes falling shut and hands slipping into her shorts to squeeze her ass from over her panties, hearing her inhale sharply while she nips at my skin. "You can't get enough from me, can you? All you can think about is all the ways I can make you cry..."</p><p>"Draco," she groans, a hand slipping down to push my shirt up as high as it'll go with my body pinning it to the mattress. Her nails scratch against my skin again as she whispers near my ear, lips brushing against me and breath warm, "<em>Je veux être aux commandes cette fois </em>[I want to be in control this time]."</p><p>My breath hitches.</p><p>She pauses for a moment, and when I don't answer, she continues kissing and sucking down my neck, leaving bruises near my throat and scraping her teeth against me while my mind spins.</p><p>Celeste in control.</p><p>Images flood my head of her controlling my body, telling me what to do and when to do it, leaning over me with her hair hanging down and her arm leading down to a hand around my neck.</p><p>It makes me smirk in amusement, because I know I could easily flip her over and fuck her into oblivion, but it makes my erection throb in my pants as she sucks a bruise onto my collarbone.</p><p>"<em>Prend le contrôle, alors</em> [Take control, then]," I groan out, lifting my hips up against her.</p><p>Those words seem to turn a switch in her on. She sits up, her hand clutching the front of my shirt pulling me to sit up as well. I reach for her waist and tilt my head to kiss her again, but she forces me away and instead pulls on my shirt, a demanding and fierce look on her eyes. I comply wordlessly, pulling my shirt up and over my head to toss it aside, shivering slightly as I lean back to rest my weight on my palms so she can rake her hungry eyes over my abdomen, her chest heaving slightly.</p><p>"Everything off except your underwear," she says simply in a sturdy voice, no room left for argument as she climbs off of me and the bed, hooking her thumbs into her shorts to pull them down.</p><p>"As you wish," I say dryly, undoing my belt and tossing it aside.</p><p>She watches carefully, licking her lips while I unbutton and unzip my pants before kicking them off, leaving me in just my briefs. I move back to the center of the bed, leaning back against my head board with my arms folded behind my head so I can look at her. Even in a plain bra and simple cotton panties, her body looks ready to be torn apart. The windows are open to let in some air, and the moonlight shines through as well to mix with the dim candlelight and make her dark skin glow. There's a ravenous gleam in her black eyes as they devour my body from afar, lingering on my chest and thighs before she bends down to her pile of clothes to pick something up—her wand.</p><p>"<em>Colloportus</em>," she says, flicking her wand at the door so that the lock clicks and the whole room gives a slight shudder as the door locks magically. "<em>Muffliato</em>," she then mutters with another flourish, making me smirk slightly.</p><p>"Planning on making me scream, Zabini?" I ask teasingly, reaching back to adjust the pillows behind my back so that I'm more comfortable while she turns to look at me.</p><p>A soft laugh leaves her plump lips as she approaches the bed, resting her knee on the edge of it while twirling her wand in her fingers. "No, Draco," she says in a silky, low, and soothing voice that ironically sets me on edge. Her lips turn up in a slight smirk as she tilts her head, flicking her wand with a whispered, "<em>Incarcerous</em>."</p><p>I gasp when a thin, tightly coiled rope conjures out of thin air, wrapping tightly around my wrists and suspend my arms up with my wrists near my head while tying its ends to my headboard, refusing to give when I flex my muscles and pull as hard as I can. The more I struggle against them, though, the more they dig into my skin. It's like they're pulling on me, not letting me move my hands lower than my head.</p><p>"<em>Celeste</em>," I growl warningly, my hair falling in front of my face as I continue pulling against the ropes.</p><p>"I love that spell," she sighs softly, "but this one comes remarkably close. <em>Obscuro.</em>"</p><p>"Fuck!" I curse out harshly, my knees bending as I kick down at the bed like that'll get rid of the thin ropes around my wrists or the blindfold shes conjured around my eyes. It's not like a tie wrapped around my head, allowing me to see just a bit above or below, or maybe see the light behind them. It's a magical blindfold, hindering my ability to make out any differences in light or see even the sliver of anything, rendering me effectively blind.</p><p>"Look at you," she coos softly as I hear her climb onto the bed after a brief moment's pause. "You look so <em>pretty</em> when you're helpless."</p><p>The mattress shifts slightly as she crawls forward, a teasing hand trailing up my leg and an insufferable laugh leaving her lips when I jolt slightly under her touch. She scrapes her nails up my thigh, brushing her hand up the side of my hip to feel at my abdomen and chest, her lips ghosting over my shoulder. I inhale deeply and exhale sharply when I feel her warm breath wash over the base of my neck. She's hardly touching me, lips only barely skimming my skin when I shift and her nails scraping over my chest lightly.</p><p>"<em>Je ne veux pas te faire crier, Draco</em> [I don't want to make you scream, Draco]," she whispers next to my ear, no doubt smirking when my breath hitches at the proximity of her voice and breath.</p><p>I feel her move so her legs are on either side of one of mine, her knee crossing onto my hip, though she doesn't lower herself to sit just yet. Both her hands go up to my hair, rubbing her fingers through it and tugging on the locks, my breathing growing heavy. She then abruptly tugs my hair down and forces me to tilt my head up, a gasp leaving my lips.</p><p>Celeste lowers herself slightly so that her nose brushes against mine, and despite how much I tilt my head up to connect our lips to kiss her, she won't let me. Her hand continues tugging my hair while the other holds my jaw in place.</p><p>"<em>Je veux te faire pleurer</em> [I want to make you cry]."</p><p>She lowers herself to straddle one of my thighs, and a long string of curses leaves my lips when I realize she took her panties off before. She's warm and wet against my skin, slowly rolling her hips in circles on top of me, her breaths coming out in muted pants.</p><p>"Celeste," I groan softly, my thigh flexing underneath her as she slowly grinds herself down against me. I close my eyes tight even though I can't see, throwing my head back to rest against the headboard while I listen to her soft moans.</p><p>"Shit," she says in a shaky voice, one of her hands going up to grip my left wrist and pin it back against the headboard, her other sliding my up the middle of my chest to wrap slowly around my neck.</p><p>I struggle against the rope, flexing my arms and trying to pull my hands away, but they just pull me back in. Celeste laughs breathily, her hand on my neck squeezing on either sides of my throat and digging her nails into my wrist.</p><p>"How does this feel, huh, Draco?" she pants out, leaning close to me so her lips brush against mine again, a strangled moan leaving her lips while she continues grinding on my thigh. "Knowing you can't touch me? Can't fuck me the way you want to? Knowing you're all tied up for me to use however I want? Do you like that, Draco?"</p><p>My heart pounds loudly in my chest as I grit my teeth and ignore the pinching pain on my wrists while I struggle against my blinds, wishing I could see <em>anything</em> while she moans lewdly right in my ear.</p><p>"I'm gonna kill you," I snap, feeling her rub her dripping core against me while her hand tightens around my throat and her hips move faster, her mind practically sounding like mewls. She gasps and whimpers in my ear, my hands curling into tight fists at the idea of her getting off on my <em>thigh</em> rather than my hands or my cock or my fucking <em>mouth</em>. "You're gonna make me cry? You're just a pathetic little girl, it's <em>cute</em>, honestly, that you think you can do anything to make me <em>cry</em>."</p><p>Her hands go to the top of my chest as she continues grinding her wet heat against my thigh, raking her nails down the front of my chest all the way to my stomach as harshly as possible, the stinging sensation eliciting a strangled noise from my mouth, my back arching slightly and head rolling back.</p><p>"I guess the sadist is a bit of a masochist <em>too</em>," she muses in a dark tone. "<em>Cute</em>, hm?"</p><p>"Practically fucking adorable," I hiss out, squeezing my eyes tightly and letting my mouth fall open as she grabs my neck with one hand again, squeezing even tighter to force all the air out of my throat with a shuddering groan.</p><p>She moans breathlessly, other hand gripping my shoulder and digging her long nails into my skin as she starts fucking her hips back and forth, friction between my thigh and her core making her pant. I lift my hips again, wincing as I wish she was doing this on my erection instead, throbbing and begging for attention or at the very least to be released from the confines of my briefs.</p><p>Her hand then abruptly smacks me across my face, tightly gripping my cheeks when my head falls to the side, squeezing my jaw and forcing my mouth to open slightly for her to lean and moan with her lips brushing against mine.</p><p>"Is this cute to you?" she pants, a moan leaving her lips as she angles herself forward and rubs herself against my thigh in smaller, circular motion, right hand now on my neck and left hand holding my left thigh, probably breaking my skin.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, Celeste," I grunt, lifting and dropping my hips repeatedly in a failed attempt to get some friction where I need it most, but all she does is dig her nails into my thigh to make me stop.</p><p>"Tell me what you want me to do to you," she says in an authoritative voice, a soft curse leaving her lips as her breaths grow heavier. Before I can even speak, she leans in and bites down on <em>my</em> lip hard enough to draw a little blood, a loud moan muffled between us. "<em>Shit</em>," she all but whimpers when she drags her teeth off my lip.</p><p>"I—" I hiss when she flicks her tongue over my bleeding lip, instantly sucking it into my mouth to suck on the blood leaking from it, tasting metal on my tongue.</p><p>"Speak up, Malfoy," Celeste groans, my pulse pounding loudly in my ears as her lips latch onto my right shoulder, her right hand still squeezing my neck and making my breathing hoarse and shallow. "Come on, Pretty Boy, you <em>always </em>have so much to say. <em>Ne reste pas silencieuse </em>[Don't go all quiet on me]."</p><p>I groan softly, letting my bleeding lip slip from between my teeth and knocking my head back against the headboard while she sucks on my collarbones, unafraid to scrape her teeth against my skin or pulse my tongue against me to the rhythm of her hips grinding down on my hips.</p><p>"Celete," I choke out, feeling my throat bob against her hand when I swallow thickly. "I can't—<em>stop teasing me</em>," I snarl out, pulling harshly against the ropes that bite just as harshly into my wrists.</p><p>"Tell me what you want me to do to you first."</p><p>"<em>Fuck me</em>, stupid," I spit out, bending my knee and grinding my thigh back up against her, hearing her gasp shakily. "Merlin, I just—I need—<em>ah</em>, Celeste," I moan out as she uses her left hand to pull on my hair, the sharp feeling jolting down my spine to add to the throbbing feeling between my legs.</p><p>My pulse throbs harshly against my skin, and she can probably feel it on her lips as she nudges my head up and shifts her hands to reach the pulse right underneath my jaw, rubbing her warm tongue over it.</p><p>"C'mon, use your words," she pants, squeezing my neck tighter. "Be a good boy and tell me what you want."</p><p>A shudder passes my body as I tip my mouth open and gasp for shallow mouthfuls of oxygen, feeling pre cum start to leak from my tip and leave a damp patch on my briefs. "I want—I want you to—" I moan out, choking slightly on my spit when her hand squeezes my neck, my heart fluttering violently in my chest. "Touch me, Celeste, <em>please</em>, I—"</p><p>"Where?" she asks in a soft voice. I can practically hear the mocking pout on her lips. Her left hand glides over my chest, scratching my skin and making me jerk as she scrapes her nails harshly over my nipples. "Here, Dray?"</p><p>"<em>No</em>, my—"</p><p>"Here?" she whispers in my ear, her hand on my stomach pressing at my abs.</p><p>"No, lower, <em>lower</em>, please," I beg breathlessly while her palm starts pressing on my throat rather than on either side of it, chest heaving even though she hasn't even touched me where I need her to.</p><p>"Over here, Draco?" she teases, nibbling gently on my ear while her hand slides down my stomach, moving onto my hip right over my briefs, <em>so</em> close to my erection, but not there quite yet. I lift my hips up in the air as she slides her hand inside my briefs through the leg, skimming her cold fingers over my skin, rubbing her hand side to side but refusing to touch me where I need her to.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, Celeste, quit being a tease," I groan out, intending to be loud and intimidating, but instead speaking in a strangled whimper while my hips fall back down to the bed. "<em>Please, please,</em> I—"</p><p>She pulls my briefs down, and my throbbing, hard, and neglected erection springs out of its trappings to hit my stomach, a hiss leaving my lips as my sensitive tip grazes my skin. I feel Celeste lift herself up from my thigh slightly, and then I feel her cold hand gathering up all the messy, sticky arousal she left on my skin onto her fingers.</p><p>"Cel—"</p><p>Celeste shoves her fingers into my mouth, effectively muffling me words. I groan in shock, my head knocking against the headboard as I taste her sticky arousal on her fingers, hearing her shiver softly as I skim my tongue over the pads of her fingers.</p><p>"Do you like how I taste, Draco?"</p><p>I nod, my eyes squeezing shut despite my blindfold while I continue to struggle against my binds, wanting to grab her and flip the two of us over.</p><p>Celeste moves to straddle both my legs this time, standing up on her knees so close to me that I can feel her breasts brush against my face, her bra evidently missing.</p><p>"Should I take this blindfold off?" she muses in a sweet, deceitful voice, her fingers pulling out of my mouth to skim over my eyes from over the blindfold, her other hand in my hair forcing me to turn my head up at her. I pant softly, brows pulled together tightly, and nod. "Have you been good enough, Draco? Do you deserve that?"</p><p>"Yes, <em>yes</em>, Celeste," I groan out while she tugs on my hair, shocks spiraling down my body from her touch. "Let me see you, let me touch you."</p><p>"I'll let you see me," she says, her hands slipping under the blindfold and finally pulling it off, "but touching me..."</p><p>I keep my eyes closed for a few seconds even as she cups the side of my face with her hand, her thumb dragging my lip down before pushing inside for me to slowly brush my tongue against. I slowly open my eyes, panting softly up at her with a harsh glare while she smirks down at me, her curls falling over one side and her face flushed.</p><p>Her hand steadies herself on my shoulder as she repositions herself, her knees bent on either side of my hips while she reaches down. I groan and throw my head back when her hand wraps around my erection, that small touch doing wonders for my angry body. And then she carefully aligns herself, her hand moving me to teasingly drag my tip against her core, her arousal getting all over my tip that's already wet with my pre cum.</p><p>"Stop teasing," I gasp out, jolting my hips up, though she won't let me fuck into her. "<em>Celeste</em>..."</p><p>"Moan my name again," she says breathily, my head tilted all the way back so she can lean over me, lips inches from mine. "Moan my name, Draco."</p><p>Her hand slowly pumps me up and down while she continues teasingly dragging her core over me, hand on my shoulder going to the side of my face while she leans in and presses her lips to mine, her tongue pushing past my lips to brush against mine.</p><p>"Celeste," I moan, my arms stopping their struggle and body going limp. "Oh, <em>Merlin</em>, Celeste." Strangled, chokes noises force their way out my mouth as she continues pumping me, her fist twisting up my length and her black. eyes glimmering mischievously. Her thumb glides over my tip, my body shuddering while I whimper lowly, her eyes darkening considerably at the sound.</p><p>She then sinks down onto me just an inch, a loud gasp fighting out of my mouth while my head rolls back and eyes squeeze shut. Her walls clenching around just my tip, warm and soft and wet, while my hands curl into fists tight enough that my nails draw blood from my palms. Celeste sinks down lower, and I make a choked moan in response while her one hand tightly clutches my shoulder and her other holds the side of my face. Her thumb drags my lip down while I moan.</p><p>"More," I beg, her lips brushing against mine. "I need—I need m—oh, <em>fuck me</em>," I gasp out when she sinks all the way down on top of me, her walls trembling and pulsating around my aching cock while a soft noise leaves her own lips.</p><p>One of her hands grips my hair tightly, using it as leverage for her to lean back and grip my knee with her other hand, bringing her own knees up and planting her feet firmly on the mattress on either side of her hips. I groan at the changing angle, bucking my hips up into her quickly. She responds by yanking on my hair tightly, curling a lock around her fingers and nearly pulling my hair out of my scalp.</p><p>"<em>Be good</em>," she says firmly, pulling my head back as she starts lifting herself up again, sliding up until it's just my tip inside her again, a strangled groan leaving my lips. "Color?"</p><p>She looks powerful, her dark skin glowing slightly in the dim lighting, her black eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming with a kind of hunger. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks with every blink, and her brows knit together tightly while her mouth tips open to release her breathy moans. Her lips are plump, slightly wet from gnawing on them and licking them, tempting me to lean in and capture them in my own, but the restraints hold me back. Her curls are still somehow neat, maybe a flyaway or two bouncing as she slowly lowers herself down, burying me to my hilt, and then slides back up in that same torturous pace.</p><p>I clamp my lips shut together, my face flushing with heat and embarrassment at the low noises I make in response to her cruel torture, the ropes digging harshly into my wrists while I try to wrestle against them. They're unrelenting, however, and I just end up expending more of my energy the harder I try to fight against them.</p><p>"Draco," she snaps all of a sudden, pausing her motions to grab my jaw harshly, her nails digging slightly into my skin and her fingers pressing into the muscle there, my heart leaping in shock. "<em>Color?</em>"</p><p>My face flames up even hotter as she lets my face go, throwing it off to the side. I lift my head back up to glare at her, seeing her smirking at me with slightly parted lips and a quirked eyebrow while humiliation and anger surges through my veins. My heart pounds wildly, my pulse thuds visibly against my neck and raw wrists.</p><p>"<em>Green</em>," I force out through gritted teeth.</p><p>Celeste smirks, shifting so she's kneeling and straddling me again, pressing close against me while grinding down in my lap with me still in her. I exhale shakily, closing my eyes and tilting my head back while tensing my things and focusing all my willpower on not bucking up into her.</p><p>"That's what I thought," she muses condescendingly, her nails scraping up my chest again, harshly scratching at my skin while she leans in and connects her lips with just under my jawline, warm tongue grazing my skin. "You like this, don't you? You like being all tied up for me to use, Draco?"</p><p>She squeezes tightly around me while rotating her hips. I moan, screwing my eyes shut even tighter and biting down on my lip to muffle the sound. My hands grasp at air, twisting slightly to at the very least grip the ropes that hold them hostage, flexing my arms and pulling down at them to get rid of my frustration and tension at least some way.</p><p>"You like it when I tease you?" she pants softly, once more slowly rising and sinking on me, leaning forward into my chest. "You like it when I make you writhe underneath me? Answer me, Draco. Don't you know that good boys speak when spoken to?"</p><p>I press my lips together, refusing to open my eyes or open my mouth to give her what she wants, refusing to give up what little shred of dignity she's let me keep, but then she's slapping me across my face with a powerful palm, a partially pained but mostly pleasured groan leaving my lips as my head falls to the side, stinging slightly on the left side. Her hand is on my neck choking me once more before I can even pick my head up, my eyes shooting open in shock as she squeezes it tightly enough to force all the air out of my mouth with a gust.</p><p>Celeste looks at me with narrowed eyes, eyes heavy and nearly closed while she tilts her chin up and lets her mouth part for her breathy noises to escape. She bounces on top of me a little faster, her warm walls squeezing tighter than even her hand on my neck. Her other hand rakes her nails down my side, a strangled cry leaving my lips.</p><p>"<em>Answer me</em>," she all but spits at me, throwing her head back for a moment while her curls bounce lightly over her shoulders. She lifts her head back to look at me, her pants mixing with my stifled groans.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," I choke out, not having the energy to <em>snap</em> at her or <em>spit</em> at her or <em>seethe</em> at her. I just let out one broken, hoarse, and strangled <em>yes</em>, my face screwed up in torturous pleasure and my arms trembling from being suspended by the rope for so long. "Yes, I like—I like it. <em>Fuuuck</em>," I groan out as she swivels her hips in circles. Her movements have me gasping for breath, but hardly getting any oxygen past my throat with her hand squeezing my neck tight. "Celeste, let me—<em>shit</em>—let me go, let me t-touch y-you..." I trail off with a low, open-mouthed groan as she suddenly bounces up and down faster than before, her breasts bouncing and her curls flying like coiling snakes, the sound of her wet pussy making friction with my erection filling the air along with my groans her pants.</p><p>"Are you gonna—oh, <em>shit</em>... Are you gonna beg for me, Malfoy?" she moans breathily, eyes threatening to fall shut as she leans back in close to me, capturing my lips with her own. Neither of us bother moving our lips or slipping our tongues into each other's mouth. We just let our parted lips brush against each other, our moans mixing in the middle.</p><p>My hands clench into fists while my pride tells me <em>no</em>, I <em>won't </em>be begging. But then her eyes flutter open slightly, so intoxicatingly dark, drinking me in and trapping me in their hold from the way they're so intense and unreadable.</p><p>"I'll do anything you want me to," I gasp out while her fingers tighten on my neck, making me choke softly in an attempt to get a full breath of air.</p><p>I hear her curse quietly at this, her hand letting go of my neck to grab my shoulder. I suck in a deep breath of sweet air while she leans in and wraps her arms behind my neck, her lips near my ear where her hot, heavy breaths wash over my skin and give me goosebumps. She continues riding me, bouncing up and down while her breasts graze against my chest and curls tickle my skin. I lift my hips up a bit, wincing at the effort it takes not to fuck up into her and finish as fast as I possibly can. She claws at my arm, though, silently telling me not to move.</p><p>"How much do you hate yourself right now?" she laughs dryly, a hand going up to the back of my head to tangle with my hair and force my head back so she can reach my ear more easily. I groan while she bounces on me, her legs starting to tremble slightly. "How embarrassed are you to be underneath me, so helpless and <em>needy?</em>"</p><p>She nibbles on my ear lobe while the tension in my gut swirls dangerously, making me feel like it might just tear my insides apart if she doesn't relieve it soon. I clench my hands into fists and tighten my jaw, screwing my eyes shut. She's so fucking wet and hot around me, rolling her hips back and forth when she isn't bouncing on my lap, her lips placing open-mouthed kissed wherever they can reach.</p><p>"Should I let you come, Dray?" she pants softly, a low moan then leaving her lips while she clumsily kisses up the side of my face, nails scratching at the back of my neck and shoulders.</p><p>"Please," I gasp out, opening my eyes when her hand comes back to my neck, this time not squeezing but forcing me to press against the headboard while I look at her with the most pleading eyes I can possibly muster.</p><p>Celeste laughs dryly. "Tell me when you're close. I swear, Draco, if you come before I tell you to, I'll leave you tied up here all night."</p><p>She somehow manages to speed up, making me whimper softly. My eyes fall shut again as I tense all the muscles in my body, arms and legs going rigid, to hold back from thrusting up or coming before she tells me to, panting heavily. A long, strangled noise comes out of the back of my throat.</p><p>"You said you'll do anything I want you to, Dray?" she asks in an innocent, coy voice, licking a strip of hot spit up the side of my neck while moaning breathily.</p><p>"Y-Yes."</p><p>"Fuck, I have you <em>stuttering?</em>" she laughs hoarsely, groaning into my neck while grinding down on me. "Of course you'd do anything for me...I have you wrapped around my finger, don't I?"</p><p>"Celeste," I gasp out, "let me—let me—" I cut myself off with a groan and sharply hit my head back against the headboard.</p><p>"Speak up, Malfoy," she says sharply, nails scratching my shoulder.</p><p>"Let me go, I—Let me help you come," I plead, forcing my eyes back open to watch her bouncing grow faster but also smaller, her eyes growing heavy. She falters slightly at my words, hungry eyes scanning my body, including the pink scars from her nails on my chest, before she picks up her pace. I whimper again as her walls flutter around me, choking out, "Just one hand, Celeste, just <em>one</em> hand."</p><p>My erection is so rigid, so tense that it physically hurts holding myself back from coming. I wrap my hands around the ropes another time to get a better grip, pulling on them harshly and slightly arching my back while she grinds and bounces down on me, relieving some of the tension but not enough.</p><p>"Won't you let me make you feel good?" I moan breathily, my face screwing up slightly as my hips rise slightly, desperate for any sort of relief. "Shit..."</p><p>"You're so eager," she moans out a weak laugh, a hand twisting harshly at my hair as she rises almost all the way up, just my tip inside her, and leans forward before sliding back down, a whimper leaving her lips right as I groan out a curse.</p><p>Her hands are clawing at my shoulders so hard I can feel the skin breaking. She leans in and sucks at my neck clumsily, her teeth latching around a patch of skin to muffle her dirty moans. I close my eyes, feeling the backs of them prick as the wet, clenching walls of her pussy bring me so close to breaking the edge that the pain just intensifies.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," I choke out weakly, my abs tightening as I do my best to hold back. "Celeste, I can't...I can't wait..."</p><p>"Just a little longer, you can do it," she teases in a sweet voice. "You can wait for me, can't you?" Her hand cups the side of my face so delicately, thumb rubbing at my lip and coaxing my mouth open for her to reach close and briefly tangle her tongue with mine, both our kissing sloppy as we're too drunk on the feelings coursing between our legs. "Draco."</p><p>I make a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper in response, my already hot face burning even warmer.</p><p>"Open your eyes."</p><p>When I do just that, I frown and realize that my vision is a little blurry. I hear Celeste laugh softly, almost triumphantly, and then her thumb gently presses down right below my eye, coaxing the slight water welling there to drip down over her skin. I inhale harshly, blinking the water away quickly until my vision clears and I can see Celeste giving me an open-mouthed smirk, her pants reaching my ears as her curls and breasts bounce with her purposeful movements.</p><p>"One hand," she says in an authoritative but breathless voice, giving me a hard look with those hungry black eyes while she glides her hand up my right arm. "Don't try to take control, Dray, do you understand?"</p><p>"Yes," I exhale in relief, leaning my head back while her hand goes up to mine, easily untangling the ropes from where the hold my wrist taut. My hand drops down and I hiss when the pressure of the tight ropes disappears, leaving me to feel the raw pain around my wrist.</p><p>She doesn't give me a second to shake it out. She grabs that wrist and pins it up against the headboard next to my head, leaning into kiss me hungrily and sloppily while moaning and bouncing on my lap, my own groans mixing with the ones coming from her lips. I could easily unpin my hand, but I let her hold it there, her cold hand actually soothing the raw rope burn.</p><p>She then moves my hand back to her hip, letting it go to steady herself on my shoulder again. I'm quick to grab her by her ass, pulling her in closer to me and squeeze the flesh there, hearing her inhale shakily.</p><p>"Celeste," I groan against her lips, testing out a subtle thrust to see if she'll stop me. She throws her head back, though, exposing the column of her throat for me to nip at while she continues bouncing and I occasionally meet her with a small thrust.</p><p>"Fuck," she gasps out, "do that—do that again." I buck up into her as hard as I can, seeing her eyes flash with pure bliss and mouth tip open. She sways slightly, but she continues her quick pace bouncing on me.</p><p>"Choke me again."</p><p>Her eyes widen slightly, but then, between all her pants, she grins mischievously, her hand instantly clasping around my neck, squeezing, and forcing it back against the headboard. I groan, letting my eyes shut for a few seconds while I give her ass one last squeeze and move to towards her stomach, feeling goosebumps rose on her skin.</p><p>I fuck up into her again, using my hand still bound as leverage while my other dips down between her legs, fingers splayed out over her pelvis while my thumb finds her clit, rubbing it with her arousal acting as lubrication.</p><p>Celeste moans loudly and in surprise, falling forward to rest on my chest, her head on my shoulder while her hand on my neck squeezes tighter. She arches her back and moved her hips up and down while I thrust up into her, groaning for her to hear and cursing as the robes bite into my left wrist.</p><p>"Fa-Faster," she demands, pressing her fingers into my neck while moving to bite down on my shoulder.</p><p>I oblige with a breathy groan, moving my thumb as fast as I can against her clit, hearing her sharp inhales of both pain and pleasure. Her teeth scrape against my shoulder before she picks her head up. She tightens her girl in my neck, making me choke slightly. It makes Celeste laugh weakly in my ear.</p><p>"How close are you?" she moans out.</p><p>"I can't—I can't wait any longer," I pant, groaning loudly as I feel my cock twitch inside her, just about ready to burst while my hand starts cramping up.</p><p>"<em>Come for me</em>."</p><p>It's like my body's just been waiting for her to whisper those words in that silky, sultry voice of hers. My hips rise up with one last thrust right as I come violently right inside of her, feeling her walls flutter and clench tighter than ever as she moans loudly with her own orgasm, drawing blood from my arm and squeezing my neck hard enough that I start to see some stars.</p><p>It takes us a few minutes to stir. She's slumped up against my chest, me still inside of her, with her arms hanging around my shoulders. One of my hands is still strung up by the rope, and my entire body aches—likely not as bad as hers, but enough that the idea of moving makes me groan internally.</p><p>Our bodies are a little sticky, and where her skin touches mine, I feel warm and buzzing. Her breasts are pressed up against my chest. Occasionally, she twitches and abruptly tenses her thighs and clenches her walls around me, eliciting a soft groan from me.</p><p>I feel one of her hands go up to my hair, gently playing with the locks and slightly massaging my scalp while she catches her breath. Her head is in my shoulder, lips brushing against my neck where I can feel her breaths. My eyes are shut and head is leaned back, my one free arm wrapped loosely around her.</p><p>"I made you cry," she then whispers in a hoarse, soft, but proud voice, a hint of laughter in there.</p><p>I pinch her back. "My eyes watered. That's different from crying," I snap playfully, my pride feeling a little tarnished.</p><p>"Fine," she says lightly, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck while I hum appreciatively. "Maybe I didn't make you cry <em>this</em> time."</p><p>"<em>Oh?</em>" I tense slightly.</p><p>"I guess I'll have to try again some other time," she laughs shakily, slowly pulling away from me until she's slouching in front of me, hands between us. Celeste smirks slowly, her curls only slightly messy. Her skin is flushed, looking more alive than she has these past few weeks.</p><p>"Celeste," I say quietly, narrowing my eyes at her.</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>I reach my free hand out to wrap around her neck, making her gasp when I pull her in so her face is close to mine, her dark eyes flickering between mine and my lips while her own part in anticipation. I lick my lips, gently grazing her own with my tongue.</p><p>"You'll pay for this," I promise in a grave voice, feeling her throat shift as she swallow thickly, making me smirk slowly. "Now get off me so we can clean up."</p><p>—</p><p>When I step out of my bathroom and back into my room, I'm surprised to see Celeste sitting at my piano.</p><p>I let her shower first. I'd assumed she'd leave.</p><p>She doesn't seem to notice me even as I close the bathroom door and distractedly towel my hair dry, watching her simply admire the piano. One of her hands reaches out to ghost over it, not daring to touch any of the ivory keys. Her arm reaches further for her hand to skim over the carvings of the horned and fanged snakes and serpents crawling all over the wood.</p><p>I glance her over, seeing she's wearing her own fresh set of clothes. She went to her room and came back.</p><p>Celeste sighs softly, a sigh that's neither content nor dismay, but something more bittersweet in between. Her curls, just slightly messy, are up in a messy pony tail, exposing the stony yet delicate features of the side of her face, from the curve of her long lashes, to the prominent lines of her strong cheekbones, to the round tip of her button nose, to the plumpness of her brown lips, to the sharpness of her proud chin.</p><p>I watch her move just her hand over the piano, her black eyes filled with awe, and I find myself slightly dumbstruck.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>She jolts, drawing her hand back to her side and instantly whipping her head over her shoulder to look at me with wide eyes.</p><p>"Sorry," she says instantly, a panicked edge to her voice as she stands up. Celeste then clears her throat, and like magic, the panic in her voice and on her face melts away to collected calm. "I wasn't touching, I was just looking."</p><p>I glance her over, taking in the way her thighs look thinner than they used to in her shorts. Her jawline is so much starker than before. Through the neckline of the shirt she wears, I can see dark shadows over her collarbones.</p><p>"You're allowed to touch," I say quietly, a frown on my lips as my eyes linger on her hand at her side, wondering if her wrist has always been so small or if what happened to her and what happened to her father really has taken this kind of toll on her body.</p><p>Celeste opens her mouth to respond, but she's interrupted by her own stomach complaining to be fed.</p><p>My eyebrows rise up while she winces slightly.</p><p>"When's the last time you ate?" I ask calmly, tossing my towel aside and walking over in just my sweats to my dresser, pulling a drawer open.</p><p>"Uh, breakfast," she says in a clear voice, clearing her throat and clearly trying to act normal.</p><p>I catch myself almost asking her <em>Why?</em></p><p>"No appetite?" I ask instead.</p><p>"Not really. I guess that stayed dead," she says dryly, an equally dry laugh leaving her lips.</p><p>"You've could've passed out," I huff with slight irritation, throwing her a glare from over my shoulder while pulling a shirt on over my head. "You could've literally passed out."</p><p>"Yeah, well—"</p><p>"Wait here," I say simply, hardly sparing her a glance while walking over to my door, swinging it open, and stepping out into the empty hallway.</p><p>I walk briskly a short distance down the hall to the guest bedroom I know she now occupies, swinging it open. The first thing I see is her Chicken sleeping peacefully in the very center of her bed, fur looking particularly fluffy. And then my eyes slide over to her desk where, sure enough, next to a stack of wrapped items and letters sits a rather large tray where food sits under metal lids.</p><p>I walk over quietly, careful not to wake Chicken, and lift up the larger lid to reveal dinner, cold and neglected. I'm about to pull my wand out to reheat it and bring it back to her, but something tells me that no amount of persistence would lead to success. So I lift the smaller one up, pleasantly surprised to see what's under it.</p><p>Apparently, the House-Elves knew it was her birthday today, because sitting on a china plate is a mini chocolate cake, the sweet smell wafting up to my nose.</p><p>When I enter my room once more, closing my door behind me, Celeste is sitting in front of the piano once more, this time letting her fingers actually touch the carvings. When the door shuts, she jolts and turns her head to look at me, eyes first flashing to mine and then settling on the cake in my hands, her eyebrows rising.</p><p>"Eat," I say firmly, walking over to sit down beside her on the bench, holding the plate out for her to take.</p><p>Celeste's eyebrows rise. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Was I mumbling? <em>Eat</em>. I'd rather not you faint in my room, because then <em>I'm </em>the one that has to drag your body to yours," I huff, pushing the plate into her hands, picking the fork up, and jabbing it into the round cake. "You lost quite a bit of energy during our previous activities, Celeste, energy you couldn't afford to spend. Honestly, if you faint in here, I might not even drag you out. I'll leave you there on the floor. So <em>eat</em>."</p><p>Celeste's hands tremble as they hold the plate in an awkward position, her dumbfounded eyes glancing between mine and her plump lips opening and closing like a fish.</p><p>I huff in irritation, rubbing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose before looking back up at her with a slight glare and asking sarcastically, "Do you need me to feed you myself? <em>Eat</em>, idiot. It's your damn birthday, you should at least have some cake Happy birthday, by the way. Dumbass."</p><p>"Oh," she says quietly, turning away from me and adjusting her grip on the plate.</p><p>I exhale softly through my nose, watching her grab the fork with a slightly shaky hand and pull it away with a piece of the cake stuck to the prongs. She looks at it with pursed lips, like the idea of eating it makes her sick.</p><p>I sigh quietly, my hand instinctively rising up, except I realize I don't know what to do with it, so I just rub my damp hair.</p><p>"Celeste, I..."</p><p>"This is my first birthday without him," she says in a quiet, steady, and stony voice, her hands lowering the plate to her lap while she stares blankly at the piano keys.</p><p>My face softens slightly, but then my brows knit together and my lips purse slightly while I glance her over, noticing how her frame is slightly curved in on herself. Her head falls slowly, the curls in her ponytail falling on one side and blocking my view of her face.</p><p>My irritation and persistence is quickly washed away by a heavy wave of guilt.</p><p>I can feel my left forearm throb where my mark is hidden by a Glamour Charm, but I push all thoughts of it away as I have been for the past few days.</p><p>"Cel," I say quietly, her head jerking back up straight.</p><p>Celeste clears her throat, a cheeky smile plastering over her face as she chokes out a laugh and brushes her stray hairs out of her face. "Ah, my bad," she mumbles with that smile growing pinched, "didn't mean to get all depressing on you. Well, <em>I</em> had a <em>wonderful</em> night, but I think I'll retire to my own room now, so—"</p><p>"I'll play you a song for every bite you have," I offer, my eyebrows rising slightly as I tilt my head forward in an attempt to get a better look at her face, my eyes appreciating how smooth her dark skin looks.</p><p>The smile on her face slips away, but her eyes stay bright. "Tempting, I'll admit," she forces a weary laugh.</p><p>"And, I mean, even if you don't...if you can't have any of it..." I clear my throat, looking away from her and to the music rack where a score already sits, my voice trailing off.</p><p>"If I can't..?" she prompts curiously, now turning her head to look at me.</p><p>"Well, you can stay a while longer. If you'd like."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yup yup she did that</p><p>QOTD: how do you think draco would celebrate your birthday?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0052"><h2>52. YOU CAN'T FEEL A BREEZE THROUGH A CLOSED WINDOW</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste and draco begin occlumency lessons</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>CELESTE ZABINI</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <strong>August 4th, 1996</strong>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The view from the window of our newly named "training room" is beautiful.</p><p>It's of the garden, a vast stretch of land beside the manor adjacent to the even vaster forest filled with throngs of grey-green trees. It's filled with all sorts of flowers and bushes and vines and plants, both incredibly organized and a beautiful mess. I can see the Angel's Trumpets swaying in the slight breeze outside, gazing up at the moon with their pale pink petals outstretched to embrace the moonlight. There's all sorts of trees, from banyans and beeches to Silver-leafs and Wiggentrees, planted in spirals and surrounding silver pools of water, toadstools thay chatter, and several statues that occasionally reach up to push their stone hair out of their face.</p><p>"Perhaps a night down in the cellar with Ollivander may do you some good, Celeste, dear," Bellatrix purrs, her voice so abrupt and cold compared to the warm breeze form the window, making me startle and snap my head to look at her, my heart pounding in fear and my head already starting to feel like while she peers at me with wide, wicked black eyes, "since you can't seem to <em>pay attention</em>."</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but there's nothing for me to say as I stand there staring at her carefully with my heart halfway out my throat.</p><p>"Oh," Bellatrix scoffs, waving her hand at me dismissively, "you needn't look at me like some <em>scared</em>, itty-bitty <em>baby</em>, Lettie."</p><p>I don't even have time to react to the new nickname, because she's already stalking up to me and pointing her wand under my chin to tilt my head up, baring her decaying teeth in a lopsided grin when my eyes widen and breath hitches in fear. My hands form fists, one tightly clutching my wand, ready to shoot out a <em>Protego!—</em>nonverbally, even, considering how quickly I managed to pick that up—in case she decides to shoot a Killing Curse at me. Again.</p><p>"I'm not going to <em>kill</em> you, <em>darling</em>," she purrs, her tongue dragging over her browning teeth while I resist the urge to heave at her breath. Bellatrix pouts mockingly, the tip of her wand now jabbing next to my throat right over my pulse, making me gasp while my erratic pulse speeds up. "Don't you understand what happened was an <em>accident?</em> It won't happen again, dearie," she croons, dry lips cracking slightly as they spread into a wide grin and her hand, nails like yellow claws, comes up to pick on of my curls up and twirl it. "Not unless you do something to deserve it, of course!"</p><p>"Of course," I echo, my voice sounding distant as my eyes stay stuck on hers, praying she doesn't come closer and touch me with her skin, praying my heart doesn't bear so fast that it explodes right in my chest.</p><p>"You two have done <em>decently</em> so far," she says in that fluctuating voice of hers, dragging her wand down my jaw. "You're <em>quite</em> adept at Nonverbal Spells, Celeste, and Draco here has picked Apparition up rather quickly. We haven't gone over the Unforgivables, yet, of course, though that and dueling can wait a bit longer. It's <em>Occlumency,"</em> she says sharply, the tip of her wand briefly lighting up with a spark that shocks my neck, making me gasp and take a step back while she grins at me maniacally, "however," Bellatrix giggles, "that requires your <em>full</em> attention and participation. Now imagine <em>just</em> how quickly you'll fail this task, your first task given as noble soldiers of the Dark Lord, if you show up at Hogwarts and Dumbledore himself plucks from your mind your very plan to kill him!"</p><p>I wince at her words while she steps closer to me yet again, shorter than me but making me feel oh so small as I stare at her black eyes, pleading myself not to break down as I see the same overly excited gleam in them as I did moments before she murdered me. My left forearm burns, itches, practically hisses at me. It feels like it's trying to devour my whole arm.</p><p>"Have you mastered it yet, Lettie?" she asks in a baby voice, back to pouting and tilting her head down to peer at me through black lashes. "Have you?"</p><p>I shake my head slowly, lips fumbling to form words. It takes a moment, but I exhale, thankfully steadily but still breathily, "No."</p><p>"Then perhaps you should <em>concentrate</em>, shouldn't you?" she snaps sourly, and then she's turning in her heel and walking back across the room, leaning casually against the wall while her black eyes glance lazily between me and Draco, who stands a few feet away.</p><p>I don't turn my head to look at him, but I can feel his silver eyes boring into me while I breathe heavily.</p><p>"Look at you both," she scoffs. "You're <em>messes. </em>I expected better from my own nephew. <em>How many times</em> must I tell you that you will <em>never</em> learn Occlumency if you don't empty yourself of emotion?" she whispers in a light voice, eyes going wide while she leans forward from the wall, black curls dangling past her waist.</p><p>A gust of warm wind blows in from the window, washing over my right side and temporarily making my pulse slow just the slightest.</p><p>"You cannot <em>wear your heart out on your sleeve!</em> You cannot afford to wallow, afford to pity yourself, afford to bask in all your sorrow and flaunt it for all to see!" she snaps, eyes now boring specifically into mine. "<em>Legilimens!</em>"</p><p>My vision temporarily goes white as I gasp and stumble backwards, and then my vision clears just a fraction so I can see what <em>she</em> is seeing in my head. I stifle my pained noises as I feel her practically claw through my head, raking those yellowed nails of hers through all my thoughts and memories, pulling images of them out and to the forefront of my mind. A startled cry leaves my lips, though sounding distant, when I see her in my head standing in that Death Chamber and whispering while a bright green light comes barreling at me and diverts down to my chest.</p><p>My vision then goes black as she pulls out of my head, and I instantly crumple to my knees.</p><p>My entire body throbs in pain, as if she's not just abused and used my mind, but torn my body apart as well. It feels like how those first few days where I couldn't even turn in bed felt, painful to the point where it's numbing.</p><p>"Those who dwell in their memories," she whispers hauntingly, footsteps echoing off the marble floor while she approaches, "are <em>weak</em>. They allow themselves to be vulnerable to any mental penetration. They are easily provoked, hold no reign on their power."</p><p>My entire frame trembles as I lift my eyes to see her dirty, bare feet in front of me.</p><p>"Stand up," she says simply, and then she walks away.</p><p>I give myself a few seconds to shake, maybe recover a little, and then I force myself to my feet, twisting my wand in my hands and grateful that I haven't started <em>crying </em>or something. I inhale deeply, panic and fear still panting over and over in my chest, and make myself look up to see Bellatrix standing in front of Draco.</p><p>He looks gravely beautiful in the moonlight, making his skin look paler, casting shadows under his cheekbones, eyes, and jaw. His eyes are practically translucent, glancing at his aunt while he clenches his jaw. His hair is combed back nearly, and his hands twist at his rings. I see his eyes flit to me for just a moment before retreating back to his aunt.</p><p>"This is only <em>basic </em>Occlumency," she hisses, tongue reaching out to wet her dry lips. "I haven't even <em>begun </em>to tell you about faux layers, about the complexity of being an Occlumens so skilled that even the most powerful Legilimens won't realize they're only seeing what you want to see. It's hopeless to consider teaching that... not when you two are too childish to even clear your heads enough."</p><p>Draco gives one of his rings a last twist before dropping his hands to his side, keeping his fingers limp while he stares icily ahead, lips firm.</p><p>"Close your eyes, Draco. You too, Lettie, dear."</p><p>I look carefully, watching Draco inhale deeply before closing my eyes. I stare at him for a few seconds before turning my head straight and doing the same, willing my body to relax. I force my shoulders to slump, knees to unlock, but there's no getting my heart to calm. Not when she is here, she who ruined it all.</p><p>"Clear your head," her pitchy voice calls out, footsteps echoing as she walks around slowly. "I want your minds blank and empty, devoid of thought and emotion. Whatever memories you have replaying, put them aside. Whatever thoughts linger, release them. Whatever emotions you feel strongest, package them away. Your strongest opponents can practically <em>smell</em> fear, and especially incompetence."</p><p>I inhale and exhale unsteadily, my body trembling even more furiously now that I've made my muscles relax. My brows furrowed, but then I soften them. Blank thoughts, blank mind...</p><p>"This can only be achieved through sheer will power. The most skilled Occlumens can resist Veritaserum, even the Imperius Curse. This requires..." Bellatrix exhales a giggle, "high mental and emotional discipline. You need to grab reigns of all your emotions, and then you need to put them away. Forget about them. They are what lead you to failure."</p><p>I try releasing my emotions, maybe stowing them away into the farthest corner of my mind where I'll forget about them, or dispelling them into some sort of void, but I'm not even sure <em>what </em>I'm trying to get rid of.</p><p>"What is it that is keeping you from closing your mind? What is it that keeps it open, keeps the window to it wide open for anyone to walk in? What is it that is to blame for your emotions running rampant, uncontrollable, controlling <em>you</em> rather than the other way around?"</p><p>Another warm breeze wafts in, circling around me and holding it in its embrace. I exhale, feeling it capture my breath, while suddenly becoming so aware of the cold metal of my locket on my chest, resting inside my shirt and over the rune on my skin.</p><p>"There isn't always just <em>one </em>answer," she muses, a soft titter leaving her lips. "But the answer also isn't them <em>all</em>. If you tried shutting out <em>all</em> your emotions, you'd simply never succeed. You have to identify the gateway of all your emotions, which one it is that is <em>propping</em> your window open. Chances are there's more than one. Maybe one is anger," she stops a few feet away from me, presumably in front of Draco, "or maybe one is..." Her footsteps resume until she stops in front of me, "<em>fear</em>."</p><p>My body gives a shudder at her proximity, and my heart only leaps up with another panicked race to beat until there's no more blood to expel, and then let me drop down to the floor. My breaths are shaky as I feel her stare at me, making it hard to push the thoughts that have been running through my mind day and night for the last few weeks away. The very thoughts that ultimately are there because of her.</p><p>"The thing is, however," she then continues, walking away from me while I exhale in relief, "emotions like <em>anger </em>and <em>fear</em> are the hardest to shut out. There are multiple propping the window into your mind open, but you only need to shut one out to shut them <em>all</em> out. Anger? Fear? It's nearly impossible to stow them away... So what is it that's keeping you from closing your mind, halting your thoughts, freezing your emotions? What is it that makes it so hard for you to grasp <em>control</em>, Draco?"</p><p>He doesn't respond, but I can almost feel his tension from here.</p><p>"Close your mind, Draco, shut whatever it is <em>out</em>... I am going to break into your mind. I will scour it's shelves, and hopefully," she sighs woefully, "you're a little less pathetic than you were last night. Try to resist, won't you? Ready yourself now... <em>Legilimens!</em>"</p><p>—</p><p>When half past one in the morning Bellatrix releases us to our rooms, muttering under her breath at our incompetency, Draco and I walk up the stairs and into our respective rooms in silence. Neither of us want to look at each other much less <em>speak</em> to each other after hearing the other's tortured noises from having their mind.</p><p>The tension is thick, though. I can feel him just feet behind me, aware of his eyes everywhere but on me, and even more aware of the thick scent of <em>him</em>. He walks past me to get to his own room, chest nearly brushing against my shoulder, and I see his hand holding his wand tremble slightly before he slams his door shut and disappears into his room.</p><p>I stand in the hallway, watching the people in the portraits steady themselves after waking up with a start, irritated looks on their faces. My body hurts. It's not just because of what Draco and I did the other day, though my hips are sore and my thighs burn with every step I take. It's like all the mental energy that drains from me every time Bellatrix forces her way into my mind takes an equal toll on my body, leaving me an anxious, trembling mess, glancing down the hall like someone might come barreling towards me wand drawn.</p><p><em>How am I supposed to clear my mind when I can't even sleep? How am I supposed to relax?</em> I question as I step into my guest room and close the door behind me much more quietly. I glance around, looking for Cheeky, hoping to at least curl up with him and read until it's time to get up. Or maybe I'll take several naps, thirty minutes at a time.</p><p>Yes, that sounds particularly tempting...</p><p>I stifle a yawn, not bothering to change out of my jeans and shirt or even take my bra off as I slip under the covers of my bed, sensing Cheeky leap up out of nowhere and join me. He sits on my stomach, resting his head on my chest while giving me an affectionate lick. I smile at him shakily, digging my wand out of my pocket to cast a quick Timer Charm before turning my head to look out the window and feeling fatigue take over my body.</p><p>I watch the stars twinkle across the dark grey sky, wondering if my mother is looking at the stars right now, wondering if she too is trying to figure out which one belongs to my father now.</p><p>I wonder if she feels guilty.</p><p>I wonder if this hurts her at all.</p><p>I close my eyes with a soft exhale, stars still dancing behind my eyes. At least they stay the same. At least I can trust in that much.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <em>Her eyes are the same—black, gleaming, and hungry for spilled blood. They feed on fear, devouring the trembles in my breaths and growing brighter with each passing second.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She's a wolf, or maybe a monster, or maybe a demon, untethered from reality, uncontrollable by the most powerful witch or wizard. She's hard to look at, she's hard to take in apart from her gleaming eyes. I can hardly look away from them, not even to make out her monstrous appearance. Her spine is curved dangerously, her legs and arms are invent inhumanly, she has long claws dripping with blood, and she's covered with fur, scales, feathers, anything but human skin. The one thing that strikes me odd is the collar around her neck. A beast like her can't be owned, only run from.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am frozen where I stand, forced to feel my heart pound violently in my chest, my pulse threaten to burst through my wrists, and my blood rush through my body like it's running from her the way my legs won't. And my tears—salty, potent tears, dripping down my eyes the way blood drips from her fangs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I cry quietly, like I don't want to attract her attention even though her vicious eyes are on me, silently telling me I'm next.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My chest aches. There's something inside clawing to get out, banging at my ribs, stretching out my lungs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In her cruel arms lays his limp body, lifeless and skin draining of color while he drains of blood. His head is slumped over to reveal the gaping, bloody wound on his neck, where she leans down and devours hungrily from. The noises are sickening, making my stomach clench. She slurps at his blood, makes wet noises while tearing at his flesh, snaps his bones with ease in an attempt to get a better grip on him.</em>
</p><p><em>I open my mouth to scream at her to stop, beg for her to let him go, apparently forgetting all about my desire to make her forget about </em>me<em>. Nothing comes out, though. She's stolen my voice, stolen my lungs, because suddenly, not only can't I yell or shout or scream, I can't breathe.</em></p><p>
  <em>I blink, and when I close my eyes, it's all dark.</em>
</p><p><em>It takes me a moment to comprehend what's going on. I claw at the darkness, feeling something firm yet soft surrounding me, trapping me in its grasp. It fills all the empty spaces it can, the space between my arms and my body, between my feet, the hollows of my neck. It fills my nostrils, my mouth, I'm </em>drowning <em>in it, forcing me to swallow it while I swallow it whole.</em></p><p>
  <em>I try to scream, but I don't have the air in my body to do it, so I frantically claw. My motions are limited by the dirt packed tightly all around me, dirt that gets into my eyes when I open them and forced its way down my throat, ignoring my panicked thrashing. My heart pounds wildly, my legs kick and thrash. There's nothing, there's nothing but dirt and me, a sea of soil that keeps me trapped away from the comfort of the sky and the air above.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I think it pulls me down deeper the more I kick and claw at it, like quick sand. I try to scream again, but it just makes my head go dizzy as I end up inhale sharply and getting a lungful of dirt. I can practically feel the earth worms crawling around in my lungs, making the tears already streaming from my eyes come out more forcefully while I silently beg to be let out already, let me out already...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can feel my body decay in time sped up. My flesh starts peeling off my bones the more I move around. My eyes are practically melting away in their sockets. The organs in my body lose their life, shriveling away into dead, dry tissue. I can smell my own dead body, a putrid smell that is stronger than the dirt and mulch that swarms me. It's lingering, makes me want to heave and cry and shout all at once.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then I'm suddenly falling.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I fall for a long time, and though my surroundings are no longer dirt, and I can breathe though it's hard with all the rushing wind, everything is still dark and imperceivable.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This time, when I scream, it comes out. I feel it rip out of my chest, practically tear my body right in half, but I can't hear it over roaring winds that push and pull my body downward. My scream shatters my bones, stretches the muscles of my throat, makes my skull feel like it's compressing in on my brain. My heart thunders erratically with no hint of ceasing it's pumping motion, working adrenaline all throughout my body and making my chests well with tension that won't ease despite how much I scream.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I land with a thud, my body hitting metal so hard I hiss, close my eyes, and try to curl in on myself to soothe my doon to be bruises. I open my eyes in confusion, vision blurred with tears, when my knees hit the ceiling of a metal box in an attempt to bring them up to my chest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I freeze, glancing around at the metal walls around me, taking in the cold temperature that chills me to my moan. A strangled sob tears out of my mouth as panic rises up once again, and then I'm pawing and punching and pushing at the metal walls frantically, trying to get them to open. I don't want to die like this, I don't want to die and decay in this metal box.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the walls start closing in on me just like my chest caves in on my heart, the pressure tangible and making me scream out my cries, my unintelligible pleas. I feel something limp touch my side, something forced closer to me by the moving walls.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I turn my head to see him laying beside me, face lifeless, hazel eyes blank.</em>
</p><p>My eyes flash open, and I'm not watching some she-demon devour my father, nor am I drowning in a thick sea of dirt, nor am I trapped in a morgue with my father's corpse.</p><p>My heart pounds loudly, deafening all other noises to my ears except for one—a piercing, never ending scream that seems to be coming from all around me, shattering me like I'm a statue that's been dropped from a great height, practically bursting my ear drums.</p><p>
  <em>Who's screaming?</em>
</p><p>When the sound goes hoarse and dwindles away, I feel my throat ache, and then the screaming comes back, ripping out of my lips while my vision blurs with tears and my body moves on its own to throw the heavy blankets off my body, the feeling far too similar to being swarmed by dirt.</p><p>
  <em>Stop that!</em>
</p><p>But I can't. The screaming pours out of my lungs like it's just as much of a necessity as the oxygen that I inhale shakily between long screams.</p><p>My eyes are wide open, because I know if I close them, I'll see my nightmares again.</p><p>Eventually my screaming breaks, a sobbing pushing through it and coming out instead. My body is rigid as it fights to get out of bed, and I step onto the floor and stand up while sobbing violently, but then I just crumple down to the floor and nearly hit my head, reaching my arms out to brace myself just in time.</p><p>My forearms throb, both because of the Dark Mark that seems to be enflamed and because of the newly acquired scrapes on my arms, but I ignore it as I scramble to sit up or move or anything, shaking noises escaping my lips. I gasp for breath, not wanting to suffocate ever again, feeling like there's still dirt stuck in my lungs. I can barely breathe, can barley do anything but sob with my eyes wide open in a confused panic, wondering how the Timer Charm never woke me. Tears pour steadily down my face, into my mouth, and I choke on them. They want to drown me, drown me in my own tears.</p><p>I'm vaguely aware of my door flying open, but I, sitting against my bed with my hands clawing at my feet and knees tucked close to my chest, don't lift my eyes any higher than their feet.</p><p>I force myself to stop breathing, the panic rising in my chest at being cut off form oxygen, but at least I'm not sobbing in front of whoever this is. I stare at their slippers, the very bottoms of their sweatpants, my chest trembling and eventually letting out a great gust of air. I inhale shakily again, my throat closing up with another sob.</p><p>The feet come closer, and another wave of panic surges up my body. I make a noise of protest, and it's broken and pathetic as I try to scramble away and just end up jabbing my back into the side of my bed, lifting my arms up in front of me and sucking my head away from me while gasping for a real breath. It's like my throat keeps closing, won't let anything in or out.</p><p>"Celeste," I hear a voice, and then someone is crouching down in front of me.</p><p>"No!" I choke out through tears clogging my throat, pulling away when a hand touches my arm.</p><p>"It's just me, Celeste."</p><p>"Get away!" my voice breaks with a slight whimper, my head still tucked away as I scramble up to my feet, shaking.</p><p>Draco stands up as well. I don't look up to his face, but I see his forearm where his Glamor Charm has worn off and his Dark Mark sits on his skin. It makes his skin look so much paler, dark and smoky, cooking viciously on his skin as that snake reaches out of the skull's mouth. I choke at the sight of it, wanting to get away, but when I step back, my legs hit the bed and I fall back onto the mattress.</p><p>I look up at his face, seeing not concern on it, but maybe confusion and tire. He's frowning gravely, eyebrows furrowed and hardened, icy eyes watching me carefully. I see his wand in his hand and my breath hitches.</p><p>"Get <em>out!</em>" I shout, yelling at myself internally to quiet down, but my body and my mind are both panicking and simply aren't connecting with each other, especially not with my heart that thumps erratically. My vision blurs with another set of tears. "Get <em>out</em>, get <em>out!</em>"</p><p>His lips twitching with irritation. "Don't be stupid, Celeste," he says sharply. "You'll wake the whole bloody house if you don't let me calm you down!"</p><p>His eyes flicker all over my face that erupts in painful flames of shame and embarrassment. I look away, furiously wiping at my cheeks while panicked gasps continue forcing their way out of my lips and salty tears continue trying to fill my lungs and drown me. Anger, or maybe something like it, swells up inside me as I realize I can never take this night back. <em>Draco Malfoy</em> has seen me like <em>this</em>, and <em>this </em>is worse than any compromising position we've been in.</p><p>"Out," I gasp, shifting backwards on top of the bed when he takes another step closer, a whimper ripping out my throat as my body wracks with sobs. Every time I blink, I see those eyes. "<em>Get out!</em>"</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"<em>LEAVE!</em>"</p><p>I go quiet for a second, wondering if that inhumanly loud scream really came from <em>me</em>, but then the muscles of my throat throb and the next sob that comes from me is hoarse.</p><p>Draco clenches his jaw in frustration. His knee props up on the mattress as he moves closer, and I gasp in fear while moving further back. My hand then lands on something stiff, and I grab it from under the blankets and look down to see my wand in my hand. Instantly, I point it at his blurry figure, my hand trembling just as violently with the rest of my body while I watch him with wide, terrified eyes, lips trembling and covered in spit and tears.</p><p>"Put your wand down," Draco says gravely, tucking his own away to put his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm not trying to <em>hurt </em>you, fool."</p><p>"I'll—I'll hurt you if you—if you—" my throat goes abruptly dry, so I swallow thickly to try to wet it with my spit, ending up only choking. His eyes look so dark and hard. Maybe I'm imagining it, but they look black like hers. "I'll hurt you if you come any closer," I say in a shaky but adamant voice, clenching my own jaw and watching all his little movements carefully, my heart still threatening to burst right out of my chest cavity.</p><p>He runs his hand through his hair tiredly, picking his knee off the bed to stand up straight. But then he starts slowly coming around the bed, hands still up defensively.</p><p>"Look at me, Celeste. I'm not even holding my wand. I can't do anything to you."</p><p>"<em>Go away!</em>"</p><p>"You're panicking, C—"</p><p>I flick my wand harshly, watching a bright red jet of light shoot out. He dodged it narrowly, looking over his shoulder to the newly singed hole in the wall right where he was standing.</p><p>"Leave my room," I say shakily, my eyes looking at him furiously while I inhale and exhale tremulously, my chest hurting as I feel another wave of sobbing and panicked breathing wash over me, vision blurring further while I keel over slightly and gasp for breath.</p><p>When he doesn't say or do anything, I hurt my teeth, pick myself up, and lash my wand towards him with a furious, "<em>Fucking leave!</em>"</p><p>He jumps out of the way again, but not in time before the red light hits his shoulder. He winces and lets out a pained noise, clutching his shoulder with his other hand while slowly backing away.</p><p>His voice is angry when he snaps, "I don't want to <em>hurt you—</em>"</p><p>"You will!"</p><p>"I <em>won't! </em>Merlin, Celeste, just fucking trust me."</p><p>"I <em>don't</em>!" I choke out, rearing my hand back to shoot more red light at him, three times over back to back, though he easily dodges all three while clutching his shoulder. "I <em>don't</em> trust you, so leave!"</p><p>He stares at me icily for a few moments, but I know he's done trying. I drop my wand and collapse in on myself, kneeling and slumped over forward while my entire frame shakes with heavy sobs and fighting breaths, tension spreading all over my body and the panic refusing to subside even when I hear him step out and my door shut quietly.</p><p>My breathing is still raggedly, my heart is still panicked, but I can't stay still in the middle of my bed anymore. Eyes wide and darting around like some demon will crawl out of the shadowy corners of my room, I scramble off the bed, feeling as though the only way my choked breathing won't catch up with me and suffocate me is if I keep moving.</p><p>My mind and my body aren't connected. My legs move all the way on their own to my closet, opening the door and stepping inside. I crouch down and pull the velvet blue box out from below my shoes, my hands trembling as I pick it up and carry it back out into my room.</p><p>I wince, hearing glass clatter inside as I drop it rather clumsily into my mattress, the box bouncing on the all-too-soft bed. But then I reach down and open it up, and the magic takes over as soon as I pry the lid up.</p><p>The box unfolds, turning from something the size of a shoebox to a great rack of little glass vials, taking up space the size of one of my trunks. The glass vials quiver slightly from the movement, sitting on their many racks in the blue box, labels taped on their sides. I've opened it up before to count them, but I have up somewhere after two hundred. My father saved almost all his most important memories.</p><p>My quiver hand reaches out to pick them up one by one and glance at the labels on their sides.</p><p>
  <em>Mum's funeral.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Seventeenth birthday.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>First date with Corinne.</em>
</p><p>These memories span from when he was as young as sixteen until the day he...</p><p>And they're all over the place. Many of them are about me and Mother, watching me grow up and all the milestones he hit with her. Some are about his side of the family, most of which died before I learned my first word, though I think he had some cousins out there. Some are with the Ministry, achievements in work, or maybe with his friends, like <em>Avis and Reba's wedding</em>. I have no idea who they are, but maybe they were once important enough to him that he saved the memory of their big day.</p><p>My trembling fingers nearly break the vials as they search for the one. I haven't any idea what I'm looking for, but I pray I'll know it once I have it.</p><p>My own mother keeps so many secrets from me, secrets that apparently have <em>everything </em>to do with me according to my aunt, yet even in death, my father has willingly handed his entire mind over for me to peruse. Even in death, I trust him more than I'll ever trust the woman who made me, no matter how much I yearn to.</p><p>I'm so tired of reliving those dark memories and nightmares even when I'm awake, especially when I'm slumbering. I can't seem to focus on anything else, but maybe it'll help to see someone <em>else's</em> memories...</p><p><em>Celeste's first steps</em>.</p><p>My shaky breaths calm for a moment as I stand, trembling, staring at this glass vials and the eerie blue substance in it. It reminds me of the Veil, neither liquid nor gas, except it's light blue and glowing rather than dark and deathly.</p><p>It reminds me of those blue orbs I assume were in the Hall of Prophecies, the very place my locket led me, and yet I still don't know why.</p><p>I'm tempted to rip it off of me in this moment, toss it out the window and let nature wreak it's havoc on it. I don't trust my mother when she tells me I have to wear it to protect myself. It killed me; it killed my father. It could easily kill her. I don't trust this locket to save me should I ever need saving again.</p><p>But I leave it on, because if I don't trust her, if I don't trust <em>it</em>, what's left to have faith in? The stars stay constant, but all they do is wink down at me condescendingly.</p><p>I wrap my fingers around the vial tightly, not bothering to close the box of memories up before grabbing my wand again and bursting out my room, closing it behind me and glancing both ways with wide eyes. Thankfully, Draco has retreated, leaving me in an empty hallway.</p><p>I'm so painfully aware of the cold marble on my bare feet, so cold it almost burns, but I just want to go see this memory, so I stride down the hallway, my breathing shaky and my body trembling and my vision blurring and clearing in a repetitive cycle.</p><p>It's when I near the stairs that a door opens and out slips Narcissa Malfoy, a robe wrapped around her, and a tired expression on her face. She hears me when I come to a sudden stop and turns her head to look at me.</p><p>Her eyes are exactly like Draco's. They're cold, grey, and icy, staring at me skeptically as they scan me up and down, lingering on the memory tucked in the vial in my hand.</p><p><em>She </em>looks grey. The large windows downstairs let in a cold grey light, telling me it's still very much dark out, but I was asleep for at least a few hours. She looks muted, tired, small, and yet still a force to be reckoned with while we both stare at each other silently, wondering why the other is awake, contemplating ignoring it and going about without care for the other.</p><p>"Is that a memory?" she then asks, eyes lingering on the glass vial.</p><p>"Yes," I say simply, my voice hoarse. I wonder if my screaming woke her. I wonder if she realized it was me, and then my body flushes with embarrassment at the thought.</p><p>"There's a Pensieve in the garden," is all she says, and then she turns around and walks back into her room, leaving me to my own devices.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's your favorite quote of all time?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0053"><h2>53. A MOMENT'S HESITATION CAN HURT AND HEAL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>more lessons yup yup</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>some of the spells in this are all mine! like pulseatum and protego exgravida lolz</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>August 8th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>"Still injured?" Aunt Bellatrix asks in a light voice, her wide black eyes resting on my shoulder.</p><p>I drop my hand from it, forcing a neutral expression onto my face. "A little."</p><p>"Haven't you been putting anything on it?"</p><p>"It's a burn, it takes a little longer to heal," I say, my eyes darting briefly over to Celeste to see if she's listening. She looks lost, though, just as distracted as all the other days Aunt Bellatrix has trained us. Her dark eyes are focused out the window, hands limp at her sides holding the very wand that has injured me.</p><p>"Well," Aunt Bellatrix laughs breathily, a casual strut in her step as she walks over to Celeste, the tap of her dirty, bare feet on the marble snapping the dark-skinned girl out of her distracted stupor. "Since Celeste is just <em>so</em> eager to begin dueling, why don't we take a break from Occlumency today, hm?"</p><p>I let out a soft sigh of relief at this, my tense shoulders relaxing slightly. I've never experienced anything like when Aunt Bellatrix uses her Legilimency on me—it's like she's raking those long claws of hers right through my head, tearing apart the insides and picking the memories she wants to see all while pouring poison in my veins. It's always the same memories over and over again, mostly from childhood, mostly of my father, both the good and the bad. It doesn't matter what it is, the pain is excruciating, and it's worse the more I try to resist it. I've spent my nights falling asleep while wondering how I'm supposed to do this—how am I supposed to close my window?</p><p>The reality of my situation has finally hit these last few days, and suddenly the manor is colder than usual even with the Dark Lord briefly taking an absence from it. My mark throbs in my arm under the cover of the Glamor Charm and the long sleeved shirts I've taken to wearing, but any time I see that sickening, coiling black sheath on my aunt's or any others Death Eater's pale skin, it makes my gut twist and arm sear up in fiery pain. I don't know if it's supposed to hurt this much, but some nights I'm tempted to cut it right out of my skin with a knife.</p><p>I can feel it trying to crawl up my skin right now, the inky snake that protrudes from the mouth of the skull slowly coiling around my forearm, slithering up to my shoulder, tightening its scaly grape on my arm until all blood flow cuts off, and my arm becomes a dead, useless, burden weight swinging at my side.</p><p>My heart pounds harshly as I look away at the two of them, focusing on the marble floor and tracing the veins with my eyes. Failure has never been an option for me. It's practically defined my life—the fact that failure isn't something I can afford. I couldn't and <em>can't </em>fail in my studies, in all the extracurricular my parents have ever pushed me in, I can't fail to become the perfect Pureblood heir for the Malfoy name, and I can't fail this task.</p><p>Everything relies on this. The weight of the family name and prestige that once hung on my father's shoulders has been passed like heavy armor onto mine, connected to a shackle around my left forearm that prevents me from taking it off. It's my job now to make up for his wrongs, to redeem our name, put value in who we are and rise back to the rank we once had under the Dark Lord. If I fail, I've doomed us all. If I fail, it won't just be my father rotting away in Azkaban, my poor mother sentenced to do the bidding of half-breeds with dirty feet, or me simply bearing the shame of a tarnished name. If I fail, my father will be broken out of Azkaban only to be given a public executing right in his own family home to set an sample. My mother will be strung up right beside him, or worse yet, she'll become but a vessel of entertainment, a forced role she'll gladly step into if she think it will protect <em>me</em>.</p><p>He'll kill us all.</p><p>I only have to kill <em>one</em>.</p><p>"What do you think, Celeste?" Bellatrix whispers, her voice echoing off the blank walls of our training room.</p><p>There's a few portraits on the dismally dark grey walls, some houseplants sitting in the corner that are half dead despite being fed water and given replenishing spells every day. I suppose that has something to do with the presence of Dark magic in the manor.</p><p>"Dueling?" Celeste echoes back.</p><p>My shoulder aches when I turn my head to look at her again, and I instinctively raise my hand up to hold it. It doesn't hurt as much as it did that night when she shot the curse at me. I'm not even entirely <em>sure </em>what happened that night. I think she was having a nightmare, because I remember waking up several hours past midnight to screaming. It took me a few moments to realize I wasn't imagining it, so by the time I go to her room, she was a shaking, panicked mess on the floor. She wouldn't let me touch her, talk to her, go near her, and eventually she nicked me in the shoulder.</p><p>Stupid girl.</p><p>I could hardly care if she's <em>broken</em>, if she's still weepy and sorrowful over the loss of her father and her own temporary death. Maybe a few days ago I <em>would </em>care, except unlike her, I'm dwelling on our future and this upcoming year rather than what can no longer be changed. She's as much a deadweight as my arm feels, and the longer she lodges in her thoughts, the more imminent failure becomes. I need to concentrate on this, and I need <em>her </em>to concentrate on this.</p><p>Which means I need her to calm down. I need her to forget about everything that has happened, because if she focuses on <em>healing</em>, we'll be dead and caught in the midst of our task by the time her wounds start to close. I need her full focus on this, but it's clear that's not something she can afford, and if she won't let me help her, then I'll have to leave her to her own devices.</p><p>Friend or not, this task is the most important and most dangerous thing that has ever been placed in my hands. I don't care who she is. She won't make me fail.</p><p>I can't wait for her to get up if she falls again. If I'm meant to do this with her, she needs to be next to me walking just as fast.</p><p>"Are you any good?" my aunt croons, her voice light. "Don't tell me you're as hopeless at it as you are at Occlumency."</p><p>"I'm good at it, I suppose," Celeste says, her chin turning up. She'll always be foolishly prideful, even when she's in no position to be. "Of course, that's relative to all the students in the Dueling Club. I assume that's not good enough <em>here</em>, is it?"</p><p>"Not even close."</p><p>"I looked through the spell book you recommended."</p><p>"Then perhaps you won't disappoint <em>entirely</em>. Come, both of you," she titters, walking towards the center of the room while gesturing for us to approach her.</p><p>I twist my wand in my hand, my face grin as I step forward in the oddly cold room until I'm a few feet away from her left and Celeste a few feet away from her right, closest to the window. I briefly make eye contact with Celeste, though her eyes, looking dark brown despite the dim lighting in the room, quickly dart down to my shoulder where I quickly drop my hand again. She looks back up at me, her expression stony and unreadable, before turning her attention back to my aunt.</p><p>Aunt Bellatrix turns to face Celeste, who goes visibly tense and grips her wand tighter. "I was in <em>Dueling Club</em> once too, you know," she says in that light voice of hers, walking around Celeste until she's behind her.</p><p>Celeste keeps that stony mask on her face, though she inhales deeply and turns her chin up further, very obviously avoiding eye contact with me.</p><p>"They tell you to <em>bow</em>, show respect to each other," she spits out sourly, her lips curled up into something that is at the same time both yet neither a smile and a grimace. "To them it's a sport. Be smarter than that. In the real world—" Celeste gasps softly in surprise when Bellatrix grabs her hips and forced her to shift her stance so her left leg is slightly behind her, "—it will save your life. If you can do it right, at least."</p><p>Celeste's dark eyes trail up to mine while Aunt Bellatrix adjusts her body, moving her arms to bend the proper apart and position properly, rewrapping her fingers around her wand. We stare at each other's in silence, her eyes growing darker and darker while they look into mine unnervingly. Her head tilts slightly while Aunt Bellatrix repositions her to be at a slight angle, and those stony eyes drag slowly up and down my frame.</p><p>"There aren't any <em>rules</em> in real life," my aunt continues, moving to walk over to me, but I quickly reposition myself to copy Celeste, my right leg slightly in front of my left, my left arm slightly extended back, and my right hand out far from my body. "Good, Draco. In real life, there aren't any real rules about which spells you can and can't use, not when you're saving your own neck."</p><p>My aunt walks back in between us, cutting off the tense, pulsing eye contact between Celeste and myself.</p><p>"However," she sighs in mock disappointment, black eyes fluttering and lips pursing, "since the Dark Lord needs you two to stay alive long enough to kill Dumbledore, I have just two rules. No Killing Curses, and nothing that will permanently harm the other. Are we clear?"</p><p>"Crystal," Celeste says, a slight edge in her voice, and though her eyes aren't on me, I know her voice is directed to me.</p><p>"<em>Lovely</em>," Aunt Bellatrix purrs, a giggle leaving her lips. "Your Nonverbal skills will be helpful here. You picked that up rather quickly, I know you both can use them when you concentrate—especially you, Lettie—but can you use them in a tense, high-paced situation like this?"</p><p>"I'm sure I can," I almost scoff, twisting my wand in my hand while glaring over my aunt's shoulder where I see Celeste smirking at me, not a single hint of amusement in those hard, dark eyes.</p><p>"I'll give you until the count of five," Aunt Bellatrix croons, her finger wrapping one of her curls tightly while she smiles loosely at the both of us, eyes dark and mischievous. She takes a few steps back to lean against the dark grey walls. "At one, it's up to you two."</p><p>Celeste's dark brown eyes focus intently on my aunt, watching her carefully and scanning her from the top of her mess of curls to her bare feet. She then shifts slightly in her stance, turning her head to look at me. The moonlight from the window behind her casts her in an eerie light, illuminating one of her high cheekbones and casting the shadow of her eyelashes on her face, but the rest of her face is dark, dangerous, and unreadable as she focuses that stony gaze on mine.</p><p>"<em>Five</em>."</p><p>I shift as well, planting my feet more firmly on the floor, ready to lunge forward on the offensive or backwards on the defensive should I need to.</p><p>"<em>Four</em>."</p><p>Which spell should I start with? Perhaps Expelliarmus would be the most logically. I'll disarm her before she has the chance to do anything else.</p><p>"<em>Three</em>."</p><p>Celeste tilts her head at me challengingly, and I do the same, ignoring the ache that leads from my left shoulder all the way down to my left forearm. She singed the skin right off my shoulder the other day, and though I've been generously applying Burn-Healing Paste, the gunky orange stuff can only work so fast.</p><p>"<em>Two</em>."</p><p>I wonder what <em>her</em> plan is.</p><p>"<em>One!</em>"</p><p>I flick my wand at her, focusing all my energy in getting that one defensive charm out, on having her wand fly right out of her hand and clatter to the floor, leaving her defensively. But in the split second it takes for me to simply flick my wrist, I see her smirk, and to my surprise, she shouts her spell out.</p><p>"<em>Protego!</em>"</p><p>From her wand, the air ripples, tinted slightly blue. I have just a fraction of a second to widen my eyes before I'm half blasted off my feet, my wand ripping out of my hand like it has been grabbed by someone invisible and clattering all the way across the room. I hear my aunt shriek in delighted laughter as I fall back onto my side, a pained hiss leaving my lips as my burnt shoulder presses into the ground.</p><p>I pick my head up just in time to see Celeste, fire burning behind her earthy eyes, rear her hand back to shoot another spell at me. A great jet of orange light leaves the tip of her wand, but I roll out of the way quickly and get to my feet, sprinting a few meters forward and picking my wand up.</p><p>When I turn around, I don't see her, I don't see my aunt, I see a jet of electric blue light hurtling towards my face.</p><p>I drop down just in time, hearing it hit against the wall behind me with a loud exploding noise, though I don't bother glancing over my shoulder to see what kind of damage it has done, because I'm silently, with my brows furrowed and expression tense, shooting a spell at Celeste.</p><p>She blocks my nonverbal <em>Stupefy</em> with ease, flicking her wand towards me as I stand up, but whatever her spell is, I'm quick to defend it while advancing towards her. She hasn't moved an inch from her starting spot, though I see her legs tense and ready to dart at any given notice.</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>, this is so <em>boring</em>," Aunt Bellatrix sighs dramatically as Celeste dodges a jet of red light I sent hurtling towards her, quickly countering it with her own that I simply deflect while darting towards her, but still she won't move. "Put a <em>show</em> on for me, c'mon!"</p><p><em>Levicorpus!</em> I think to myself, flicking my wand at Celeste. She yelps as an invisible force grabs her by her ankle and tugs her up into the air, her body swaying in the middle of the room and moving with every little flick of my wand. I give her a good spin, hoping to disorient her. She grunts, almost doing sit ups in midair as if she'll be able to stand up, but the magic keeps her legs above her head.</p><p>"<em>Liberacorpus!</em>" she shouts out the counter-jinx, instantly dropping to the ground like a deadweight.</p><p>I send spell after spell towards her, anger suddenly bubbling out of nowhere and spreading throughout my body, hot and sweltering and boiling my blood as I stop just a few feet away from her, seeing her roll to get up, her teeth gritted in pain as she blocks the spells with her wand and drops and ducks to avoid the ones that are too fast for her.</p><p><em>Oppugno!</em> I focus my energy on the rather tall houseplant in the corner near where she catches her breath, but the object is far too heavy for my nonverbal spell to work on. It levitates off the ground a few inches before dropping.</p><p>It's enough time for her to take advantage of.</p><p>Celeste lets out an angry sound right from her chest, hurling her arm forward and blasting yellow light at me. I curse and stumble backwards as it hits me straight in the gut, a horrible, growing feeling clawing at my insides like it wants to rip right through my flesh and jump out my body. She shoots another red light at me, and this time I find my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, rendering me incapable of using any spells that I haven't mastered nonverbally.</p><p>When I lift my eyes up at her, breathing hard through my nose and readjusting my feet, she smirks at me through heavy pants, bring her hand up for another flick of her wrist. I move faster, though, clamping my mouth shut and nonverbally thrusting an <em>Impedimenta</em> at her.</p><p>She can't block it fast enough, and her eyes go wide as a massive, invisible force hits her entire body, throwing her back so that she crashes against the wall. A pained, tortured gasp rips through her lips as her head hits the corner of the wall, her eyes dazed and faint.</p><p>"C'mon, Celeste!" Bellatrix cackles. "Get up! Get up!"</p><p>I shoot red light at her, hearing another pained wail when it hits her arm with a very clearly snap of what can only be bone. She curses under her breath, throwing her head back against the wall and wincing when it hits the corner again. I falter, breathing heavily. My entire body is covered in a light sheen of sweat, and it doesn't help when a warm breeze drifts through the window as I glance over her with slightly furrowed brows.</p><p>"Celeste?" I question, seeing her head pick up to look at me.</p><p>"Don't hesitate!" my aunt shrieks.</p><p>Her eyes water, but adrenaline must be coursing rapidly through her veins, because she gets up shakily, twisting her wand in her hand. My eyes widen, but I respond quickly. I shoot another spell at her, Celeste nearly crumpling as it hits her shoulder and very obviously dislocates it as her arm hangs loosely, but she bites down on her lip hard enough to sink her teeth all the way through it and shoots a nonverbal spell at me.</p><p>I deflect it easily, shooting one right back that she shields. We're both advancing towards each other at this point, I in the typical dueling stance, her wincing as her broken bone and dislocated shoulder, both on the left, flop uselessly against her body. Still, she deflects and shoots jinxes and curses at me nearly as rapidly as I do.</p><p>Celeste shoots two curses at me without a second in between. I deflect the first one quickly, but then before I know it, a familiar black fabric magically wraps itself around my eyes. I halt for half a second, then cursing in my head when I realized she's used <em>Obscuro</em> on me yet again, except last time it was for our pleasure and this time its for her own advantage. In the time it takes me to rip it off, she sends another jinx at my legs, making a roar of pain rip from my lungs so violently it tears my tongue right off the roof of my mouth.</p><p>I fall to my knees, gripping my wand in one hand and the blindfold in the other, feeling what can only be described as fire enveloping my right leg even though it looks completely and perfectly normal.</p><p>"Good," Bellatrix giggles. "I see you've been through that book I recommended <em>both</em> of you to look through. Finish him off then, Lettie, dear."</p><p>We both freeze, our heads turned to look at her.</p><p>"What?" Celeste asks, panting heavily with an echo of confusion lining her words.</p><p>My aunt sighs heavily, rolling her eyes. "I don't mean to <em>kill </em>him, idiot. <em>Finish</em> him off, render him incapable. If you were to turn your back on him now, he'd be perfectly capable of finishing <em>you</em> off. At the very least, leave him in a position where he can't do <em>anything</em>."</p><p>I turn to look at Celeste the very second she turns to look at me, and when I see the flicker of hesitation in her eyes, I take advantage of it. She slowly lifts her wand back up, but I'm quicker.</p><p>My tongue burning from being ripped off the roof of my mouth, I gasp out a "<em>Deprimo!" </em>while pointing my wand at her feet. Instantly, the floor erupts beneath her. She scrambles back just in time, but the force of the explosion throws her onto her back.</p><p>Celeste is up on her feet in no time, though, practically leaping over the hole in the floor towards me, fire in her eyes despite her broken, no doubt painful arm swinging beside her. I shoot a curse at her, she deflects. She shoots a curse at me, I deflect while taking a cautious step back and planting my feet more firmly.</p><p>"<em>Oppugno!</em>" she shouts, effectively using the spell that I couldn't nonverbally.</p><p>I glance just in time to see a heavy vase filled with potting soil hurtling towards me, ducking out of instinct. It hardly grazes the top of my hair before turning around and coming back towards my body. I jut my wand out at it, watching it explode in midair into fragments of ceramic, chunks of soil that smell worse than it should, and bits of the plant itself scattering the no longer pristine floor. My aunt scoffs in distaste and plucks a bit of leaf out of her hair.</p><p>"<em>Duro!</em>" Celeste then shouts.</p><p>I don't bother looking to see what it is she has turned to stone. I turn to face her and shoot jinx after jinx right at her legs, watching her dart jets of red light and stumble slightly, but she's too focused on something behind me. She curses when a jet hits her foot and falls to the ground right when something hard crashes into my back, sending me toppling towards the floor.</p><p>I manage to brace myself, landing on my arms while the stone on top of me shatters almost instantly. I get up, wincing at the pain of bits of stone now stuck in my palms and scratching down my back. She's already up too, though she winces as she steps forward. I've given her the spell she gave me, letting her feel the sensation of pure burning in her right leg just like mine is. That growing, clawing feeling in my gut is all but gone as I jut my wand forward once more.</p><p>Celeste deflects quickly, a hardened gaze in her eyes as she now advances towards me with no inhibitions, no sign of edging back that makes me falter slightly. She sends blue light hurtling at my head; I deflect. I send red light at her gut; she deflects. She sends a red light towards my legs; I deflect it towards her, she simply deflects it off to the side.</p><p>"C'mon, Lettie!" Aunt Bellatrix cackles, doubling over while her wild eyes watch us carefully. "Make your daddy proud, now, c'mon! He's watching you!"</p><p>This makes her falter again, except this time, she's frozen like a statue, her arm still extended with the incantation of her next spell dying on her lips. The look in her eyes reminds me all too abruptly of the way she looked the other day. They're confused, glazed over. They're looking at me, but they're not seeing me as a sheen of horror passes over her face, like she's not sure how to react, not sure what to do. I halt all my movements, licking my lips and frowning at her while my eyes scan her up and down, wondering if I sent a freezing spell at her without noticing.</p><p>And then I snap out of it.</p><p>I shoot a disarming spell at her, seeing her head turn slowly to watch her wand clatter out of her hand. It lands only a few feet away from her, close enough that she could possibly grab it and defend my next spell, but she doesn't move.</p><p>I close my eyes, grimacing at the twisting sensation in my gut that feels like it might rip my entire existence out of the world. That's what it does, I suppose, as I Apparate out of my spot on the floor with a loud crack only to reappear right behind her, ignoring the urge to heave while I grab her from behind, hearing her pained noise when my arms wrap around both her arms, including her injured one, to press her back against my chest.</p><p>We stand there in that dim room for a few moments, both panting facing the window. My eyes are on the dark grey skies outside, holding her rather loosely as she struggles. She cries out with every attempt to take her nails across my arms or pry me off of her, only hurting herself more as she overexerts her injured arm.</p><p>Still, moments later, she won't stop wriggling in my grasp, pained gasps and muffled cries leaving her now bleeding lip. My legs quiver form the fiery pain still shooting up my right, just like hers writhes from the same pain, but I hold the both of us up, my right hand holding the tip of my wand harshly against her neck.</p><p>She shakes in my hold, but I just grip her tighter, hearing her whimper when her shoulder shifts slightly, and then she slumps against my chest. I plant my feet firmer as I now hold her entire weight, body completely limp, against me. Her head rolls slightly as she continues panting, hand loosely tugging at my arm before falling.</p><p>"Do I have to say it again?" Aunt Bellatrix sighs almost playfully. "<em>Finish her off</em>. In a real duel, you don't leave your opponent capable of firing a shot at your back."</p><p>I feel Celeste tense up instantly at the sound of Bellatrix's voice. She starts struggling again, but I just force my wand harshly against her throat, hearing her curse before calming slightly, though her nails continue scratching at me.</p><p>I stare down at the side of her face for a few moments, my breathing slowly returning back to normal. I ignore the throbbing pain in my leg, back, and shoulder before tilting my head up to look at my aunt.</p><p>"If this were a real duel, I would," I say simply, gripping Celeste tighter when she starts to slip away from me, "but it's not. If I do anything else, it'll just make it that much harder to heal her. I won. Let's leave it at that."</p><p>Aunt Bellatrix all but snarls at me, baring her decaying teeth at us before cackling in horrific delight. "Fine!" she says, pushing off the wall and practically dancing her way to the door. "Have if your way, then. You can heal her yourself."</p><p>Her full footsteps fade away, leaving me holding Celeste with a wand to her throat in the middle of the room.</p><p>I inhale sharply and step away from her, letting her crumple to the ground. She winces, instantly shifting away with the help of her one good arm until she reaches a wall to lean against, grabbing her wand along the way. I watch with heavy eyes as she, without sparing me the slightest glance, begins attempting to heal her own wounds by herself, muffling her pained cries by biting into her already bleeding lip. Her eyes well up with tears from pain, but she doesn't let a single drop fall onto her cheek.</p><p>"Let me help you," I say stoically, my face not betraying a single emotion.</p><p>I'm not sure what to feel. Guilt? It's not my fault she got distracted.</p><p>"Leave," she seethes simply.</p><p>"You're an idiot," I scoff, tousling my hair roughly before clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth and striding over to stand before her.</p><p>"<em>Leave</em>."</p><p>"Oh, what're you gonna do? Cry like a little fucking girl again? Scream at the top of your damn lungs? Gonna shoot burning spells at me until I go away?"</p><p>Celeste hits me with a scathing glare, but it turns into a wince as she grasps at her arm. "I don't need your help," she chokes out, giving up on her arm and instead muttering a counter jinx towards her leg, the burning seemingly ceasing as her jerking leg rests.</p><p>My own throbs in fiery pain, so I do the same before crouching down beside her.</p><p>"Didn't I tell you to leave?" she spits out, jerking away and wincing when I touch her arm.</p><p>"Shut the fuck up."</p><p>"I said I don't need your help," Celeste snaps, but I roll my eyes and ignore her while reaching out to her arm again. She pulls away once more, but I give her shoulder a tight squeeze that makes her cry out and reluctantly lean back towards me. "Why are you helping me?"</p><p>I slip my wand between my lips to hold it while carefully rolling her short sleeve up past her shoulder, grimacing at the sight of the dislocation. And then, without warning, I grab her and shove the joint back in place.</p><p>Celeste practically <em>howls</em> in pain, her one hand grabbing the side of my neck and digging her long nails in hard enough to draw blood from several parts of it, her legs kicking violently and her face screwing up in pain. I stare at her, unamused, while prying her hand away form me and waiting for her to calm down into a panting, sweaty mess.</p><p>"How did you know how to do that?"</p><p>"I've dislocated my own shoulder a fair few times," I say simply after plucking my wand out of my mouth, muttering a few numbing spells at her shoulder as well as a healing one.</p><p>"Why are you helping me?" she demands to know once more, her eyes glimmering as she pants softly and flinched when I move to touch her forearm.</p><p>"What choice do I have?" I mutter bitterly, turning her arm so her inner forearm faces up.</p><p>We both pause when we see that, somehow, her Glamor Charm has worn off, leaving the Dark Mark on her skin to viciously coil, looking like a parasite. Neither of us say anything on it, but she tried to pull away. I don't even have to stop her, because she instantly halts when a pained noise leaves her lips, a whimpered curse accompanying it.</p><p>"You could—You could—" Celeste gasps for air, her eyes wide before threatening to fall shut. I'm surprised she hasn't already passed out from pain.</p><p>"Wake up," I snap, giving her arm a light squeeze painful enough that her eyes fly open and she inhaled sharply. "I'm not gonna carry you out of here if you pass out."</p><p>She watches me closely as I examine her arm, wondering if an <em>Episky</em> will be enough.</p><p>"You could always leave me here," she exhaled breathily, another noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan leaving her lips as I press my wand to her forearm just against the mouth of the snake on her Mark.</p><p>"No I can't," is all I say.</p><p>"Oh, Merlin, don't tell me he <em>cares</em>," she snaps sourly.</p><p>"Of course I don't," I snap right back, shoving my wand away and standing back up so I loom over her, forcing her to crane her neck up to see me.</p><p>"Oh?" she exhales, a pained expression on her face.</p><p>"I need you in one piece of we're to succeed. I <em>doubt </em>you're even concentrating on our task apart from training," I mutter at her, curling my lips up in slight disgust. "I won't fail this, Zabini, and especially not because of you. Now get up. You'll have to see a Healer or an Elf for that arm."</p><p>Celeste looks at me for a few moments, her eyes going stony again while she breathed softly through parted lips. She closes them to swallow thickly, her hand reaching up to clasp her locket at her chest.</p><p>"I see 'friends' isn't going to work out for us, is it?" she then laughs breathily, but there isn't a hint of amusement on her face.</p><p>"Up. I'll leave you here if you're not on your feet in five seconds."</p><p>"You give me whiplash," I hear her murmur softly, and then she's grunting as she moves her to feet while trying not to press weight on her broken forearm.</p><p>I'm tempted to reach down and lend her a hand, but I step away and watch silently as she gets to her feet, cradling her arm with her wand tucked behind her ear.</p><p>"You're lucky I <em>didn't </em>give you whiplash," I sneer, moving to grab her right arm and pull her to walk with me, ignoring her startled noise.</p><p>"Oh, thank you," she snaps sarcastically. "And thank you for destroying my arm, really."</p><p>"Maybe if you focus next time, you won't be such a bloody mess. It's not my fault you got distracted."</p><p>"No," she mutters as I lug her along out the room and towards our sick room. "Not <em>yours</em>."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: how ya doin</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0054"><h2>54. HANDS FIGHTING FOR GLORY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a lil trip thru diagon alley yup yup</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>August 11th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>We're both on opposite sides of the room panting, wanting to double over and place our hands on our knees to catch our breaths, but standing warily with our wands drawn trying to guess the other's next move.</p><p>We've only been dueling for fifteen minutes, but we're both already exhausted.</p><p>Our first duel was violent, explosive even. We've toned it down since then, though he is no less conniving and I am no less brutal. My left arm is still wrapped, the bone broken under my Dark Mark slowly healing, though my dislocated shoulder is nothing but sore now. Luckily, Draco's spells have mostly been hitting my right side, whether that's luck or intentional. I have a deep gash down my right bicep that pangs with every second, and he used <em>Langlock</em> on me to give me a taste of my medicine, so now I glare at him tiredly with my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth. He also knocked me right off my feet near the start, so there's a nasty bruise forming on my tailbone that probably won't go away for a little while. I think I may have hit my head on something too, because my vision is a little blurry and won't clear no matter how much I blink.</p><p>He also used a dancing jinx on me. My feet are twitching.</p><p>But he isn't doing so well either. I blasted him into the wall, and his head hit the corner of a portrait, so there's blood dripping all down the side of his face. I spelled the bones in his right hand away, so he's forced to use his non-dominant hand for his wand. Though he's avoided all my Stunning Spells, one hit the wall dangerously close to his head, and I think he's still disoriented from that. Still, he watches me gravely.</p><p>"Aren't either of you going to do something?" Aunt Bellatrix sighs showily, her wide eyes glancing between the two of us while she pouts and plays with one of her curls.</p><p>I swallow thickly, stepping forward and flicking my wand towards him. He deflects my jet of red light easily before sending blue light towards me that I shield off to the side. Draco steps forward, but I quickly hit him with an <em>Impedimenta</em> that throws him backwards, and I take the time in which he stumbles back and recovers to turn to Bellatrix.</p><p>"I think we should take a break from dueling," I say firmly, my breaths heavy.</p><p>She tilts her head at me, vicious black eyes penetrating mine. In the two weeks she's been training us, I've learned to keep the terror that strikes up in my chest at the mere sight of her under wraps. It's still there. That nagging thought that she's the one who killed him, that she's the one who killed me, and that she might easily do it again constantly sits at the back of my head, but I'm tired of trembling every time she looks at me. Occlumency is, without a shred of doubt, the most difficult thing I've attempted to master. It takes a kind of mental strength that I don't think I had even before the attack at the Ministry, and a strength I <em>definitely </em>have been struggling to find ever since.</p><p>I haven't been sleeping most nights. I've been up all day, maybe getting an hour or two of shut-eye every other night. The few days that I lose myself and fall into deep sleep, I wake up from nightmares. Thankfully, I don't always wake up screaming. No, typically I end up in a tightly curled ball, incapable of moving even my finger, trembling with wide eyes in the middle of my bed for at least half an hour before my muscles finally loosen.</p><p>Spending nights either prying my eyes open or reliving my worst nightmares has led to days where I can't focus, where I can't listen to anyone speaking without drifting off. It makes it easier for Bellatrix to plunge into my mind like a virulent plague and bring the nightmares that haunt me in my sleep to the forefront of my mind so they may haunt me even when I wake.</p><p>I <em>had</em> to find a quick fix. I'd stayed away from the Sleeping Draught the entire summer because though it would let me sleep peacefully at night, I'd be drowsy and out of it during the day. I have little choice at this point. It's Sleeping Draught before bed and caffeine throughout the day.</p><p>It's clear nobody is going to put me back together, so I'm sweeping the shattered pieces under the carpet.</p><p>"<em>Do </em>you, Lettie?" she asks testily, her parted lips turning up in a manic smile as she strolls towards me, head tilted nearly onto her shoulder. "Is that <em>so?</em>"</p><p>I nod, forcing myself to turn my chin up as my pulse picks up faster than even a high-paced duel could make it. I can practically smell death radiating off of her as she stops a few feet away from me, beastly eyes grazing my body like she wants to devour it the way she devours my father in my dreams.</p><p>"We're both hardly recovering from our injuries," I point out, lifting my forearm before stumbling down to sit on the floor, extending my jittery feet out before me, "and they only get worse the more we exert them. I'm not too worried about my<em>self</em>, a broken arm is hardly going to hold me back. But it's only been a few days, and we've already practically gotten used to each other's dueling styles. He's too predictable."</p><p>Draco scoffs. "Really? You didn't seem to predict it when I knocked you off your ass."</p><p>"Watch it, Malfoy, or the next <em>bone</em> you lose won't be in your hand," I snap sharply without looking away from Bellatrix, seeing her eyes light up in delight.</p><p>"You have a point..." she purrs, stepping closer to me still to rest her hand on my arm, lightly grazing those flawed fingers up and down while I swallow thickly and try not to shudder away. "I don't want you two getting used to fighting just one type of person... No more dueling for the rest of the week. I'll find you two some other partners to duel with, but right now, I want to hear about your plan."</p><p>I pause, confusion briefly flickering over my face before I shove it away. "Our plan?" I clarify, sitting up a little straighter while Bellatrix shoots a nonverbal spell at my feet so they're no longer spasming.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>, Lettie, your <em>plan</em>," she mocks back, twirling her wand as she slowly walks back and forth across the room. "How do you two intend to kill Dumbledore?"</p><p><em>Shit</em>.</p><p>I have thought about that. My mind has been on training: closing my 'window' for Occlumency, learning how to Apparate and do nonverbal spells, practicing dueling. I've been training to be the perfect person for this task, and yet I haven't thought about the task at all.</p><p>I haven't <em>wanted </em>to.</p><p>"I have a few ideas," Draco grunts as he forces himself up, a slightly pained expression on his face as he rubs his back and walks towards us. His sharp, crystalline eyes land on me for a split second, glancing me up and down with mild disdain before darting away.</p><p>"<em>You</em> have a few ideas?" Bellatrix croons suspiciously, not an ounce of genuine joy in her crooked grin that bares her decaying canines.</p><p>Draco clenches his jaw while my pulse picks up in a panic, though I don't betray a single bit of it on my face. He glances at me subtly. His scathing, silver eyes gaze at me carefully, lingering on the deep gash on my right arm and my wrapped forearm. His face is icy, doesn't give even the slightest flinch or hint of an emotion, but I can see a snowstorm brewing below his brows.</p><p>"We do," he then says simply, slipping his still functional hand into his pocket and turning to look at Bellatrix.</p><p>"Go on, then," she says simply, pursing her lips and placing her hands on her hips.</p><p>"I suppose our most fleshed out one..." Draco hesitates, eyes drifting off slightly. "It's... more of a plan Z than anything if nothing else works out. If nothing else works out, we'll just have to do it directly." His eyes flash up as my heart skips a beat. "With the Killing Curse."</p><p>"That's it?" Bellatrix bats her eyes at him lazily, her wand hand gesturing in the air. "Perhaps I should bid you two farewell tonight itself..."</p><p>"No, that's not all," he sighs tiredly, "obviously not. Should it come to the point where we have to do it directly, with the curse, we'll need a way to get out and we'll need support. I—<em>We</em> figured out there's a Vanishing Cabinet <em>somewhere</em> in this school. There was a student, Graham, who has graduated now. He got in somehow and Apparated out. We weren't sure what he was trying to tell m—us, but we realize now. It's a matching set, and the other one is in Borgin and Burkes. I've seen it there before."</p><p>"Well, <em>that's</em> a bit better," Bellatrix coos in a high-pitched voice, a delighted smile on her dry lips and her long lashes batting against her cheeks. "So you smuggle some of the Dark Lord's followers in through this <em>Vanishing Cabinet</em>."</p><p>"Yes, they'll make sure nobody interrupts us, stop us, fight the professors if they must."</p><p>I frown, glancing away as my mind struggles to bring something to my attention, like there's something important he's missing, but—<em>oh</em>.</p><p>"We'll have to fix it first, though," I mumble under my breath, frowning absentmindedly across the room at a bit of shattered glass in the corner. My words are for myself, but this room is so vast and empty of any real furniture, so they echo off the walls and make both Draco and Bellatrix turn to look at me, Bellatrix's eyes wide with deranged intrigue and Draco's narrowed in confusion.</p><p>"What was that, Lettie?" Bellatrix hums with a soft giggle.</p><p>I snap my head up to look at them, slightly startled. They couldn't look more different. Her hair is dark like mine, though her curls are looser and messier, and what unsettles me the most is how her eyes are practically the same shade as mine. He, though, he is the coldest embodiment of moonlight, with pure silver eyes, melted and poured into the mold of a knife, and white-blond hair that flutters in the light breeze drifting through the open window. The two of them stand a few yards away from me, the outlines of their body slightly blurry.</p><p>"I said that we'll need to <em>fix</em> the Cabinet <em>first</em>," I repeat, tucking my legs underneath me and trying not to seem phased at all about how they both, standing while I sit and try to blink my vision back to normal, loom over me ominously.</p><p>Draco's eyebrows furrow, but then realization sparks in his eyes.</p><p>"He's not wrong, Graham got in it," I continue, eyeing him up while his lips turn into a dark frown and his piercing eyes look at me without revealing a single thing, "but he got <em>stuck</em> in it. From what little I know about Vanishing Cabinets, there isn't much you have to do except step in and step out. There's no spell to cast, no <em>button</em> to press. If he got stuck in it, stuck in whatever other-dimensional world the Vanishing Cabinets functions in, that means it's broken somehow. We'll have to fix it before we can use it, otherwise half the... half of the Dark Lord's followers will get stuck in some other world."</p><p>Bellatrix peers at me curiously, dark eyes scanning me up and down skeptically. Her lips slowly grin, but she still watches me carefully. She then turns to look at Draco. "Is that so?"</p><p>He nods.</p><p>"And what if you two <em>can't</em> fix it in time? You only have until the end of the year to do this."</p><p>"In case it doesn't work, we won't be idle all year," Draco responds clearly, his head tilting slightly so that the light from out the window casts eerily over his icy features. "I've been wanting to visit Borgin and Burkes to convince Borgin to help us repair the Cabinet and ensure the one in his shop remains there. While we're there, we can pick a few other things up. The shop and others in Knockturn Alley are filled with all sorts of objects of Dark Arts."</p><p>"Good," Bellatrix chimes, pursing her lips and giving her wand a twirl while tilting her head back far to peer at us from down her nose. "<em>Well</em>, I suppose this is good for one day. Your Apparition has gotten better, Celeste, and your Nonverbal, Draco. Tomorrow, you two and Cissy will head to Diagon Alley. Get whatever you need for Hogwarts and then head to Knockturn Alley. At the end of the week, be prepared for another lesson in Occlumency. I want to see progress."</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"I won't disappoint," I interrupt whatever it is Draco has to see when a harsh cut in my voice, grunting softly as I move to stand up, feeling the gash in my arm get infected the longer it's open.</p><p>Bellatrix's lips curl in amusement. "Confident, are we? I see little Lettie isn't the trembling little girl she was just two weeks ago."</p><p>"It's wonderful what just a little Sleeping Draught can do."</p><p>—</p><p>"Is your mother still at the bank?" I ask with a soft sigh as I clutch the bag with my new school robes to my side, walking up to where Draco stands before a mirror from the register.</p><p>"I'd assume so," he says simply, his eyes slightly hooded and his lips pursed as he adjusts his sleeves.</p><p>We're nearly done scouring Diagon Alley. We both got <em>The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6</em>, <em>Advanced Potion-Making</em>, <em>Confronting the Faceless</em>, <em>A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration</em>, <em>Advanced Rune Translation</em>, <em>Flesh-Eating Trees of the World</em>, and many other new textbooks for our NEWT classes. I had to pick one up for Alchemy too, though turns out Draco won't be taking that class this year.</p><p>I'm not sure <em>why</em> they've let me even come out to Diagon Alley when I'm not even allowed to leave the manor. Part of me hopes to see Blaise and Pansy here. I haven't been answering their letters; I haven't even opened their birthday presents to me. I haven't been able to bring myself to do it, but I just want to see their faces again. At the same time, I don't want to. The last time Pansy saw me, I was a normal girl. A girl who'd died and come back to life to find out her father died as well, but not a girl approached by the Dark Lord and given the Dark Mark. Not a girl given the task of taking a life. Last time I saw Blaise, he was crying to me, begging for my forgiveness, killing himself over not realizing that I was hurting myself when I <em>wasn't</em>.</p><p>Realistically, I know they'd never let me go out if they didn't know both of them have already done their shopping. I wonder if I'll see anyone else, though.</p><p>We're at our last stop before going over to Knockturn Alley, at Madam Malkin's where I got fitted for new school robes—my old ones were a little tight at my shoulders—and Draco had to pick up some robes his mother ordered for him. I made fun of him at first (it would be a missed opportunity if I didn't), but now I take a seat beside the little stage on which he stands gazing at his reflection, and I have to admit that as pompous as he looks, he looks <em>good</em>.</p><p>They're such pretentious robes, but they fit him so well. They're dark green, subtle silver embroidery on the cuffs of the sleeves and the collars, and unbuttoned to reveal the crisp white shirt and pressed pants he wears underneath. Pins stick out of the hem as Madam Mallon works on fitting it properly, but Draco ignored them as he turns his chin up on his reflection while adjusting his collar. His eyes then dart to mine through the mirror, and though I'm initially startled, I don't look away.</p><p>"Found something to ogle at, have you?" he smirks without amusement, silver eyes taking their time on drinking me in, though I wear just a simple skirt and a blouse, before turning away to continue admiring himself.</p><p>"Oh, yeah," I sigh casually, resting the side of my face on my fist, "it <em>is</em> quite enjoyable watching you admire yourself like an egomaniacal <em>peacock. </em>Don't you have white peacocks strutting in your front lawn? Quite fitting."</p><p>"Your insults are creative, I'll concede that much," he sneers without looking away from himself.</p><p>He turns his head to the side to look at his collar, nimble fingers tracing the pattern while I rub my eyes since my vision is still just <em>slightly</em> blurred. Now that I'm thinking about it, there's this aching feeling near my temple. I definitely hit my head sometime yesterday.</p><p>"Turn, please," Madam Malkin sighs tiredly, making me smirk.</p><p>Draco turns wordlessly to face me so that she can work at the back of his robes. He doesn't look at me at first, instead pushing his sleeve up to reveal that watch his mother got him last Christmas. He glances at it, reading the time, and moves as if to tap it twice to reveal that constellation dragon, but then it seems he thinks better of it as he drops his hands to slide them into his pockets.</p><p>His crystalline eyes then rise to mine, sharp and piercing as they stare at me neutrally, almost as if he's bored. His pink lips purse slightly as we both watch the other quietly, his gaze growing darker and more intense.</p><p>"How's the shoulder?" I then ask when the silence becomes unbearable.</p><p>"Alright. Healed, but the scar hasn't gone yet."</p><p>"Sorry," I say with a cold smirk.</p><p>"No, you're <em>not</em>," he says dismissively, rolling his eyes and shooting a glare over his shoulder when Malkin tugs particularly harshly on the hem of his robes.</p><p>"No, I'm really not," I agree with a dry laugh, shifting the bag with my robes as well as my satchel off my lap and into the ground. I hear a slight clinking sound, but I ignore it. "You could do with a blow or two to your ego, you know."</p><p>"Could I?" he asks distractedly, fingers tracing the silver embroidery on his sleeves. "I swear, if you've permanently scarred me, Celeste..."</p><p>I pout mockingly. "Poor, baby Malfoy," I mock in a coy voice, seeing his eyes fly up to mine angrily, though his head is lowered, and he glares at me from under thick brows. "How will the world <em>ever </em>continue to spin now that fragile little Draco has a <em>scar?"</em></p><p>Draco clenches his jaw dangerously. "How's that arm looking, hm, Zabini? Maybe another break will shut you up."</p><p>"Ooh, <em>maybe</em>," I mock back with an unimpressed roll of my eyes. A sickly sweet smell then hits me, making my nose curl up. It's awfully familiar. "Do you smell that?"</p><p>The chimes at the door jingle as it swings open, though I don't bother looking up to see who it is as I lean down to my bag, lifting it up and back onto my lap with a slight frown on my face.</p><p>"If you're still wondering what's smelling, Celeste," Draco mutters bitterly, prompting me to look up to see him gazing at the mirror but not at his own reflection, "it might be the Mudblood that's just walked in."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows in surprise, glancing at the mirror before turning my head to see Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Malfoy's very own old crush, Hermione Granger, the former two with their wands drawn and pointed at Draco who only smirks dryly and turns around for Madam Malkin to do the front of his robes.</p><p>"Oh, there's no need for language like that," she huffs, her tape measure aligning with the length of his torso. "And put those wands down! I won't have you dueling in my store, not when I've just had these new robes all shipped in."</p><p>Granger, standing behind the two Gryffindor boys, just mumbles, "No, don't... honestly, it's not worth it."</p><p>"Yeah," Draco scoffs, his hand running through his hair, "like you'd dare do magic outside of school, anyway."</p><p>I smirk to myself, leaning back in my chair and forgetting all about that familiar smell as I wrap my arms around my bag and watch with amusement as Weasley's face goes red with irritation and Draco simply says something quietly to Malkin about a loose stitch in his sleeve.</p><p>She's not listening to him, though. "That's quite enough!" she yelps, standing up abruptly when Potter takes a step forward with his wand hand twitching. "Please—"</p><p>"Oh, put those away," I sigh with a roll of my eyes, and all five heads turn to look at me. "Honestly, you're making fools of yourselves."</p><p>I see recognition sink into Potter's eyes. Weasley and Granger never saw me when I was at the Ministry, but Potter was there in the Death Chamber. He saw Bellatrix reveal me, he saw her shoot the Killing Curse at me, and he saw my father and I drop dead at the same time. His green eyes flash as they scan me up and down, his arm lowering a fraction of an inch.</p><p>"I'm sorry for your l—"</p><p>"Piss off," I snort, glancing away and looking blankly at the mirror while feeling his and Draco's eyes burn into the side of my face.</p><p>My heart sinks slightly in my chest as I realize what this year will be. It won't just be preparation for an impossible task—not that I intend to leave it incomplete—but it will be eyes on me. I'll be known as the girl whose father died last summer, who was sent to St. Mungo's for hurting herself. News spreads fast like that.</p><p>Most of them don't know I died, but Potter saw. I bet he told his little friends.</p><p>Panic flashes up my body at this realization. I never thought for a moment about all the other people in the Death Chamber that watched me go down with a strike of green light.</p><p>"I thought you were in St. M—"</p><p>"Well, I had to get supplies, didn't I? Now get out," I spit bitterly, my hands clenching into tight fists while my heart beats rapidly, making my head feel light and face burn.</p><p>Potter glares at me then. "Your father was at the Ministry."</p><p>"Won't you shut up?"</p><p>"He was fighting for <em>us</em>, he was fighting to make sure <em>his</em> father didn't <em>kill</em> us!" he spits, jutting his wand out at Draco who takes a step back and is quick to slip his own wand out, pointing it right back at Potter with an icy, emotionless expression.</p><p>"Please!" Madam Malkin cries out, glancing over her shoulder for support. "There's no need—"</p><p>"What do you want, Potter?" I snap, my body feeling like it's being slowly tugged down to be swallowed into the earth.</p><p>"He was a good man! What are you doing hanging around a Death Eater's son?!"</p><p>
  <em>I don't need Saint Potter to tell me my father would be disappointed.</em>
</p><p>"Shut your mouth!" Draco snaps before I can say anything, his long legs taking a step off the little dressing stage to jab his wand towards Potter's chest, fury written all over his bitter face. "You say another bloody word, and it'll be your last!"</p><p>"Really?" Potter glares, taking his own brave step forward. "What'll you do, hm, Malfoy? Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in for you?"</p><p>I clench my jaw as Draco reaches forward to grab Potter roughly by the front of his robes, though the shorter boy doesn't even flinch. My heart pounding, I get up suddenly, but perhaps a bit too quickly as my vision fills with stars and my blood rushes so quickly, my body gets dizzy. I blink past it, ambling over to grab Draco by the back of his sleeve, though I don't pull him away.</p><p>Malkin squeals, clutching her heart. "Really, you shouldn't accuse—a dangerous thing to say—put those wands away, now, boys!"</p><p>Neither listen, both glaring unfalteringly at each other.</p><p>"Leave it, Draco," I say sharply, though my voice sounds distant to my own ears. "If these are the type to shop here, perhaps we're better off purchasing robes elsewhere."</p><p>Potter's eyes flash in angry confusion, shifting over to me while he shouts incredulously, "How can you think like that when you've <em>die—?</em>"</p><p>I don't give him the time to finish his thoughts. My hand whips my wand out of my pocket and has it pressed under his jaw in half a second, my other hand now twisting the sleeve of Draco's robes as if that'll relieve any of my anger. I sense Draco shifting his eyes to glance at me, but I keep my furious, challenging glare on Potter, daring him to finish his sentence.</p><p>"When I've <em>what</em>, Potter?" I ask in a quiet, stony voice, ignoring Malkin's frantic pleading.</p><p>He clenches his jaw. "How did you even do it? I saw you, with my own eyes, I saw you—"</p><p>"You're awfully brave, you know that?" I interrupt with a sharp, humorless laugh, feeling it echo in my oddly hollow chest. "A Gryffindor trait. <em>Foolish</em> bravery. Idiocy, even. Perhaps Dumbledore's favorite student believes he's untouchable," I coo mockingly, giving him a pout and a tilt of my head. "Gotten yourself a false sense of security, have you? Dumbledore won't always be around to protect you, Potter."</p><p>Draco's head is now fully turned to look at me, but I can't rip my eyes off of the Chosen One. My body shakes so quickly that my arms still look still and rigid as stone. An icy feeling billows from my stomach and envelops my entire body, especially at my chest where my locket lays under my shirt, the ring next to it burning icily.</p><p>
  <em>What would he think if he saw me now?</em>
</p><p>I clench my jaw. He'd know I have no choice.</p><p>Potter looks mockingly around the shop. "Well... would you look at that? It seems he's not here <em>now</em>. So why not have a go?"</p><p>"You've got yourself a death wish, haven't you, Potter?" Draco snaps, stepping forward and pushing my arm away so it falls down to my side. His hand on Potter's robes twists before letting go with a slight push, sending Potter stumbling backwards slightly into Granger.</p><p>"Scared, Malfoy? No, you've got too much bloody <em>Pureblood Pride</em>. C'mon, then. Have a go at me. Maybe you're just like your aunt, particularly adept at <em>murder</em>," Potter sneers, his wand jabbing back into Draco's chest. "Or, better yet, exactly like your father. Maybe they'll find a double cell in Azkaban you can share with your poor excuse of a—"</p><p>"Maybe they'll dig you a grave right next to your mother's," I snap, my hand on Draco's robes pulling him back slightly while he snarls out a reply I can't quite hear over my rushing, deafening blood. "You don't talk to us like that, Potter."</p><p>"Don't bother, Celeste. He'll sooner be reunited with his <em>Sirius</em> than I with my Father," Draco laughs cruelly, letting his hand drop to my side and reaching to pry mine off of him. "Mark my words."</p><p>"And you, Zabini?" Potter asks with a sneer, leaning in to mutter quietly, "Bellatrix may have been the one to kill y—"</p><p>I grab the front of his robes, making him choke slightly while glaring at him as scathingly as I can. Madam Malkins shrieks, but then she awkwardly begins adjusting Draco's sleeve, as if pretending nothing is happening will ensure nothing really does happen.</p><p>Potter's glasses slip slightly as he grips at my wrist, but he continues, "—but it's <em>his</em> father's fault that you d—"</p><p>My wand juts so harshly into his throat that he inhales harshly. His friends, useless this entire time, finally pounce in. Granger tugs on Potter's arm to tell him to leave it. Weasley grips him, one hand reaching out to tug at my arm, but Draco grabs his wrist before he can touch me. I can feel the Malfoy heir's presence behind me, exhaling harshly through his nose and muscles chest near my back.</p><p>"How long do you think, Celeste?" Potter grunts, his head turned up from my wand. "How long until <em>you</em> join <em>your</em> father?"</p><p>"No sooner than you meet yours," I mutter bitterly, giving my wand a sharp jab up into his throat that makes Granger cry out in fear and wrap her arms around his shoulders to pull him back.</p><p>My body shakes violently, blood and caffeine coursing through my veins. I can feel the magic in the back of my chest writhing. I haven't been able to understand it ever since the attack. It's like it's tucked away, incapable of protecting my mind from mental attacks that drive me to insanity, but it comes out my wand with spells faster than my mind can think of them, much less <em>speak</em> them, to protect my body like instinctually. I swallow thickly, feeling it bubble in my body, desperate to shoot a jet of light, whether it's red or blue or green, and knock Potter right off his feet.</p><p>I can feel the skin on my chest where my locket lays throbbing, making me wince as the rune etched on my sternum gives a sharp stabbing feeling before fading away.</p><p>Harry raises his wand again, his eyes glaring down at me as it jabs into my neck just like mine does his.</p><p>"Harry, no!" Granger huffs, giving his shoulders a rough pull. His footing is loose, making him shift back slightly as he tries to shake her off. "You mustn't...you'll be in so much trouble."</p><p>Draco's big hand clasps around my arm. It loosens when my breath hitches at the feeling of him squeezing the healing gash on my arm, and then it slides down to wrap around my wrist and force me to pull my wand away from Potter. I scowl and glance up and over my shoulder at him, though his cold, withering gaze is still on the green-eyed nuisance before us.</p><p>"Don't waste your time," he spits bitterly, glancing over at freckled Weasley whose face matches his hair and then over at Granger who looks like she wants to hide behind her hair. "I don't think I want these robes, anyway."</p><p>My hand drops to the side as the <em>Golden Trio</em> back out of the shop, Potter shooting us both murderous glares before turning on his heel and stalking away with his two bodyguards. I stand, feeling my body shake with the urge to explode, staring out the window for a few moments before I feel Draco let go of my wrist and turn to face Madam Malkin.</p><p>"If my mother comes around, tell her I didn't like them," he says sharply, prompting me to turn around to look at our reflection. He doesn't spare me a glance as he pulls the green robe off and folds it over his arm, passing it to Madam Walking and reaching down to pick his bag up.</p><p>I sigh softly, shoving my wand away and moving my hand to rub my face harshly. The anger coursing through my veins calms slightly and turns into horrid, painful confusion. It's a sickening feeling that bubbles up not from my chest, but from my gut, similar to the Dark Mark on my broken forearm in the way it tries to swallow me up, make me a slave to it. My knees shake slightly, so I hurry back to my chair, stabilizing myself by grabbing onto one of the arms and bending to pick up my robes and satchel.</p><p>"Hurry up," Draco says, his voice colder than usual.</p><p>I sling my satchel over my shoulder, wincing slightly, and turn around glaring to see him waiting for me at the door with an impatient look on his face. His stoic eyes glance me up and down once before he turns and pushes the door open, stepping outside and standing with the door open while gazing down at his watch.</p><p>That same familiar smell from before reaches my nose as I sigh heavily and walk out the shop, ignoring Madam Malkin's tentative wave. I step out into the street, feeling him lean to close the door behind me. His hand then goes to the small of my back, but it isn't comforting as he grips me tightly and pulls me to walk with him and match his quick strides.</p><p>"Are you stupid?" he seethes quietly, leaning to the side to mutter his harsh words in my ear.</p><p>"What?" I scoff tiredly, squinting up at him and sniffing slightly. That smell...oh, fuck.</p><p>"Are you trying to get into a duel with <em>Potter?</em>" he snaps. "You were <em>this</em> close to using magic, you stupid little girl. You'd get your wand taken away, and then what?"</p><p>"We can't get in trouble for doing magic anymore, remember?"</p><p>"That doesn't mean we can do it in front of other people, much less <em>hex</em> them," he whispers harshly.</p><p>"Well—"</p><p>"Fudge isn't Minister anymore, Celeste," Draco says curtly, frowning down at me as I move my satchel over to my stomach to rustle through the pockets.</p><p>"Scrimgeour is a joke," I scoff, closing one pocket and unbuttoning the next, cursing when I feel something wet on my fingers. "He <em>acts </em>like he's gonna do shit, but you know it's only for appearances. <em>Fuck my life</em>."</p><p>"Yes, but if you give even an <em>inkling</em> of a hint that you're—" He stops himself abruptly, making me frown and look up at him.</p><p>He's gazing sternly at something across the road, so I follow his gaze to see a group of people whispering and glancing at us offhandedly. It seems everyone shopping here is accompanied by at least one other person, packed in tight groups with their wands in their hands at ready. The windows of all the shops are plastered with posters with warnings of <em>You-Know-Who's Reappearance!</em> and wanted posters for Bellatrix Lestrange and other missing Azkaban prisoners. People glance at the posters and pack together even tighter, and the family across the street is currently looking at us. <em>No</em>, at Draco.</p><p>I glance back at him, seeing his face harden and darken while his pace slows. I open my mouth, unsure of what to say, and then I decide to go on the aggressive.</p><p>"Well, aren't <em>you</em> a bloody hypocrite?" I huff, ripping away from his side to walk faster while pulling the brown paper bag out of my satchel, groaning when I see it completely wet.</p><p>Draco makes a small sound before hurrying to catch up with me. "The hell do you mean?"</p><p>"You act like <em>you</em> weren't sticking a wand down Potter's mouth too," I snap at him, opening the bag and peering inside to see that, sure enough, the bottle of Sleeping Draught I bought from the apothecary just an hour ago has shattered. "Are you fucking ki—?"</p><p>"I backed down, didn't I?" he scoffs, grabbing me by my sleeve to pull me back into his side. "You would've blasted his bloody head off if I hadn't pulled you away."</p><p>"You act like you wouldn't like to see that. I need to make a stop at the apothecary."</p><p>"We already made one."</p><p>"Yes, well, I need another," I roll my eyes in irritation, glancing up in time to see a poster of Bellatrix cackling at us as we pass a store.</p><p>"There's an apothecary near Borgin and Burkes," he says lowly as we near Knockturn Alley. "You can stop there."</p><p>I groan, "I need Sleeping Draught, not <em>poison!</em>"</p><p>—</p><p>Knockturn Alley is all but deserted.</p><p>I suppose that's expected. In times like these, everyone is on high alert, and to be found shopping in parts dedicated exclusively to Dark Arts and artifacts would be a dead giveaway. Even those I've seen frequently and practically living on these streets are gone as well as the boxes and makeshift beds they'd sleep in. I suppose that's the Ministry's way of looking as though it's doing something. It's been rounding up random suspects, including some man named Stan Shunpike that apparently steered the Knight Bus, but when it comes to disappearances like that of Florean Fortescue's and Ollivander's, thanks only to the very people I live with, they've done nothing.</p><p>Borgin and Burkes is empty of people too, but it's full to the brim with all kinds of sinister objects. I glance around in this creaky little store, wrapping my arms around myself and when I see Burkes, one of the shopowners, lurking in a corner and eyeing me up.</p><p>Draco and I stand near a large wooden cabinet. It looks as though it may have once been painted with a coat of thick black paint, but it's all faded away to reveal dark wood upon which has been carved all kinds of designs. I assume they're runes, but I'm not entirely sure what most of them are.</p><p>Borgin, the other owner, stands before us with a sloped back and oily hair. His lips are curled in both resentment in fear as his eyes glance between us and the Vanishing Cabinet.</p><p>"I've found out where this cabinet's twin is, Mr. Borgin," Draco says, his back straight as he stands proud and tall, silver eyes glancing down at the man in slight disdain while his hand on my sleeve tightens before dropping. "It's at Hogwarts, but it's broken. Do you know how to fix it?"</p><p>"Possibly..." Borgin sniffs, his eyes dropping to me and gazing at me suspiciously. His tone is noncommittal, wary. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"</p><p>"We can't," I cut in stonily, feeling Draco turn to glance at me. "It's got to stay put. We simply need you to tell us how to fix it, and we'll do the fixing ourselves."</p><p>"Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job," Borgin grunts, licking his dry lips and stepping back slightly. "Impossible, perhaps. I couldn't guarantee anything."</p><p>"No?" Draco asks in a voice so quiet yet so cold that it catches <em>me</em> off guard. I turn my head to see his expression blank yet scathing at the same time. "Perhaps this will make you more confident..."</p><p>He steps forward, grabbing Borgin by the front of his robes, twisting them harshly while the man adopts a frightened expression on his face. Burkes steps out of the shadowy corner, but I simply pull my wand out and give him a humorless smile.</p><p>"You'll find that we're not quite just two teenagers to disregard, Mr. Borgin," Draco says in a dangerously low voice, his head tilting as he sneers down at the frail man. "I have quite a few family friends, you see. Perhaps you've heard of one: Fenrir Greyback."</p><p>Borgin swallows thickly. "I'm sure—I'm sure I have something around on how to fix—"</p><p>"Perfect," Draco smiles slowly, but it doesn't reach his eyes. I lift a brow at him, scanning him up and down, but then I sigh boredly and rest my weight on one hip while I wait for him to finish with his theatrics. "Tell anyone, and there will be retribution. Greyback will drop in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your <em>full</em> attention."</p><p>"There will be no need for—"</p><p>"Oh, we'll decide that," I yawn lazily, seeing Draco glance at me from the corner of his eyes with irritation, but I just give him a dry smile and short wave. "Now, why don't you sit yourself down behind that counter, and we'll find you should we need any more help?" I smile at Borgin sweetly, my eyes lethal as I scan him.</p><p>"Well—Perhaps you two would like to take it with you now?"</p><p>"Of course we wouldn't, you fool," Draco scoffs scathingly, giving Borgin a short jolt before letting go, the oily man stumbling back slightly. "How would we look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it, and we won't have any problems."</p><p>"No, of course not...sir," Borgin mumbles, bowing slightly.</p><p>"Not a word to anyone, Borgin," I remind him, quirking a brow while lazily pressing the tip of my wand into my jaw.</p><p>"That includes my mother," Draco adds while I nod. Bellatrix is the only person other than the two of us that knows our plan, and I hardly doubt she'll be telling her sister. "Come, Celeste, let's have a look around."</p><p>"Don't talk to me like I'm your dog," I say simply, turning on my heel to stalk over to the shelf filled with old skulls, peering at one that looks oddly human, yet has some protrusions sticking out above the eye sockets.</p><p>I can feel Draco's gaze lingering on me before he scoffs softly and turns to walk across the shop, hands in his pockets while his silvery eyes glance over all the Dark artifacts. I glance past all the skulls and meander towards all these old bottles, some of them empty, some of them filled with liquids and milky gases. I peer at their labels, seeing all sorts of names like <em>Tear Catcher</em>. I sniff slightly, reaching out to touch one, but thinking better of it when I remember where I am. I walk past the bottles, glancing over a pile of human bones (more femurs that one would imagine).</p><p>There's a glass case displaying glass eyes of all colors and sizes, some as big as my fist, others hardly the size of my thumbnail. They roll around rapidly, pupils dilating as they seem to look through me.</p><p>Next to it is a noose swinging all on its own, reaching towards me like it desires to wrap around my neck. I step away instinctually, gasping when my back hits someone's chest.</p><p>I turn instantly, a frown flickering over my face when I see tall, spindly Burkes looking down at me, head purple bags under his sunken blue eyes, his face gaunt and pale. He clasps his hands behind his back, a sickly smile spreading across his lips.</p><p>"Perhaps you could use some help finding what you're looking for," he drawls in a slow, thick voice, like his tongue is swollen in his mouth.</p><p>"I don't need help, thank you," I say curtly, striding past him and towards a rack with all kinds of odd and assorted bits. My eyes land on a bloody deck of cards, eyebrows rising as I wonder what use a person might have of that.</p><p>"Can I interest you in this?"</p><p>I glance over my shoulder to see him holding a wooden box. I bite on the inside of my cheek, glancing between his hollow eyes before looking down at the box. Inside it, sitting on a velvet purple pillow, is a shriveled, wrinkled hand, one that looks like it was cut off a man's body and left to decay. I recoil away, surprised I can't smell it.</p><p>"It's the Hand of Glory," he intones, stepping closer to me while I will myself not to back away. His hands reach out for me to get a better look at the rotted fingernails and taut, leathery yellow skin stretched over the bones of the hand. In the center of the palm is a thick, lumpy ball of wax, a single wick tilted across it. "Friend to thieves and criminals. It provides light solely to its bearer. Some say it may even make a person become invisible and unlock any door it comes across."</p><p>I step a little closer, my hand reaching up on its own to trace the wood of the box. When my finger slips onto the velvet pillow, Burkes' voice is quick to stop me.</p><p>"You don't want to touch it," he says, my hand instantly retracting it. "It has a history of... holding those it does not belong to <em>captive</em>."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows slightly, slipping my hand into my pocket. "Whose... Whose hand was that?"</p><p>"It is the hand of a thief, of course. One that was hung for his crimes," he says like it's obvious, then snapping the lid of the box shut so abruptly, I jolt slightly. "And the wax was made from his body fat. Will you be purchasing it?"</p><p>I glance up at his face, seeing his lips tilted slightly, and then I look over his shoulder to see Draco standing by a display case, his fingers gently trailing over the glass cover while he tilts his head down to something. When I look back at Burkes, his nose flares slightly.</p><p>It may come in handy this year.</p><p>"How much for it?" I ask, reaching into my satchel to pull out my coins.</p><p>"Seven hundred fifty-six galleons," he says, his voice slightly lifted now as he leads me back to the counter, placing the Hand down on the counter rather ceremoniously.</p><p>"Oh," my brows lift. "Alr—"</p><p>"Celeste," Draco's voice sounds from across the shop, sounding a little distant. "Come here."</p><p>I glance at him for half a second before turning back to Burkes. "I'll pay when we're done here." I don't wait for his response before turning to walk across the shop towards Draco, clutching my satchel close to me as he glances up at me briefly before looking back down at the glass case.</p><p>I stop beside him, my eyes lingering on the wall where leering masks hang on hooks, their mouths snarling at us, before looking down to where his hand rests on the glass.</p><p>"What am I looking at?" I ask, tilting my head up at him.</p><p>"The necklace," he says irritably, finger tapping the glass.</p><p>I roll my eyes at him and lean in slightly to see what's right under his finger. Sure enough, I see the most hideous necklace ever to be forged sitting in a velvet black case. It's made with tarnished iron and gleaming, ugly teal opals the size of Galleons embedded in the overly decorative metal. I wince at it, curling my lips in disgust.</p><p>"I understand that you're obsessed with me, Malfoy, but it's honestly <em>offensive</em> that you think I'd like something like <em>that</em>," I say dryly, my eyes skipping down to the little paper below the necklace describing it.</p><p>"Merlin, you're insufferable," he groans softly.</p><p>"You didn't think matching tattoos was enough?" I hum absentmindedly, my brows furrowing as I read the cards. <em>Opal Necklace: Do not touch! Cursed. Has claimed the lives of nineteen Muggle owners to date.</em> "Really, there's no need for you to be buying me such expensive jewelry... Do we know what it's been cursed with?"</p><p>Draco makes a noise of irritation, but he otherwise ignores everything else I've said. "No idea," he responds, glancing up at a little stand on the glass case to check how much the necklace is, "but it's practically infamous. I've heard stories about it. It should...do the trick."</p><p>I glance up to see a hard yet distant expression on his face. His hand fiddles with his watch before he sighs and turns his head to look at me, quirking an inquisitive brow at me when he sees me already looking.</p><p>"It should," I agree, looking back down at the necklace, a wry, humorless smirk finding my face. "The old man seems like an odd enough guy to look at a hideous thing like this and pick it up, doesn't he?"</p><p>Draco laughs shortly. "Perhaps. Borgin! We'd like this one."</p><p>At the register, Draco and I take our coins out, quickly splitting the price of the Hand of Glory and the opal necklace, a fair one-thousand one-hundred thirty-nine Galleons each, plus a few spare Sickles and Knuts here and there. My coin bag feels considerably lighter as I watch Borgin, his dark eyes gleaming hungrily, pile our coins away and push the two objects now in a bag closer to us.</p><p>It's as Draco reaches for it that something in the display case before the register catches my eye. I frown to myself, leaning in to look at it. It looks familiar, and quickly I realize why. That Pensieve that Mrs. Malfoy mentioned is in the garden looks just like it. I've used it a few times since to watch my father's memories of me taking my first steps, of me speaking my first words, of me laughing for the first time. It's a regal thing, glittering with precious stones and carved with runes. It's tall, though, a tall yet shallow basin.</p><p>"Is that a..?"</p><p>"A Personal Pensieve? Yes, indeed, it <em>is</em>," Borgin says, his voice no longer permeated with fear and disdain as he leans over the register to look at the bowl. It's about as wide as my face, stone with diamonds and opals glittering across its surface, runes scratched on the outside. "Interested?"</p><p>"Yes," I say without a second of hesitation, my hand already pulling my coin bag (it has an Extension Charm, which is why it looks big enough to hold maybe twenty Galleons and instead fits more than I should ever bring to a place as seedy as Knockturn Alley) out of my satchel while Draco shoots me a confused look. I squint down to read the card for the price, cursing my blurred vision.</p><p>"What help is a Pensieve going to be to us?" Draco leans down to murmur in my ear, his lips brushing against my skin. I'd shiver from the sensation if I wasn't so distracted.</p><p>"It's not for us, it's for me," I say simply, pulling out two fistfuls of Galleons and dumping them onto the counter.</p><p>Borgin sorts through them, begrudgingly pushing the extra back towards me before moving to pull the Pensieve out from under the counter, wrapping it carefully.</p><p>"What do <em>you</em> need a P—?"</p><p>"I'm heading to that apothecary you mentioned," I say simply, carefully placing the wrapped bowl into my satchel while he picks up the Hand and necklace, turning around to head towards the door while feeling his eyes follow me. "You can either come with me or don't. I couldn't care less."</p><p>I step out the door, letting it swing shut behind me while glancing down the street. I see the sign to the apothecary, swinging haphazardly from one chain, and move to walk towards it when something on the ground catches my attention. My walking falters, and I crouch down beside it, prodding it with my wand to see if it's a dead animal or something.</p><p>It looks like human flesh, a long stretch of human flesh that starts with a narrow hole and ends with...an <em>ear</em>. I recoil away, figuring this is something that belongs on the shelves of Borgin and Burkes rather than on the ground <em>outside</em> it, but then I realize it's oddly familiar. I feel like I've seen it in advertisements in <em>The Daily Prophet</em>. Surely, I can recall...</p><p>An Extendable Ear. A Weasley contraption.</p><p>"What's that?" I hear Draco's voice from behind me, startling me as I hadn't even heard him walk out.</p><p>"Someone was trying to listen in on us, it seems," I say bitterly, picking the Extendable Ear up from off the ground and shoving it into my satchel while I stand up, brushing off my legs and turning around to look at him.</p><p>"Potter," he mutters, eyes glancing aside as if the green-eyed boy might be standing around waiting for us to spot him.</p><p>"Obviously. Think he heard anything...incriminating?"</p><p>"Doubtful. If he had, the <em>brave</em> Gryffindor he is would've charged in there and stunned us where we stood," he says, brows pinching together tightly as his silver eyes flicker back to me. "Are you just gonna stand there? Don't you need to go to the apothecary? Hurry, won't you? I'd like to be home by dinnertime."</p><p>—</p><p>"Will that be all?"</p><p>"Yes, just the Sleeping Draught," I say, drumming my fingers against the counter as I look around the seedy apothecary, the wooden shelves lined with vials and jars filled with all sorts of medicines and ingredients.</p><p>"Sleeping Draught, hm?" the woman behind the counter responds, drawing my attention to her.</p><p>It takes all my will-power not to gasp in shock and step back when I see her. Her skin is leathery, a shade of brown that looks not natural, but as if she's been burned by the sun itself. Her hair is almost entirely gone, and her eyes bulge out of their sockets as she picks up the vial of Sleeping Draught I've picked out (it had the least suspicious ingredients compared to the others).</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Insomnia? Or nightmares, perhaps?" she hums, placing the vial back down without ringing me up and instead turning around to crouch down and pull a box out from the shelf behind her.</p><p>I lift my eyebrows up, incredibly aware of Draco standing a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, waiting for me impatiently. "Nightmares..." I say, giving her back an odd look.</p><p>The woman turns back around and heaves the box back up onto the counter. She then flashes her milky blue eyes up to me, making me wince slightly when I see the scars running straight through them. Still, however, it seems she can see me. Her eyes glance all over my face, lips tilting down and brows (though there's no hair there) furrowing a bit.</p><p>"This won't be strong enough for you," she then says, snatching the draught off the counter and placing it away.</p><p>I furrow my eyebrows with a slight scoff as Draco makes an impatient noise. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Trust me, doll," she rasps in a croaky voice, coughing violently into her elbow, "I've been doing this for years. You look like someone who'll need something stronger. Your body would get used to that one far too quick, but this..." Her thin, bony hand opens the box, rifles through it, and comes back out with a small bottle. It's dark brown, not a single label on it. "This should do the trick."</p><p>"No offense," I say, eyeing warily the bottle as she sets it down before me, "but I think I'll stick to brand labels over something offered by..."</p><p>The woman looks at me curiously, and then her leathery skin is pulled taut over her cheekbones as she does what can only be described simply as a smile, baring a set of surprisingly white teeth to me and enhancing the skull-like appearance of her face.</p><p>"I don't look like the picture of health, do I?" she chortles, another violent cough leaving her thin lips, though this time directed over her shoulder. "I don't run an apothecary for nothing, dear. Take this one too, if you want," she says, pushing the one I picked out back in front of me, letting it sit beside the small, dark bottle. "You'll see soon enough that I'm right. Nine Galleons, please."</p><p>I look at her skeptically, but then I sigh and pull out my dangerously light coin bag. "How much for the brown one?" I ask tiredly, fishing nine Galleons out and setting them down in her hand, trying my hardest not to touch her directly.</p><p>"Free. Nobody's coming around to buy it, anyway."</p><p>Back out on the street, Draco and I walk side by side in silence, careful not to trip over the loose cobblestones on the empty sidewalks. His arm brushes against mine slightly, making me wince whenever it touches the gash on my arm. I got something at the apothecary—the one in Diagon Alley—that didn't break, unlike the Sleeping Draught, so hopefully that'll close up a little quicker.</p><p>Something in my chest feels empty as we walk. I wonder for a moment if my heart is beating, because I don't feel it pounding, I don't hear my blood rushing. The thought makes me panic, which lets me hear it thumping frantically in my body, which oddly enough, makes me calm down a bit.</p><p>A picture of Bellatrix jeers at us when we step back into Diagon Alley.</p><p>The Pensieve in my bag weighs it down. It's empty, but I'll be pouring my father's memories into it while I'm at Hogwarts.</p><p>The bag from Borgin and Burkes (cleverly disguised as one from Honeydukes) in Draco's hand brushes against my leg. A pang jolts through my chest as I remember that it's filled with objects made for criminals and murderers.</p><p>That's what I'll be by the end of this year, isn't it? A murderer?</p><p>My hand goes up to my locket, but I thumb it away to hold the ring that sits beside it.</p><p>I don't have to wait until the end of this year to be called a murderer. I already am one.</p><p>Draco's hand brushes against my arm as we pass a group of whispering people, their eyes flickering between Draco, the boy whose father is holed up in Azkaban, and me, the girl whose father is dead. I think for a moment he might hold my hand, and I think for a moment that I might want to hold his.</p><p>Instead, I slip my hand into my pocket and turn my chin up.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what would you see in the mirror of erised?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0055"><h2>55. WE KNOW LEAST THOSE WE SEE MOST</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>juuuust a little mo in the library</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>August 14th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>She's jittery.</p><p>I watched her drink two cups of coffee at breakfast this morning, her tired black eyes growing brighter and roused with each sip. Now, she's filled with all this energy. I wouldn't be surprised if magic began spontaneously sparking from her fingertips. We're in the library where we're supposed to be researching just how to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, and though there are hardly two or three volumes in here even mildly relevant to it, I <em>would</em> appreciate it if she stayed on task for just ten minutes rather than walking around and touching all of my father's antiques.</p><p>"I <em>doubt</em> you'll find anything on Vanishing Cabinets by clumsily prodding my mother's favorite vase," I say with a meticulous voice as I flip a page in the heavy book on my lap. "It's from Vietnam, by the way, and it is <em>very</em> old. Don't break it."</p><p>"Please," she scoffs, her finger tracing the design on the side of it, "I'm not <em>clumsy</em>, thank you very much."</p><p>"No, not typically, though you do have the tendency of tripping when you're performing the <em>very hard task</em> of walking, and it doesn't help that you have more caffeine than <em>blood</em> running through your veins right now," I retort dryly, sitting up a little straighter when I see something about cabinets in the book I'm reading, but then slumping with a sigh when I realize it's just a theoretical piece on time traveling cabinets.</p><p>"Please. I don't even drink that much coffee."</p><p>"You had two cups at breakfast, Celeste," I respond impatiently, snapping the book shut and placing it on the table beside my armchair, "and I doubt that thermos you're holding is filled with water."</p><p>"Observing me, are you?"</p><p>I watch her carefully as she walks around her end of the library. Despite her fingers tapping incessantly against her thighs and her dark eyes flitting rapidly between every antique and book in sight, she walks slowly, purposefully. I ponder for a moment, resting my chin on my fist and frowning gravely at her, how she can move so slow and deliberately when it takes all my effort not to ravage through these books like a madman. I wonder how quick and hard her heart must be beating.</p><p>She isn't taking this seriously. She takes <em>nothing</em> seriously.</p><p>
  <em>I'm in the middle of a boiling, fiery sea. My raft is overturned, bobbing in the violent waves a few meters away. The water consumes me, burns my skin without singeing it off my bones, devours my body without even touching it. I feel it destroy my nerves, and yet the destruction never ends, because the sensation never falters. It wants to kill me, and at the same time, it doesn't want to, because it's so much more satisfying watching me struggle to keep my head above its choppy surface.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>To my left is my mother, to my right is my father, and it takes all my effort to hold them up. I grip them both by the backs of their shirts, but whenever I heave one up so that their heads may break the surface of the flaming water and their lips may part to inhale greedily, the other goes down under.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I heave my father up, my head tilted back far to keep my nose and my mouth up. I look at him frantically, seeing him gasp for air, and then he turns to me with what can only be described as a look of pure pride. His eyes are grey like my mother's and mine, but they're darker, and they beam at me now like I've finally done him right.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I feel my mother sinking lower, so without letting go of my father, I grip her tighter and pull her up. Her head breaks the surface of the fire, silver eyes snapping open while she inhales shakily, and then she pulls closer to me and places a kiss on my temple, silently holding me in her warm, tender embrace.</em>
</p><p>I'm not sure if I can describe it as a nightmare. I didn't wake up screaming, crying, begging. I suppose I was frozen for a little while, staring up at my ceiling and clutching my bedsheets in my hands. But it wasn't a nightmare. It felt more like a <em>warning</em>.</p><p>My father has always been my role model, just like any other boy's role model will be his father. People often think they know him, but if there is <em>anything</em> that I've inherited from him at all, it's the ability to put on one front and act another way behind it. He is a successful man, through and through, and what other thing in the world is there to desire than success? He's rich, he has ties in the Ministry, and for the longest time, he had partial control over Hogwarts itself.</p><p>Even when their marriage began waning at the Dark Lord's second ascent, even when my father began forgetting how to show his love, he always treated my mother with the utmost respect. Even now, in the corner of Azkaban where he is slowly losing his mind, he sends a gift to my mother every week. He probably arranged for it before being thrown in a cell, but he <em>thought</em> of it in the first place. There's so much to him, so much I wonder if I'll inherit.</p><p>It has always been "whatever it takes" with him. He thrives on success, yet another thing he has passed onto me. I wonder still how he'll react to news of my task if he doesn't already know. Will he be grateful that his only son has been given a chance to prove himself? Will he be eagerly awaiting for me to demonstrate my worth, to reestablish that the Malfoys are a valuable asset to the Dark Lord? Does he hope to see that I am just as able as he is? Does he pray that I won't get hurt along the way? Is his mind plagued with images of my death, whether from being caught in the act or punished for not completing it?</p><p>I glance at my mother's favorite vase, swallowing thickly when I see it a couple inches left to where it should be. We hardly speak anymore, except maybe in passing, or when I muster up the courage to eat my meals downstairs at the table. She's fading away before my own eyes, and with every step these barefooted ingrates that occupy our home take, a bit of her chips away. I <em>know</em> it destroys her to know what I've been tasked with, but it doesn't change the fact that it is a responsibility I must bear for her sake, for our entire family's sake.</p><p>I look at Celeste.</p><p>She's at a bookshelf, her hand gently grazing the spines of all the hard-covers while her eyes skim over the titles. She wears a knit grey cardigan, a sleeve slipping down slightly to reveal the shoulder of her white shirt, that reaches just an inch above the hem of her skirt, swallowing her up. She's wearing a simple plaid skirt, a dusty brown that somehow doesn't look dull against her deep skin. It's a little tight at her hips, creasing as she leans up to read the spine of a book higher than her head. She rests her arms against the bookshelf and her chin on her arms while reading it, moving up onto her toes. Celeste squints slightly, lips pursing.</p><p>I exhale softly, feeling the muggy warmth of the August air seep through the windows even when they're closed. My hands move on their own to roll my sleeves up as I observe her. <em>Something</em> is different, and it feels so obvious, yet I can't put my finger on it.</p><p>How is it that she's not nearly worried about this task as I am? She's just as committed as me to training. Just as many times as I've beat her in duels, she's done the same. Though I'm a little less abysmal than her at Occlumency, I've seen her through the crack of her door in passing trying to meditate, clear her mind, practice what my aunt Bellatrix is constantly telling us.</p><p>This task is as much hers as it is mine, but it's as if my share is weighing me down more. I need her to be just as worried about it as I am, to be just as stressed and serious, or everything could go awry.</p><p>But the task itself doesn't seem to plague her worries. Does she have less to lose than I do?</p><p>I suppose she does. The Dark Lord told me <em>explicitly</em> that my family's lives would be at stake. What does she have to lose other than her own life?</p><p>I frown at her. Does that scare her? The idea she might lose her life yet again?</p><p>I gasp softly when I realize what's different, and then I punch myself internally for being so stupid it took so long to realize. It's <em>obvious </em>now. Her curls used to be long, stretching past her shoulders and ending just a few inches away from the middle of her back, but now they barely graze her shoulders. They're even tighter, even curlier, a round halo all around her head with some curls hardly a few inches long. It's like a lion's mane, or a gorgon's thick head of snakes, bouncing slightly as she shifts her weight back onto her heels.</p><p>"You cut your hair," I murmur, brows furrowing slightly as I see her freeze at my words. "When did you cut your hair?"</p><p>Celeste then laughs softly, and in a brief but odd reality-warping moment, I'm thrown back to when I first met her and she laughed, and my only thought was that somehow her laugh is both malicious and angelic.</p><p>"I'm surprised you noticed," she says in a sleek, silky voice, turning her head over her shoulder to peer at me from under a thick set of lashes and short curls that now frame the sides of her face.</p><p>I smirk at her lightly, prying my eyes away from her dark, alluring gaze to pick the book back up from the side table, wanting to busy my hands and eyes to have an excuse not to return her suggestive look. "You'd be surprised what I notice about you," I exhale under my breath, flipping the book open to a random page.</p><p>"What was that?"</p><p>"Nothing."</p><p>"Tell me," she demands, but her voice is like a soft, tantalizing echo, followed by a soft laugh like she's just had a funny thought.</p><p>I glance up at her with a quirked brow, watching her lean her side against the book shelf and tap her hands against her thighs, her eyes bright and wide. "I <em>said</em>," I say, leaning back in my chair and glancing back down at the book, "you'd be surprised what I notice."</p><p>"<em>Oh?</em>" I hear her ask almost mockingly, seeing from my peripheral vision as she pushes off the bookshelf and walks forward just a few steps towards me. "Would I, really?"</p><p>I ignore her, flipping a page but not reading a single word on the paper while my pulse thrums steadily in my neck. My elbow rests on the arm of the chair, my fingers grazing over my jawline as I sense her taking another few short steps closer, but I keep my eyes focused on the book.</p><p>How is she so perpetually amused? When we're dueling, she gets this hard look in her stony eyes, and sometimes she'll smirk at me and it'll be full of nothing but malice. But when we step out of that training room, when she isn't focused on Occlumency or dueling or Apparition, it's like the weight of the world isn't dragging her down like it is to me. Does she not feel gravity below her feet?</p><p>I can't let her hold me back, keep me from succeeding, but until she focuses, what else is she doing?</p><p>"You already looked through that one," she teases.</p><p>"Just double checking."</p><p>"What else do you notice about me, Dray?" Celeste's voice is slightly husky, a low drawl like the purr of a cat, making me look up from the book to see her now leaning against the table next to the bookshelf, her eyes heavy as she scans me up and down.</p><p>I lean further back comfortably, my arm keeping the book open as I slowly drag my finger over my lower lip while dragging my <em>eyes</em> up and down her frame. I take my time drinking her in. I lick my lips as she stands up straight again, her hands fixing her cardigan and straightening her skirt out.</p><p>Her hips are wide as she crosses her ankles where she stands, making the dip into her waist look all that more dramatic. I can see the slight outward curve of her soft stomach where her shirt is tucked into her skirt, her locket hanging over her shirt.</p><p>Her legs are long as they stalk closer to me yet, smooth and dark down to the simple black ankle-length boots she wears. My mouth waters as I can imagine them, one slung over each shoulder, and my eyes drag higher until I see a hint of her thighs where her skirt rides up. They're thick and full, as she's gained a little of her weight back, perfect to cushion each side of my face.</p><p>She has to be afraid. There isn't any feasible way she isn't. It's only human to be afraid of death, to be afraid of being punished for failing, to be afraid of the Dark Lord himself.</p><p>Celeste snaps her fingers, knocking me out of my thoughts and directing my eyes back up to her smirking face. My hand goes up and behind my head to rub the the hair back there, a small smirk finding my own face.</p><p>"I asked you a question, Draco," she says in that sultry, magnetic voice of hers, chin tilting up and lashes fluttering.</p><p>"Hmm?" I murmur distractedly, my eyes now ravaging her torso.</p><p>That white buttoned shirt of hers is so tight, the button between her breasts straining <em>just </em>slightly when she rolls her arms back and puffs her chest out. Her shirt is mostly buttoned, but I catch a hint of her collarbones, prominent and dark.</p><p>When my eyes go up to her face, she scowls at me playfully. Celeste's dark eyes, bright with excitement and more brown than black, glitter at me as she lifts a nimble hand up to fiddle with her locket, dragging it back and forth on her chain. I quirk a brow at her, and her scowl disappears as she captures her lower lip between her teeth.</p><p>Her eyes drop down below my belt.</p><p>That's when I stand up, and her gaze snaps back up to my eyes. She scans me, watching as I stretch my back out slightly, push my sleeves up further past my elbows, and snap the book shut while slowly approaching her. She turns to face me properly, back towards the bookshelf, but doesn't back away as I near her.</p><p>"You wanna know what I notice about you?" I ask in a low, grave voice, narrowing my eyes at her while her eyebrows lift slightly.</p><p>
  <em>You elude me, Celeste Zabini.</em>
</p><p>It's when I get within a foot of her that she starts backing away slowly, plump lips parting and throat bobbing as she swallows thickly. I crane my neck down while she tilts her head up to look at me, a soft gasp escaping her when her back touches the bookshelf. I stand inches away from her, propping a forearm up near her head so I can lean in. Celeste's eyes dart to follow my hand as I bring it and the book it holds up, keeping my eyes on her and my face stoic as I slot it into the empty space on the shelf above her head.</p><p>She doesn't respond, her hands pressed to the bookshelf behind her, fingers drumming against the wood, and her head leaning back against the books. Her chest is heaving, but her breaths are silent as her shiny eyes grow wide.</p><p>"Awfully close there," she then says in a dry, unaffected, and amused voice, but she's so hopped up on caffeine that I don't think she has the same control of her body that she normally does. Her fingers tap faster, her lips press together, and her head lowers so her gaze is on my chest instead.</p><p>"Answer me, Celeste," I all but whisper, my right hand lowering to her chin, tilting it up a little more so I can see her face clearly. She shivers at my touch, making me smirk. "Do you want to know?"</p><p>"Yes," she breathes out, eyes threatening to flutter shut when I graze my thumb over her lower lip.</p><p>I chuckle darkly, a quiet noise from my chest that makes her swallow thickly. My hand on her chin pushes her head back against the bookshelf, and I inhale sharply before leaning in, my one hand planted near her head and the other moving down to find her hip, holding it from under her cardigan.</p><p>I brush my lips and my nose against my skin, nudging her to turn her head to the side and expose the column of her throat to me. I inhale deeply, taking in her scent while letting my lips ghost over her neck.</p><p>
  <em>I've noticed you jumping when you hear my aunt's voice through closed doors, but you never shake when she walks in.</em>
</p><p>"<em>J'ai remarqué </em>[I've noticed]," I say, finding with my lips her pulse right next to her throat, "<em>que ton cœur bat plus vite lorsque je te fait ceci </em>[how your heart picks up whenever I do <em>this</em> to you]."</p><p>I press my lips against that sweet patch of skin, parting them slightly to let my warm tongue graze against it. Sure enough, her already pounding pulse speeds up, and her hips shift slightly. One of her hands lifts up, grazing against my right arm, but then she drops it.</p><p>I stifle my chuckles, dragging my lips up her throat, forcing her to tilt her head up every time it starts dropping. I can feel each and every one of her thick swallows and hear her heavy breathing above my head as I nip at the skin on her neck. She's gripping the bookshelves behind her for dear life.</p><p>
  <em>I've noticed, on the few occasions you come downstairs to eat the same time I do, you push your food around the plate so it's less obvious that your appetite still suffers.</em>
</p><p>"<em>Et j'ai remarquer que à chaque</em> [And I've noticed how you <em>always]</em>..." I trail off with a soft laugh while my lips drag up the side of her jaw to her ear, hearing her breath already hitch, "<em>chaque</em> [always]<em>...</em>" my whispered word in her ear makes her hips shift, "<em>chaque fois que je fait ceci, tu gémis pour moi </em>[always whimper for me when I do <em>this</em>]."</p><p>I find the patch of skin under her ear, sucking on it delicately, making her exhale softly and try very clearly not to whimper as her body tenses. A flash of irritation passed through me at the realization that she's denying me the sweet sounds that only come from her lips when it's my hands touching her body. I graze my teeth against her ear lobe and trace the shell of her ear with my tongue, surprising her and eliciting that wonderful whimper from her lips.</p><p>Her hand flies up to grip my left bicep, my hand planted by her head tensing slightly.</p><p>Both my hands then move towards her shoulders while I bury my face back in her neck, kissing under jaw while slowly pulling her cardigan down. She moves her arms to let me slip it all the way down, my hand tossing it away absentmindedly. It's warm in here, but she shivers anyway, her hands clasping my biceps while I hold her waist, pinning her to the bookshelf.</p><p>
  <em>I've noticed that some nights, you leave your room at odd hours. You try to be quiet, but the manor is old, so the doors creak and the floors complain. Is it that you can't sleep even with the Draught? Or do you get up willingly?</em>
</p><p>"<em>Tu t'exclame à chaque fois que je fait ça </em>[You gasp whenever I do <em>this</em>]<em>...</em>" I groan into her neck, one hand slipping down to give her ass a tight squeeze, making her, as expected, gasp and wrap her arms around my neck, nails scratching at my scalp. I massage her flesh, pulling her hips up against mine while I nudge her slightly unbuttoned shirt to the side to expose a full collarbone, sucking on it softly.</p><p>"Draco," Celeste whispers softly, her hands burying in my hair while her hips shift.</p><p>"...<em>Et je sais comment te faire trembler </em>[And I know how to make you squirm]," I whisper in her neck, a hand slipping down to lift her skirt up.</p><p>She tenses slightly, but doesn't make any move to stop me as both my hands slip under her skirt to find her hips. Her breaths shudder as I slip my thumbs under the sides of her panties to graze her hipbones, caressing her gently right below her stomach and in the crease where her pelvis meets her thigh. She thrashes slightly, trying to get my hands to touch her core instead. Her hands tug at my hair while a soft puff of air leaves her lips and hits my ear.</p><p>My hands slip out of her panties, one still gripping her hip, the other sliding down her thigh to grip it and force it up. Her breath hitches at this, back leaning against the bookshelf and hands tight in my hair while I pick my face out of her neck to look at her. Her plum-colored lips are slightly parted, wet with her spit as she licks them, and her crazed brown eyes glance between mine while I hook her knee over my hip.</p><p>
  <em>I've noticed you through the window in my room strolling through the garden during the late hours at night. What are you doing there?</em>
</p><p>"I've noticed how your skin always tastes sweet, like vanilla or sugar, but a little more bitter. And your smell, <em>Merlin</em>, your smell," I groan against her lips, feeling her move hers to try to kiss me, but I don't let her do anything more than brush them against mine. "<em>Tu sens tellement bon </em>[You smell so <em>fucking good</em>]."</p><p>Celeste makes a quiet, needy noise, her hips rolling in an attempt to make friction, but I don't let our hips touch.</p><p>"Come on, Celeste," I tut, looking at her with mock disapproval while she sighs softly and throws her head back in defeat, her thighs quivering slightly. "<em>Tu devrais savoir à présent que les bonne filles sont patiente</em> [You should know by now that good girls are patient]."</p><p>Her eyebrows lift just a fraction, making me smirk knowingly.</p><p>
  <em>I've noticed you losing yourself in training—so why doesn't the severity of our situation sober you?</em>
</p><p>"I almost forgot... I've noticed how flustered you get when I call you a good girl," I chuckle wryly, my hand holding her leg to my hip running up and down her thigh as she bites down on her lip. "You like that, don't you? You like it when I call you a good girl," I grunt as I finally push my hips against hers, her breath hitching and eyes rolling shut as my erection that's been growing in my pants presses against her panties, "or a <em>filthy</em> girl," I punctuate my words with a roll of my hips that makes her dig her nails into the back of my neck, "or a <em>little </em>girl."</p><p>My hand not holding her leg slips behind her and up her back, lightly massaging her muscles there. I frown slightly when I feel how tense they are, full of knots and stress, and it occurs to me that I've found her stress, I've found her fear. What she isn't showing on her face or in her actions is taking a toll on her body, making her muscles all tight no matter how much I coax them with my hands, making her body jittery by day from the amount of coffee she needs just to keep her eyes open.</p><p>
  <em>I've noticed your eyes flash in fright at the sight of your own murderer—so why doesn't the threat of death at failure phase you?</em>
</p><p>"<em>Et mon préféré</em> [And my personal favorite]..." I groan breathily, pushing her closer to me with my hand on her back and holding her leg up higher, "<em>c'est à quel point tu gémis pour moi quand je fait ça</em> [is how <em>sweetly </em>you moan for me when I do this]."</p><p>Pressing as close as possible into her, I grind my covered erection against her panties, feeling just how hot she is down there even through all the layers of fabric separating us. Instantly, a cry leaves her lips as her nails claw at the top of my back and her torso presses taut to mine. I pin her against the bookshelf, gritting my teeth and groaning in her ear while her breathy moans fill the still air of the library.</p><p>"I adore all your little noises," I laugh loosely in her ear, nipping at the skin below it to hear her whimper. "You just sound so <em>needy</em> for me. That's what you are, isn't it? A needy—" I thrust sharply into her, "—little—" I lift my left hand up to her neck, "—<em>girl</em>."</p><p>Celeste moans loudly as I force her left leg up higher to get a better angle to grind against her. Her eyes flutter shut, plump lips trembling with all her pleasured noises. Her hands hold me close as she attempts to move her hips in sync with mine, though her movements aren't so coordinated when she's so lost in pleasure.</p><p>"I have you <em>memorized</em>, Celeste," I all but snarl, giving her neck a tight squeeze before letting go and letting my hand wander against her breasts and torso on its way to hold her hip. "I know you like the back of my hand—all your little sounds, all your facial expressions. <em>Fuck</em>, that one," I groan while grinding against her, my eyes heavy as I see her mouth tip open, brows knit together, and eyes squeeze tightly.</p><p>Celeste laughs breathily, picking her head up and prying her eyes open a fraction to pant out with a wry smile, "Of course <em>you'd </em>treat me like I'm a book to <em>memorize</em>."</p><p>
  <em>I wish you were as easy to read as a book.</em>
</p><p>"Ironic, isn't it?" I mutter, dragging my lips to her jaw while rolling my hips against hers, hearing a weak sound escape her mouth before she groans and throws her head back. "Coming from you..."</p><p>Her nails rake down the back of my neck and scratch up my scalp, tugging at my hair while her lips find a spot on my neck to kiss clumsily and moan against. My hands move to grip both her thighs, and she gets the cue as she jumps to wrap both of them around me, ankles locking at my tailbone and tugging me to press closer to her. I press her up against the bookshelf, one hand under her, the other against her back feeling all those tight knots of tension.</p><p>
  <em>What do I have to do to make sure you're as serious about this as I am? That you want success as much as I do?</em>
</p><p>Celeste's moans grow breathier, turning into soft whines as I continue grinding my erection against her panties while simultaneously massaging her back near her shoulder. I hear her curse softly, back arching and head falling back to expose her throat. Her eyes closed and her face is in a state of bliss, mouth opening and closing with breathy noises, brows knitted together.</p><p>I close my own eyes and press my face into the crook of her neck, muffling my groans against her skin. I can feel how <em>hot</em> she is, if only I could get past all the layers of fabric separating us.</p><p><em>You train as hard as I do, yet you don't seem conscious of </em>why<em> we train. We have a man to kill, Celeste, and the sooner you acknowledge it, the easier the task will be</em>.</p><p>"Tell me what you want, Celeste," I groan into her skin, bucking my hips forward.</p><p>She hisses softly, thighs tightening around me.</p><p>"Speak up, darling, c'mon," I squeeze her ass, biting down on my lip as I feel even more blood somehow rushing between my legs. "Tell me what you want me to do to you. Tell me where you want me to take you, how you want me to take you."</p><p>Celeste's nails dig into my skin as she makes a pleasured moan, her hips grinding back against me, but not a word slips from her lips.</p><p>I chuckle darkly at this, grazing my teeth against a patch of her skin, hearing her breath hitch. "I know what you want..."</p><p>She finally speaks. "What do I want?" she asks, her voice breathy yet amused.</p><p>My hands grab her hips and pull her away from the bookshelf. She grips me tight, head falling into my shoulder, while I move us over to the table, sitting her down on it. She tries to press against me, sliding her hands to my shirt and unbuttoning a button, but I grip her arms and force her down flat against the table, leaning down with her. Her legs still wrapped around me, I move my hands down her arms until I find her wrists, careful not to hold her left forearm where it's broken, and I pin them against the table.</p><p>My lips quickly find the spot under her ear, sucking on it harshly and dragging my teeth over it while she moans softly. My hips thrust and grind against's Celeste's while she lifts her own in an attempt to create her own friction against me, her chest swelling with air.</p><p>"You want me in control," I groan in her ear, grazing my teeth over the sensitive skin to make her shudder between moans. "You want me to dominate you, pin you down and command you. Don't you?" Celeste tenses slightly underneath me as my lips find the tiny bit of her chest exposed from her unbuttoned shirt, sucking between her collarbones while grinding against her. "You want to give your control up to me, listen to every word I say like the good girl I know you can be."</p><p>Her hands curl into fists.</p><p>"I'll take care of you," I chuckle condescendingly, nipping harshly at her neck to make her jolt. "Just ask me nicely, <em>chérie</em>."</p><p>She freezes, and consequently, so do I.</p><p>I can hear her soft breaths near my ear as I slowly open my eyes, letting go of her arms to lean up and look at her with a quirked, expectant brow. Her eyes are wide open, shining slightly as they scan the ceiling, the walls, the entire library and everything in it <em>but</em> me with a distressed, almost frenzied gleam in them. And then she swallows thickly, closing her eyes fit a second. When they open, her face is wearing that familiar stone mask, hard and impenetrable. Her dark eyes snap to me.</p><p>"Get off of me," she says simply, mouth rigid and gaze unblinking.</p><p>I pause for a moment, glancing her over, quickly retracing my steps to recall where I went wrong, and when she lifts her eyebrows at me and drops her legs, I step back and away from her.</p><p>"I'm not a book, Malfoy," she snaps quietly as she stands up, her hands moving to straighten her skirt and button an extra button on her shirt, though neither of us unbuttoned it.</p><p>Her eyes don't look at me, but I see how sharp and hard her gaze is as she smooths her hair and tilts her chin up while walking over to pick her cardigan up from off the ground.</p><p>"I don't want you to—to <em>control</em> me or <em>dominate </em>me or—" Celeste chokes slightly on the air in her lungs, her hands fumbling to wrap that cardigan back around her frame. "Or take—<em>take care of me</em>," she manages to spit out, her face tightening and eyes darting to the side like the notion sickens her, as if only months ago in the bathroom of my dorm, she wasn't silently begging for it.</p><p>My brows furrowed tightly as I scan her from a distance, watching her busy herself with fixing her already straightened clothing.</p><p>"You can ramble all you want about all the <em>noises</em> I make, but I'm not a <em>book</em> you can just <em>read</em>."</p><p>"Alright," I say simply, hearing a cold edge in my voice, confused on what I've done wrong. I only said what I've learned she likes when sun handling her body. "Fine, then. You should know, though, you <em>are</em> a book for people to read so long as you don't learn how to Occlude."</p><p>"I'm <em>trying</em>," she snaps harshly, whipping her head over her shoulder to glare at me with scathing black eyes that momentarily turn me into a statue, frozen there with a grim expression on my face. "Idiot..."</p><p>"Try harder, then. I don't care what it takes," I say curtly, breaking away from her spell to stride pasted her and over to a different bookshelf, scanning the spines for something that might be right while my blood rushes for an entirely different reason than it was before.</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"We have a task to do. I don't know what it means to <em>you</em>, but my entire world is at stake here. So I don't care what it takes. Learn the Occlumency, and start focusing. <em>You</em> of all the people and things in the world won't be the reason I fail, the reason he kills my entire family," I snap, sensing her freeze at the words I haven't dared speak out loud since he gave me the task.</p><p>"You don't get to pin that on me," she says in a slow, grave, and quiet voice.</p><p>"Open a damn book, Celeste. Focus."</p><p>"Merlin, you switch up <em>really</em> quick when your fragile little ego cracks, you know that?" she snaps in a trembly voice, pulling a book out of her own shelf. It's probably just to busy her hands, because I glance aside and read the title: <em>Cornish Caterpillars and their Catalytic Properties</em>.</p><p>"I could hardly care if you're not in the mood to <em>fuck</em>, Celeste," I groan in irritation, harshly running a hand through my hair while I turn to face her. "You just—If I have to do this task with you, I need you to take it seriously, to actually <em>think</em> about it."</p><p>"Honestly, <em>fuck you</em>," she half-laughs, half-scoffs, her voice straining slightly as she slams the book down on the table, making me jolt slightly at the noise. "Get your head out of your ass, Malfoy."</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"No, shut up!" Celeste, glancing to the side incredulously like someone will materialize out of thin air and come to support her. "Quit being condescending for, I don't fucking know, <em>half a second</em>, and just use that damn brain of yours. I don't—" She cuts herself off with a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut and jaw clenching. "I <em>just—</em>" A loud, aggravated sigh rips past her lips.</p><p>
  <em>Bellatrix may have been the one to kill you...</em>
</p><p>Potter's words echo in my head as I watch Celeste turn around so she isn't facing me, one of her hands aggressively tugging at her hair, the other slamming the book open and flipping through it angrily. When a page nearly tears, she freezes, and then deflates with a soft exhale.</p><p><em>But it's </em>his<em> father's fault that you died</em>.</p><p>I swallow thickly, hearing my pulse pound in my ears.</p><p>"What, are you mad at me?" I ask, my face contorting with confusion as I tilt my head at the back of hers. "You won't fucking pay attention to the task cause you're—you're mad at me for my f—?"</p><p>"Not everything is about you, Malfoy," she says in a threateningly low voice, a dark, hard edge to it, her hands visibly curling into tight fists. I hear her sniff loudly, followed by a tired exhale. "You're the last thing on my mind. Now take your own advice. Open a book and read."</p><p>I watch her for a few moments, my hands curling into fists and relaxing over and over again, eyes narrowed in on her back as she bends over the book on the table and flips through it. I can tell she's only pretending to read it, maybe waiting for me to look away so she can put it away without being embarrassed she pulled a book on insects out in the first place.</p><p>I glance away and look at the bookshelf in front of me. My eyes spot <em>Paranormal Paraphernalia</em>, so I pull it out carefully and turn to walk back to my armchair, my body rigid and stiff while I hear Celeste sigh softly to herself.</p><p><em>I notice you, Celeste, and yet you elude me</em>.</p><p>—</p><p>"The one night this entire time I give the two of you a break, and yet here you are. Speak up, then," Aunt Bellatrix quips in that high, warbling voice of hers, eyes wide and bright. Her curls are piled high on her head, messy and frizzy.</p><p>I've caught her in the drawing room sipping on some late-night whiskey, a great big mug of it. She's wearing this tattered black gown that doesn't even graze her ankles, revealing those decaying toenails and dirty feet.</p><p>"I just... I'm concerned," I say hesitantly, standing straight with my hands slipped into the pockets of my pants. I glance away from her for a moment, looking up at the chandelier above us, before back down at her.</p><p>Her already crazed eyes widen even more, a gleam of manic amusement lining them. "Oh?" she responds almost mockingly, her lips moving far too dramatically for the echo of her words. "<em>Concerned</em>, are you? What for?"</p><p>I paise for a moment, glancing between both of her frenzied black eyes. I suppose this is my last chance to leave, to back down. I great wave of guilt crashes over my body, licking up my arms and searing in particular the Dark Mark on my forearm the way the flames devour me in my sleep. It wrenches at my heart, gripping it right as I part my lips and Aunt Bellatrix tilts her head at me expectantly.</p><p>But I remind myself that it doesn't matter if I feel guilty. It'll be for the better.</p><p>"Celeste," I say simply, seeing her eyes flash with something I can't read.</p><p>"Celeste?" she echoes in a soft voice, eyebrows twitching and lips tilting up, a low laugh rumbling in the back of her throat. "Celeste, Draco?"</p><p>I shift in my spot before her. She lounges on the sofa, arm propped up on the top of it while her hand loosely holds the mug. Her legs are curled up messily beneath her while she plays with a loose string on her dress.</p><p>"Yes, I—"</p><p>"Please, Draco," she coos almost mockingly, "tell me why you're so concerned about our dear Celeste."</p><p>"Well, I'm not concerned <em>about</em> her—"</p><p>"No, you're concerned <em>for</em> her—"</p><p>"I'm concerned <em>regarding</em> her," I cut in quickly, clearing my throat and glancing to the side while straightening my spine even further, feeling insignificant under her unreadably unhinged gaze.</p><p>"Go on, then," she coaxes, a crisp sigh leaving her lips as she clutches her ankle and leans back against the sofa. "Why are you concerned <em>regarding</em> her?" There's an odd gleam in her eyes as she surveys me.</p><p>I hesitate for a moment again, and then I say, "I don't think... I don't think she's focusing on the task." I'm quick to recuperate, adding, "I don't think she <em>can</em> focus on the task, I mean—"</p><p>"Are you trying to tell me that she isn't taking it seriously?" Aunt Bellatrix asks in a light voice, unblinking eyes holding me in place as she takes a sip of her whiskey.</p><p><em>Yes, but no</em>.</p><p>"No, I think she <em>wants</em> to..." I exhale softly, glancing around the room as if physically searching for my words. "This summer has been... She <em>died</em>, and then her father... I'm not sure she's <em>capable </em>of focusing."</p><p>My words hang in the air, slowly drifting down to the ground yet dissipating before it can touch the marble. My aunt tilts her head at me, her lips turning into a crooked, cruel smirk, though not a single hint of humor lingers in it. She scans me slowly, as if reading me without even using her Legilimency.</p><p>"You're worried about her," she then says, an edge to her voice.</p><p>I frown instantly. "About her? No."</p><p>"<em>Really</em>? Then what are you so concerned about if not her well-being?"</p><p>"The <em>task</em>, of course," I exhale slightly irritably, biting down on the inside of my cheek when she lifts a warning brow. "How am I supposed to get it done when the girl I'm supposed to be working with isn't even thinking about it?"</p><p>My aunt watches me for another few still moments, my body feeling tight, like it'll explode any given second.</p><p>"I'll handle it," she says simply.</p><p>I watch her for a few seconds before nodding curtly, a deep feeling of regret burrowing itself a home in my gut. "Alright, goodnight, th—"</p><p>"I didn't dismiss you, did I? I think I know what's keeping you from becoming a successful Occlumens."</p><p>I, halfway turned towards the door, freeze instantly. And then I turn to look at her searchingly, trying to see if she's being honest or not. Occlumency has been coming to me, but slowly. Aunt Bellatrix has told me before that my family, more specifically on my father's side of the bloodline, has a history of naturally acclimating to Occlumency. She has told me that she's surprised it's taking me this long, even though I've been able to resist her attacks a few seconds longer before she breaks through. She has told me that with the innate ability I <em>should</em> have, there must be something big keeping me from tapping into it.</p><p>"What is it?" I exhale.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: if covid were to end right this second, what's the first thing you would do?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0056"><h2>56. A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste watches a memory, and everything goes downhill from there</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>CELESTE ZABINI</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <strong>August 15th, 1996</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>The garden is quiet, calm, and peaceful when it's the dead of night.</p><p>We didn't train today. Bellatrix never gives us one night off, much less two, but I'm not complaining.</p><p>I have my own Pensieve now, stored safely in a trunk in my room, but still I prefer to walk out while the sky is black and the stars shine mischievously to wander amidst the bushes and trees towards the Pensieve that sits in the arms of a statue of Morgan le Fay. Summer nights have a certain peaceful air to them. They're warm, but not so warm that I can't wear a cardigan over my shoulders, and they have gentle breezes like the Earth is exhaling softly in her sleep.</p><p>A silver-leafed tree sits next to the pond. There are quite a few other silver-leafed trees scattered around the garden, but this one is the oldest and by far the most regal. Its trunk is thick and twisted, filled with knots in which pixies construct their nests. Its branches reach out towards the heavens and extend out over the pond, casting an unearthly reflection in its dark nighttime waters, the moon rippling in the undulating surface.</p><p>Morgan le Fay's statue sits across the pond on the opposite side of the tree. She's made of metal, a cold, silvery metal that is almost hard to look at when the moon reflects off of her long hair, or her leg that is propped up on the boulder beside her. The replica of the infamous Dark witch stands tall and proud in the night, glowing ominously. Her staff rests in the crook of her elbow while her outstretched forearms balance the weight of the basin, the only part of the statue etched with runes and covered in precious stones.</p><p>I clutch my wand in one hand and a bottle of my father's memory in my other, walking around the perimeter of the pond to approach her statue. There are a few stone steps leading up to her, and I ascend them quietly, stopping to stand before her. She's tall, looming over me, with the basin reaching my chest.</p><p>I pause for a moment to glance over my shoulder at the Malfoy Manor right behind me. Most of the lights are out, though I see a few yellow windows. The Death Eaters never seem to go to sleep. Perhaps with their master having been gone for the last two weeks, they see no need to control themselves.</p><p>My eyes flit up to the only lit window at the topmost floor. Draco's room.</p><p>I can see his silhouette passing by the window every once in a while. I'm not sure what he's doing, and I'd like to convince myself that I don't <em>care</em> what he's doing, but still I stand there in the calm garden staring up at his window. Maybe I'm waiting for him to stop abruptly and look down at <em>me</em>.</p><p>My entire body flushes as I recall what happened just yesterday in the library.</p><p>I can't exactly <em>explain</em> what happened, what was going through my head. One second I was happily pinned to the table by him, my body reacting to his every movement perfectly, and all I wanted was a good, mind-clearing fuck to distract me for a little while.</p><p>But then he just <em>had</em> to open his mouth.</p><p>Everything was ruined for me on June 18th.</p><p>If there's one thing that has ever defined me, defined my drive and my desire for <em>more</em>, it's been control. I've spent my life settling in a new manor, adjusting to a new life, and then being picked up by my head and thrown into a whole new world. I've had no control with what was done with me, where I went, what I did, and I <em>still</em> don't. What little solace I had, I found in my father, and what minute control I had, it was ripped from me with him.</p><p>It was hard enough a few months ago to give up control for one night, to let that boy <em>take care of me</em>. And then he uttered those same words to me just hours ago, and suddenly heart was pounding for a different reason, and my body went still, because as much as it's tempting, I don't <em>have</em> any control left to give.</p><p>Even if I did, I couldn't possibly trust anyone to take care of it.</p><p>I turn back to the Pensieve, glancing at Morgan's gleaming silver eyes, and then uncapping my father's memory. My hands trembling slightly, I bring the tip of my wand to the bottle, narrowing my brows in focus while I use it to drag the silvery-blue thread of light out of the bottle, letting it drop down into the basin. Instantly, it dissolves into a cloud of glowing smoke, swirling at a hypnotizing pace, and before I know it, it's like my entire being is being sucked into the clouds.</p><p>At first, everything is white and disorienting, but it all fades into vision quickly enough.</p><p>Like every other memory I've visited, I stand in my own body watching everything unfold, though nobody can see me nor touch me. My eyes quickly find my father, standing just a few feet away with his back towards me, and a great pang of longing strikes through my body. It weakens my knees, making me nearly crumple to the ground.</p><p>He's five years younger in this memory. It is, after all, the day of my twelfth birthday. I see only his back, but I can tell the difference in him instantly. This is before he cuts his hair short to nearly his scalp, so it's curly and growing an inch up the top of his head. Though he's always been big and strong for as long as I can remember, his frame is less bulky at this point. He turns his head just slightly, and I see that his face is missing a scar or two.</p><p>I'm frozen, just as I always become whenever I enter his memories and see him. He's right there before my eyes, looking as real as he did in the white bakery in my head, as real as he was in the Ministry of Magic with his wand out towards Lucius Malfoy. Sometimes I can fool myself for just a few seconds, when the memory is silent and he's just standing in a room sifting through papers, that this is <em>real</em>. That he's really here, and we're somehow both in Japan, and his hair is somehow longer, and we're just enjoying each other's quiet presence the way we did so often.</p><p>"Corinne," I hear his rumbly voice say, a soft weep leaving my lips at the sound of it. It's not my name, and yet his voice is like the ghost of an embrace around my shoulders.</p><p>My mother is across the room standing in front of her mirror, a slightly grim look on her lips. She's five years older <em>now</em>, and yet in this memory, she looks exactly the same. Zabini men and women, but <em>especially</em> women, hardly age. Her skin is smooth and flawless, her hair is healthy and slightly longer, and her eyes are bright and ferocious. Though, I suppose she has a few more frown and stress lines now in 1996 than she did in 1991.</p><p>It all looks so real, sounds so real, but I can't smell or touch a single thing. I can't smell the flowers from outside the window of our Japanese estate that were <em>constantly</em> blooming, permeating their unforgettable fragrance throughout the wood of the house. I can't feel the heat of summer form beads of sweat on my neck. I can't feel them. Him.</p><p>Father sighs softly. I hear the slight creak of the floorboards as he walks across the room towards mother. I close my eyes when he passes me, expecting to smell his familiar scent, maybe feel a slight gust of the shifting air, but there's nothing.</p><p>When I open my eyes, he's standing behind my mother, both of them looking into the mirror. He places his hands on her shoulders, thumbs lightly massaging them while she sighs softly and reaches one hand up to touch his.</p><p>"She's <em>twelve</em>," she says after a few moments of quietude, her dark eyes boring holes into mine even when they can't see me.</p><p>"I know," Father says quietly, turning his head to look not at her reflection, but at the side of her face.</p><p>"I don't want her to grow up," Mother exhales.</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"She'll get hurt."</p><p>Father doesn't respond to this, but his hands slip down to hold the sides of her arms, squeezing them tightly before loosening his grip.</p><p>"It's not too late to unenroll her from Mahoutokoro," she says, standing up a little straighter. Her voice is how I've always known it, sturdy and firm, unrelenting and official, but her lips are pursed and her brows are furrowed. "Homeschooling has worked well for her. We can find good teachers for anything she might ever want to learn."</p><p>"Corinne," Father says in a firm, almost reprimanding voice, giving her a knowing look through the mirror. "It <em>is</em> too late, and even if it wasn't, she is <em>going</em> to school."</p><p>Mother glances away from him, her face growing hard as she peers down at the dresser in front of her. "She'll be safer at home, Alaric, where we can watch her," she says, letting go of his hand to smooth her tight curls out of her face.</p><p>"You mean where the teachers we could hire can watch her? Or the maids, or a nanny?" he asks, lifting his brows at her. "You <em>know</em> we'll be home even less now that she's twelve, Cori. Mahoutokoro is a safe school. If it wasn't, we wouldn't be sending her there. Why should we subject her to a life of loneliness for the sake of protection, when she could be just as safe and protected amongst peers?"</p><p>"What if—?"</p><p>"Tell me, when has the world ever successfully torn a Zabini woman apart?" he asks almost humorously, his hands turning her around gently so she's looking up at him, a small frown on her face as she glances between his hazel eyes. "You are a stubborn breed. There's a reason I took your name."</p><p>Mother's lips twitch like she wants to smile. Father catches it, a slow grin spreading over his face as his arms tighten around her, trapping her arms to her side and making her shriek quietly. I can't help but smile slightly at this myself, watching him pull her to her chest while that struggling smile cracks her stone face, dark eyes lighting up, but my smile fades quickly as I watch them embrace in a way I'll ever see again.</p><p>But then Mother's smile fades too as he loosens his arms to let her stand properly. She lifts her hands up to sit on his chest, eyes drifting down, and says, "You know I'm not worried about the <em>world</em> tearing her apart. You're right. There isn't a monster in the world that can stop a Zabini woman..." She sighs softly and turns around, though he pulls her in so she's leaning her back into her chest and they both gaze at each other through the mirror. "...None except a Zabini woman herself. We're a stubborn breed, but a cursed one too."</p><p>Father's face drops slightly.</p><p>"She's <em>twelve</em>," Mother says once more like that should mean something significant.</p><p>"She's <em>only</em> twelve," he says, lips pressing into a grim line. "We still have time... Anyway, that's what... You're giving her your locket today, aren't you?"</p><p>"<em>Her</em> locket," Mother corrects in a quiet but firm voice, her hand darting up to pull at the chain around her neck, tugging the locket out from where it sits beneath her shirt. "It has never been mine. I'm simply holding onto it for her. And yes, I... I am."</p><p>"Good," Father responds quietly, his hand coming up from behind to brush away a curl that has fallen into her face.</p><p>"I'm worried, Alaric. She's gonna be away all the time, and we won't be home as much, and—"</p><p>"And when <em>we</em> can't protect her, Cori, her locket will," he replies in a soothing tone, hazel eyes flickering between hers. "Isn't that what it is for, after all? It'll protect her. Even from herself."</p><p>Mother's lips press together in a small line. "Yes, for now. But what happens when it can't?"</p><p>"We have years to figure that out. Now, are you coming with me to wish our daughter a happy birthday or not?"</p><p>I watch my mother smile softly, almost bitterly. Father wraps her in another tight hug, kissing her cheek while she reaches up to rub the side of his face, briefly tangling her fingers in his hair. And then they're walking, her arm wrapped around his, across their bedroom and towards the door, murmuring too lowly for me to pick anything up. I watch them in a half-trance, wanting to follow after them and wanting to get out at the same time.</p><p>When my father passes by me once again, I keep my eyes open, breaking slightly when, as expected, he doesn't notice, he doesn't smell like comfort the way he used to.</p><p>Like the Pensieve knows what I want, I'm pulled out of it with a swift whirl. It leaves me disoriented and temporarily blind, but slowly my vision fades from white to the dark night while I stumble backwards away from the Pensieve, nearly tripping on my way down from the steps.</p><p>I fight for breaths, bending over to rest my hands on my knees while a great wave of pain rushes over my body. My back hurts, my stomach is tense, and my throat starts closing in on itself as I feel my eyes start to water. Something is twisting in my gut, something that wants to lick its flames inside my body until it has devoured me whole from inside out. It sears the Dark Mark on my wrist, it makes the rune on my chest burn. The breath I'm fighting for wrangles it's way in with a shaky, loud inhale, and then I exhale it out with a soft cry while my vision blurs.</p><p><em>The end of his journey marks the beginning of yours</em>, I remember as my fingers find the R-shaped rune etched onto my skin.</p><p>"Enjoying a nice nightly stroll, are we?"</p><p>I whip straight up in shock, my hands freezing and dropping the empty bottle and my wand to the ground while I swivel on my heel to see Bellatrix sitting on the bench below the silver-leafed tree. My heart freezes, and then it pounds even faster as I crouch down to pick the bottle and my wand up, brushing the tears under my eyes away as inconspicuously as possible while straightening back up.</p><p>"I was just about to go back in," I say in a steady voice, blinking at her quickly.</p><p>She's sprawled put over the bench, both bare feet propped up on it and arms leisurely hanging over the top. A small, cruel smirk finds her lips.</p><p>"Were you, dearie?"</p><p>"Yes, I..." I glance over at the Pensieve. "Just one moment, I need to retrieve a, well, a memory."</p><p>Bellatrix just shrugs, so I glance her over warily before turning back around and stepping back up in front of the Pensieve. Feeling as though there are a dozen eyes on my back instead of just one particularly scathing pair, I bring the bottle and the wand up to the basin. With the tip of my wand, I prod at the smoky cloud. Almost instantly, that glowing blue thread rematerializes, waving in a nonexistent breeze as I carefully bring it to the rim of the bottle and let it drop in. I shove my wand away and cap the bottle as I turn back around, shoving it into my pocket as well.</p><p>"Done?" Bellatrix purrs with wide black eyes as I walk tentatively across the perimeter of the pond towards the manor and, consequently, towards her.</p><p>"Yes," I nod simply, my eyes skirting away from her and towards the manor. <em>Maybe she's just here to enjoy the moonlight, maybe she'll let me pass her by without any trouble...</em></p><p>"In a hurry?"</p><p>I pause. I've walked up to where she is, and if I turned my head, I'd be able to look at her directly.</p><p>"Not necessarily," I say slowly, cautiously turning my body to look at her.</p><p>She's standing now, though she's busy straightening out her tattered dress and pushing her wild curls out of her face. When she looks up at me, I feel for a moment that I'm gazing at a corpse. Her skin is sickly pale, purple veins prominent under her eyes and up to her cheekbones. Her eye bags are worse than mine somehow, and her cheeks are hollow like she hasn't had a meal since breaking out of Azkaban. Her lips are chapped, dry, and red from bleeding, and her eyes are raving as they look at me when she turns her head up. Her dry lips spread into a slow smile.</p><p>"How's your Occlumency going?" she asks in a coy, deviously innocent voice as she stalks forward a few steps, lowering her head to gaze at me through thick spider-leg lashes. "Practicing? Meditating?"</p><p>I nod, swallowing thickly. Putting a front up around her is so much easier when I've just woken up from good, Draught-induced sleep, when I have the right amount of coffee in my system—not so much that I can hardly control myself, but enough that I can function. Now, however, I'm exhausted, and I can feel my body craving that sickly sweet syrup. Otherwise, I'll either descend into a fit of night terrors, or I'll find myself awake all night despite how heavy my eyes will feel.</p><p>"Yes," I say after a moment, wondering if my nerves will be too obvious if I slip my hand into my pocket to grab my wand. "I believe I've figured out what it is that... makes Occlumency difficult for me. I haven't quite <em>built up the walls</em>, though, nor closed the window, but—"</p><p>"Why don't we have a try?" she says in a lilted voice, thin lips parting to bare crooked teeth with a sick grin.</p><p>My heart thunders. "Now?" I frown, swallowing thickly. "It's—"</p><p>"Late, yes, but let's try."</p><p>I glance aside uneasily. "Perhaps in the m—"</p><p>"Oh, I was misleading, wasn't I?" she giggles, delight in her eyes. "I didn't mean to phrase it like it's your choice. <em>Legilimens!</em>"</p><p>I stumble backwards as my vision flashes, and then pain like none other takes over my body.</p><p>It's worse than the burning feeling my locket gave me all that time ago. It's worse pain than any other time she's used her Legilimency on me. It's like, somehow, it's the Cruciatus Curse at the same time, pure torture ripping my veins and arteries open, stitching them shut, and bursting them apart again. She's not just delving into the surface of my mind to replay the memories and thoughts that are already constantly on my mind. She's going as far in and deep as she possibly can, and the more I try to push her out, the worse the pain sears up.</p><p>I know it's not real pain, I know it's really all just in my head, and when I wake up, my body won't be sore like it actually had acid poured over it the way it feels like it does, but that doesn't make the pain any less. I feel my mouth drop open to let out a loud scream, but I can't hear it. My ears are deafened with both silence and some inexplicable exploding noise, a loud echo of Bellatrix's magic tearing my mind apart and configuring it back together at the same time.</p><p>She's looking at everything somehow at the same time. It feels like my eardrums are bursting over and over again, like my eyes are practically melting in their sockets, like my bones are rattling and might disintegrate into dust. I think I fall to my knees, but I can't be sure, because the pain is so intense that I can't feel anything else.</p><p>She tears through my memories, but I don't know what she's looking for. She picks one up, and suddenly, with my eyes closed, I'm watching my hands try out my wand for the first time when I was twelve. I can feel her frustration as the magic searing my mind intensifies, making my jaw go completely slack with a shriek I can't hear but I can feel ripping out my lungs and past my throat.</p><p>I'm packing my bags, and somehow I know this is when I was moving from Japan back to the United States. I'm suddenly at Ilvermorny being sorted, and then I'm in a French bakery, but it's not completely white. It's full of life.</p><p>She pauses on the memory for a few seconds longer than all the others. Maybe she feels the attachment I have to it, to that memory of sitting across from my father while we sip on coffee and read in peace.</p><p>It's gone quickly, though, and she continues ravaging through my mind, watching me grow up and top speed, seeing within minutes what I experienced in years, all while dragging those long claws through my mind, ripping it to shreds, seeing it back together, and stretching it out to bare its darkest secrets to her. She tugs at my soul in the worst way possible, and I can practically feel it, where it resides intertwined with my magical core in the center of my gut, calling onto it, reading it just as she reads my mind.</p><p>I'm sixteen. I'm sitting at the piano in her nephew's room, watching him as he carefully plucks the masquerade mask off my face. I feel what I felt in the moment, completely breathless and confused. Silent screams continue ripping through my throat, and though I can't feel anything, I know I'm slumped into the ground, face half buried in the cobblestone path while my one hand tugs at my hair like I'll pull her out of my head with a few strands of my curls, my other hand curled into a fist and hitting the side against the ground as hard as I can to relieve some of the pain.</p><p>She lingers on this memory, and together we watch it play out.</p><p>Amidst the pain, I feel the awe from watching his strong hands caress the ivory keys of the piano so delicately, so carefully. I don't hear anything other than the deafening rush of Bellatrix's magic, but I can feel his bittersweet, nostalgic music that he makes by pressing his fingers to keys as white as his skin and keys as black as mine.</p><p>The pain only intensifies when we watch his hand cover mine, watch our joined fingers trip and stumble over the keys. I feel the cautious embarrassment of that moment, the sweet moment where there was no real tension, no real worries except how much of a fool I was making of myself every time I slipped up. I can feel his soft laughs every single time.</p><p>I think I'm completely gone, tortured and exhausted beyond recovery by the time his hand is on my face. Maybe this is what Bellatrix wanted. Maybe she wanted me to relive my sad, lonely life, littered with a few memories that were once sweet and now bitter, one last time to add flavor to her torture. When shes done, I'll be a mere vessel housing a scrambled mind and soul. They'll put me in St. Mungo's to live out the rest of my empty life. I wonder if I'll be able to think, and I wonder if I want that. If I spend the rest of my life a functionless body, would I want to be able to think? Would that be torture, being flawlessly sentient yet incapable of expression? Maybe mindlessness is good. They say ignorance is bliss, and ignorance isn't so far off.</p><p>When he kisses me, she skips ahead.</p><p>I recognize instantly when we are, because I feel a burning sensation take over my body, one that's all too familiar.</p><p>I can't hear my voice, but I sob out, "No! Stop, please, stop! I ca—I can't, I can't, I <em>c-can't</em>..."</p><p>She's impatient. She skips forward, memories of me passing out and stealing the Firebolt, getting into the Ministry, all of it hurtling past. She slows down when I reach the Department of Mysteries, and then we watch as I roam the rooms, waiting to see what it is my locket is trying to tell me and lead me to.</p><p>She watches me find my father's unconscious body, and I sense a round of choked sobs ripping through my chest as I remember thinking he was dead, finding out he was alive, and then having him ripped from me all within the hour. She watches me stop in front of the Hall of Prophecies, and we both feel my confusion as I wondered why my locket only stopped burning <em>then</em>.</p><p>She watches me run from Death Eaters with Potter, Granger, and Longbottom. She watches me hesitate, and then she watches me kick Potter's wand towards him while under my shroud. The pain sharpens at this, and I scream loudly. It's like it possesses me, making me jerk up straight with so much power that I nearly fall onto my back.</p><p>She watches me save my father from a Death Eater creeping up behind me. The pain worsens. She watches me shoot a Stunning Spell at the Death Eater clutching Potter, making him free the boy instantly. The pain is numbing.</p><p>She watches herself murder her cousin, and then she watches herself turn to look in my direction, reveal me, grin brightly, and shoot green light at my head that redirects itself to my locket.</p><p>"<em>PLEASE!</em>" I sob loudly, finally hearing myself, though my vision is still those last few memories replaying in my head over and over again, like shes trying to memorize them, understand them. "<em>PLEASE!</em>" my screams are tortured to even my own ears as salty tears track down my face. I fall onto my side, curled slightly and pounding my fist against the stones, feeling my skin break but never stopping. My throat aches and my voice cracks as my next words come out as a feeble, wobbling whisper. "Let it end, let it end..."</p><p>She rewatches that same day over and over, fixated on me kicking the wand to Potter, on me <em>Stupefying</em> the man holding him, and on me being murdered by her, and my cries and screams grow more and more violent.</p><p>My eyes snap open. I can't see anything other than my own memories, but they open as I lift my head up to where the heavens should be above me, where a dark blanket of stars that seem permanent but eventually blink out of existence stare down at me helplessly. I reach a clawing hand up, wondering if I'm reaching for the right star.</p><p>My hand falls, too weak to stay up, and flies to my chest, grasping at my locket, grasping at my father's ring. I scream up at the sky, begging without really words for his help, begging selfishly for him to save me again. I watch my death unfold before my eyes over and over again, and hurts all the more knowing that it isn't really my death that I'm watching, but his.</p><p>
  <em>I killed him, I killed him, I killed him, I ki—</em>
</p><p>"<em>Please</em>," I sob. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, for-forgive me. I can't, I <em>can't</em>, not without—" I cut myself off with a soft sob, my throat too tired for a noise any bigger.</p><p>
  <em>Don't you understand? I don't want to do this, not without you.</em>
</p><p>She kills me again and again, all while tearing my mind apart and reducing me to nothing but a shaking frame. She shows me myself saving Potter twice, and then she kills me. I kick a wand, I shoot a Stunning Spell, and then she kills me. She takes away my life, but she kills me by killing him.</p><p>She made it my fault.</p><p>
  <em>Forgive me, please.</em>
</p><p>Im still in pain when she pulls out of my head. My hearing returns in full, but it's filled with my own screams and cries. My body doesn't ache save for the split skin on my hand. My mind doesn't hurt, not really. It's my heart that aches, threatening to just give up, or maybe beat until it bursts. It hurts more than anything as I rock on the ground, my eyes open while my head turns up to the heavens. I fall limp at that movement, though, the side of my face pressed to the ground so I look at the manor, incapable of lifting or turning my head to see the stars.</p><p>"Do you understand now, Celeste?" Bellatrix asks in a voice that might be mistaken as comforting by a fool. "I certainly do. Draco was right to come to me. Clearly, even you don't know where your loyalties lie."</p><p>I hear her footsteps against the cobblestone as my cries subside to shaky breaths and whimpers, my eyes wide and unblinking despite how much they sting. My body shakes and tremors, and I can feel it fighting to stay awake, fighting against the darkness that wants to consume me and rock me into sleep where nightmares just like this wait for me.</p><p>She crouches down near my head, and I feel her hand brushing my hair from my face.</p><p>"Don't cry, dear, it's alright," she coos. I don't see her face, I just see the tall, looming manor. Her hand caresses my cheek, wiping some of my tears. "I didn't use the Cruciatus Curse on you, because I don't believe you're <em>entirely</em> hopeless. Now you know to whom you're loyal, though, don't you?"</p><p>I don't move. I just shake.</p><p>"I went easy on you, Lettie-dear. I see you haven't been concentrating. Perhaps the Dark Lord and I haven't... incentivized you enough. I see, you fear <em>dying</em> again, but I don't think <em>death</em> is enough to motivate you. It doesn't scare you, not as much as pain, does it?"</p><p>I tremble. I wish I could turn and see the stars, curse them for not helping me. All I can see is the manor, though.</p><p>"You haven't lost <em>all</em> your family, dear," Bellatrix clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, tucking my hair behind my ear. "You have your mother, your aunt, your cousin."</p><p>The window at the topmost floor is still yellow. That silhouette stands there. The outline is dark, and my vision is so absurdly blurry, but I can see the silhouette clutching the edge of the window for dear life.</p><p>"You have <em>plenty</em> to lose, even if you don't see it. I promise you, losing them will be <em>just</em> as painful, especially if I force you to be the one to do it. It hurts knowing it's your fault he died, doesn't it?" she gums with a soft sigh, as if she herself is upset. Her hand cradles my face softly, and I want to pull away, but I have no control over my body. "It hurts being responsible for his death. I know it does. Losing yourself in the pain won't do anything, Lettie, my dear. Take all that energy, refocus it in your task. You let him down, but... that doesn't mean you have to let the Dark Lord down. You'll find, dearie, that making him proud is a <em>wonderful </em>feeling."</p><p>Bellatrix stands up. I see her legs near my head, but I stare blankly at the manor. She starts walking away, but then she pauses to add something.</p><p>"You should really work on your Occlumency, dear."</p><p>And then her bare feet cross over cobblestone and grass until she's disappearing into the manor. My eyelids grow heavy, slowly drifting shut while my body, already hardly function, slowly shuts down as well.</p><p>I can't see the stars. I just see one, a big, bright yellow one, in which a man stands, and it's the last thing I see before shutting down.</p><p>
  <em>It's a generous gift, but I can't take it anymore.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Not without you.</em>
</p><p>—</p><p>When I wake up, I'm in my bed, tasting the familiar taste of the Sleeping Draught that lingers in my mouth. Sunlight casts over my eyes, making me close them even tighter as I wonder how I got here and fed myself the Draught after last night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's one thing you can't live without?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0057"><h2>57. A LITTLE COMPASSION</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>draco sees something he wishes he could forget — no, not his parents fucking</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>August 14-15th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Of all the words that have ever been used to describe me, compassionate has <em>never</em> been one of them.</p><p>
  <em>"Compassion?" I can't help but scoff, my face contorting in disgust. Just saying the word makes me feel ridiculous. "You are kidding, aren't you?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No, I don't think I am," Aunt Bellatrix muses, frowning down into her empty mug before leaning over to grab the crystal decanter from off the side table and pour more into it.</em>
</p><p>It's not something I'm <em>upset</em> about either, because, quite frankly, <em>I</em> wouldn't use "compassionate" as a descriptor for myself. I'm many things. I'm ambitious, deceptive, and unrelenting. I'm <em>not</em> compassionate.</p><p>
  <em>"No offense, Aunt Bellatrix, but I'm not quite sure that's it," I say, furrowing my brows while she gestures for me to take a seat beside her. She watches me with wide, glittering black eyes that dare me to leave the room, and then I walk forward quietly and sit on the opposite side of the sofa.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Why not?" she asks almost mockingly, giving me a pout.</em>
</p><p><em>"Compassion isn't exactly one of my more... prominent qualities. I don't see how </em>having it<em> would be my problem."</em></p><p>There are very few people in the world I'll show any <em>compassion </em>to, and even then, it can be very much conditional.</p><p>
  <em>"That's exactly it," she giggles, tipping the mug towards me and lifting her brows as she offers the whiskey. "Want a sip?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I shake my head, so she sighs, shrugs, and tips some of the contents into her mouth.</em>
</p><p><em>"That's exactly it," she says once more, exhaling and stifling a slight belch while I shift uncomfortably, well aware of her bare feet propped up onto the sofa nearly touching my thigh. "You </em>aren't <em>a very 'compassionate' person, which is good. It's just a sugarcoated word for cowardly, weak-willed, neither of which you should ever be. But part of you still wants to... tap into the compassion you don't have. The reason you might hesitate to do the things that need to be done, the harsh things, the cruel things, is that what little compassion you have wants to </em>grow<em>, so it makes you second guess yourself."</em></p><p>
  <em>I swallow thickly, turning my gaze down to my hands. It doesn't seem correct at all. "I just don't get how—"</em>
</p><p><em>"You don't show it very often, not to too many people, but when you do, well—" Bellatrix interrupts herself with a humorless snort, swallowing back more whiskey. "When you </em>do<em>, even a fool could spot it from a mile away."</em></p><p>
  <em>I open my mouth hesitantly to ask what she means, but then I realize with a slight jolt exactly what she's talking about. I shake my head, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples and even letting out a dry laugh at the thought.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Don't tell me you're talking about Celeste of all people."</em>
</p><p><em>"Of </em>course<em> I am."</em></p><p><em>"You're kidding, right? You know we hated each other all year? You know we were—we were friends for maybe a month before... everything happened, and </em>I<em> was the one who made the choice to end it. Because she'd hold me back from doing the task if I had to worry about her, and Merlin fucking knows a girl has fucked up as her needs warrants a lot of worrying. Sorry, my language, I just—"</em></p><p><em>"You just </em>think<em> you've decided to stop caring about her. Maybe you talk like it, talk to her like she's the worst thing that's ever happened to you, talk about her like you hate her, but your actions show otherwise."</em></p><p><em>"I told you, I'm not concerned </em>about<em> her. I could hardly care less if she's—if she's—if she's </em>depressed<em> or something stupid like that," I sneer, seeing my aunt's lips quirk in amusement. "I don't care. I don't care if she's going in some downward spiral, but I do care if she's dragging me down with her."</em></p><p>
  <em>"I know Lettie didn't help you come up with the Vanishing Cabinet idea."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I pause, stunned, glancing between her black eyes while she giggles. Her long nails claw at her scalp before she pulls away with a curl, twisting it around her finger while tilting her head at me curiously.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You did that all by yourself, and yet you still covered for her and acted like you did it together. You hesitate during duels when she gets her, giving her the chance to get up when you could have stunned her into the ground. You're afraid she'll hold you back? You're letting her."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"But..."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You're not like this with everyone, but with her, your first instinct is always to... lessen her suffering. There's only one weight you need to share with her, and it's that of this task. You're slowing yourself down by trying to alleviate her pain. You're piling more weight onto your own shoulders when she should be bearing her responsibilities herself."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I don't—"</em>
</p><p><em>"I believe you </em>are<em> worried about the task, about your family, about failure," she says in a lilted voice, lips turned into a purse while her black eyes dart from the window to my face, glittering at me with dark mischief. "I believe you are scared that that you'll fail, but you're more concerned for Celeste's </em>well-being <em>than you're concerned she'll—what did you say? Drag you down with her?"</em></p><p>
  <em>"That's not..." I shake my head, swallowing thickly and look away to the floor, tracing the veins in the marble with my eyes. "I don't even like her."</em>
</p><p><em>"Please," Aunt Bellatrix snorts, "I'd rather not get into whatever relationship you have with her. All I'm saying is to end it. Stop it. All that </em>compassion<em> you have towards her," she says, saying 'compassion' like it's venom on her tongue, "and not just to her, but in general, it needs to be gone. Occlumency is the ability to control all your emotions, but in order to do it, you need to tame the emotion that leaves you the most... conflicted, incapable of doing what needs to be done. Your </em>compassion<em> is what holds you back from focusing on this task in particular. As soon as you manage to... push it away, you'll find Occlumency will come easier to you than it does most people. It's a Black family trait."</em></p><p>
  <em>—</em>
</p><p>
  <b>AUGUST 15, 1996</b>
</p><p>I spent today in my room.</p><p>Aunt Bellatrix gave us another day off from training, though it didn't need to be said out loud that we were expected to focus on meditating for Occlumency and read more into our plan. Celeste spent the day in her room too, and it's not like I was about to walk in and see what she was doing. I can only hope that she didn't waste today.</p><p><em>Compassion</em>. I literally scoff out loud just thinking about it.</p><p>My eyes drop to the book still sitting on my bed flipped to a page near the end. I scoured it all day, but there's not a single helpful thing in there. I rub the back of my neck and run my hand through my wet hair, tearing my eyes away from it to walk over to my dresser and pull out a shirt.</p><p>There's a knock at my door right as I slip the shirt over my head.</p><p>I frown, giving my hair another tousle before walking over, unlocking my door and pulling it open to reveal Amycus Carrow leaning against my doorframe, a toothpick in his grimy mouth. He grins at me, the pasty, oily skin on his face shifting to reveal yellow teeth—where I notice one is missing—and then pushes past me to walk into my room. I scoff slightly as he shuts the door behind him, spitting his toothpick out onto the floor and bouncing onto my bed.</p><p>"Can I help you?" I ask sharply, turning on my heel to see him looking at the book, spreading his dirty fingers all over the pristine pages.</p><p>"Ooh, careful, Malfoy," he says in that thick, clumsy voice of his, lumpy cheeks lifting with another grin. "You're not so big n' bad with <em>daddy</em> in Azkaban, you know."</p><p>I clench my jaw, scathingly flashing my eyes over his short figure, resisting the urge to find my wand and hex him still he's running out of my room hollering. I tilt my head at him, watching him struggle to get the thin pages of the book unstuck.</p><p>"Bellatrix asked me to come up here," he then says lazily, one hand reaching into his trouser pocket to pull out his wand. It's a short stick of red-colored wood, and he twirls it clumsily before flicking it towards the door. Instantly, the door locks, making my brows rise.</p><p>"Should I be concerned?" I ask, unable to keep the venom out of my voice as I scan my room, wondering where exactly I kept my wand.</p><p>"Looking for this?"</p><p>I snap my hand at Amycus, seeing him snigger at me while waving my wand in the air.</p><p>"Hey!" I lunge at him, reaching for my wand only for him to roll off the bed and stand up, pointing his own at me. "Give that back. My aunt won't take too kindly to you taking my wand away."</p><p>He shrugs. "She asked me to take it away."</p><p>I drop my hand, curling both of them into fists at my side while I glare at this short, pudgy man that has the audacity to smirk at me. If he just knew who I fucking was... Not just the Malfoy heir, but the person given the Dark Lord's most important task. "Did she, now?"</p><p>Amycus laughs, a horrible, pig-like noise that makes his bulbous nose contort.</p><p>My arms trembling in anger, I then tilt my head at the door. "Unlock it."</p><p>"Oh, no! She told me specifically to..." He pouts slightly, glancing away and tapping his fingers like he's trying to remember. I'm genuinely unsure if he's just bloody stupid or if he actually can't remember. "She said to... lock you in here, take your wand, and tell you to look out the window."</p><p>"Look out the..?" I exhale softly, shaking my head and squinting at him in disbelief. "Don't be ridiculous. Let me out, or I'll—"</p><p>"Or you'll go running to daddy?" he snickers, scratching his scalp with the tip of his—no, <em>my</em> wand, ignoring the way I seethe at him and taking a warning step forward. "I'm just the messenger, Malfoy."</p><p>"My wand, Carrow."</p><p>"Oh, don't worry, I'm not gonna <em>keep</em> it," he snorts unceremoniously, licking his dry lips. "Doubt it'd do much for me, and, anyway, I could always get Ollivander to make me a new one if I needed it." His grin is so wide, I see the skin on his lip split and start dotting with blood.</p><p>I glare at him harshly, waiting for him to falter, waiting for him to give up whatever stupid, foolish charade this is and toss my wand back to me. He just sniffs loudly, rubbing under his nose with the sleeve of his tattered jacket, and then sits down on my bed, forcing me to make a mental note to have the Elves change the sheets for me before I go to sleep.  And then my shoulders drop in realization.</p><p>"You're not kidding."</p><p>"I hardly ever kid," he guffaws.</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but I'm cut off by a blood-curdling shriek.</p><p>We both freeze, Amycus in a position on my bed that has his neck bent uncomfortably, me a few feet away from him. His dull brown eyes stop on mine, and I, my brows slightly furrowed and my body tense, scan his face for only half a second before deciding that he too has no idea what that noise was.</p><p>The shriek is cut off abruptly, but then it's back in full force as a tortured scream. It's distant, echoing off into the cruel, dark night. It's not in the manor, no, it's right outside...</p><p>Outside my window.</p><p>"Reckon that's what she wants you to look at the window for?" Amycus snorts humorously, sliding off my bed and all but waddling towards the opposite end of the room.</p><p>I remain frozen near the foot of the bed, my eyebrows furrowed deeply and my hands tense at my sides. It's like I can't unstick my feet from the floor, but my entire body is on edge and ready to jump. The scream is distant and echoey, but loud enough to reach my ears even through my closed window. It prolongs for what feels like forever while my heart thumps dramatically and head spins wildly. It's only when it fades off with a broken wobble and returns as a series of short, strangled shouts that I find myself moving swiftly across the room, shoving Amycus out of the way, and planting myself in front of the window.</p><p>The night goes silent again, and all there is is the faint wind making the trees all the way down in the garden rustle. I squint at the glass, my heart crawling its way up my throat, but the light in my room casts a glare, and all I can see is my own panicked expression and Amycus standing nearby.</p><p>My hands, fumbling slightly, move to grip the bottom of the window and pull it up high. A warm breeze greets me instantly as well as the fluttering leaf it carries, but I ignore it as I grip the edge of the window to lean my head out, turning to keep an eye on Amycus who now sits on my bed. He seems preoccupied, though, and not very likely to push me out the window, so I turn and look out at the land.</p><p>The garden below me is dark and shadowy, but several of the plants and trees have luminescent properties that allow me to see an absurd, moving shadow on the cobblestone path. My brows dart up when I realize I'm looking at my aunt Bellatrix pointing her wand at something on the ground, and then when I hear another choked scream, long and strangled and absolutely agonizing, I nearly fall out the window myself in shock.</p><p>"<em>PLEASE!</em>" I hear Celeste's screams from afar, so loud yet so distant as they hurtle towards the night sky and come ricocheting back to her. She screams out again, pleading and begging for my aunt to show her mercy, whatever it is she's doing to her.</p><p>Im frozen once more, all the muscles in my body straining as my lips part and brows furrowed even deeper, my eyes staring out at the shadowy figures in my garden in shock. My hands grip the edge of the window so tightly, I can feel the metal starting to dig into my palms.</p><p>
  <em>I'll handle it.</em>
</p><p>"Give me my wand," I gasp out without pulling away from the window, my body suddenly freezing despite the warm air that caresses my skin.</p><p>"No can do."</p><p>"<em>Give it to me</em>," I bite, snapping my head over my shoulder to see Amycus lazily flipping through the book.</p><p>"Hey, your auntie gave me direct orders, I'm jus' following them."</p><p>"I swear, Carrow. You have to give it back to me eventually, and when you do, I'm gonna fucking kill you," I step away from the window and straighten up, rubbing my hand haggardly through my hair while I resist the urge to throw up all over my floors. Celeste's screams make my stomach lurch, and with it I lunge forward to grab at his hands, but then he's pointing his wand at my neck with a small smile and a hungry gleam in his brown eyes.</p><p>"Here's the thing, lil' Malfoy," he says in a completely casual voice, his head tilted up at me, "you can't possibly get to your wand without me cursin' you first. Now, wouldn't we hate it if Malfoy had to go back to <em>school</em> with his brows missing?" His voice drops, implying the harsher threat behind his words.</p><p>"The Dark Lord will have you strung up if you touch me, and you know it," I scoff with ease, making another move for my wand, but then he's standing up and forcing me to take a step back.</p><p>"The Dark Lord isn't here, is he?" Amycus sneers, yellow teeth on show. "No, he's up north. Surely, he isn't gon' mind if you have just a lil' scar... That's your friend out there, innit?"</p><p>I pause again, turning my head towards the window and swallowing thickly with a frown when I notice the odd, eerie silence. Somehow, it's better when it's filled with her screams. Glancing at Amycus, who looks bored, I dart back towards the window, sticking my head out as far as I can without falling and scanning the garden with my eyes to find those two dark silhouettes again.</p><p><em>Please</em>, I pray quietly, panting softly despite hardly moving at all.</p><p>My arm twists up to grab the side of the window above my hand while my other hand grips the bottom, letting me lean out further to see better. She wouldn't kill her, right? She wouldn't, she couldn't, not when the Dark Lord has given her a task.</p><p><em>Tell me you're alive. Just tell me you're alive</em>.</p><p>"If you won't give me my wand, at least unlock the door," I try to snap harshly, but my voice is slightly gasps. I instantly close my mouth, inhaling deeply to try to calm my seizing lungs, but the height and the anxiety combined makes me wonder if I might just hurl over the side of my house.</p><p>"Aw, now, Malfoy, you know I can't do that. Strict orders, you see," he chortles, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "All I can do is letcha look out the window. That's the Zabini girl, innit?"</p><p>"Yes," I seethe, furrowing my brows as the silence persists. I see my aunt walking towards her, but she's an oddly shaped ball crumpled on the ground. "<em>Fuck</em>," I curse quietly, turning my head as if that'll help look past the silver-leafed tree that's obstructing my view of her.</p><p>
  <em>Are you breathing?</em>
</p><p>"A pretty one, don't 'cha think? I quite like her hair, it's all bouncy n' fun. Though she always got a sour look about her, like she thinks she's all high n' mighty. I oughta—"</p><p>"I promise, Carrow," I all but seethe, my chest rising and falling heavily now as I grip the window tighter and groan slightly at the way my stomach churns, "I won't need a wand to kill you if you don't shut your mouth."</p><p>Amycus whistles, followed by an insufferable laugh. "Look at ya. Gettin' all defensive for your witch, aren't 'cha?"</p><p>"She's not—You—"</p><p><em>I believe you are scared that that you'll fail, but you're more concerned for Celeste's </em>well-being <em>than you're concerned she'll—what did you say? Drag you down with her?</em></p><p>I swallow thickly. "Shut up. Open the door, or—or give me my wand, better yet."</p><p>"Maybe I'd be terrified if your daddy wasn't the scum o' the Earth, you see, but even if I <em>was</em> scared of you, boy, your auntie scares me a whole lot more."</p><p>Another blood-chilling scream fills the dark, empty air, and though relief fills me at first at the sound that's proof of her life, it's quickly replaced by more panic as I turn around and scramble back towards Amycus, hardly looking to see or thinking about what I'm doing when I tackle him, gripping his wrist to yank my wand away. He grunts, pointing his wand at me and muttering something I can't hear. As soon as he does, though, a sharp pain wracks through my body that makes me shout out and jolt away from him, pressing against the wall next to my window while I glare at him and brush my wet hair out of my face.</p><p>"What the fuck did you do to me?" I snap, wincing and hardly staying upright as the waves of pain continue coursing through my body as if searing the veins my blood travels in.</p><p>"There you go," he huffs irritably, walking clumsily around my bed until he reaches the other side of my room, the pain fading the further away he gets. "Now ya can't get close to me without feelin' like all your organs are explodin'."</p><p>Celeste let's put one last hair-raising scream, and then I hear it ebb away with what sounds like sobs. I give Amycus one last hard look, my hand itching at my side as I contemplate whether I'd be able to withstand the pain long enough to get my wand away from <em>and </em>while avoiding any more curses from his own, and then I quickly turn around to lean out the window again. It's quiet, but the trees have started rustling louder, covering up any discreet noises that I strain my ears to pick up.</p><p>She's curled up on the ground, shaking slightly. My aunt is still pointing her wand at her, and then a cloud suddenly shifts in the sky to let moonlight fall on them. My breath hitches at the crazed look in Aunt Bellatrix's eyes, filled with pure rage and none of that signature manic amusement.</p><p><em>I did this to her</em>, I realize with a sinking, still rapidly beating heart, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I wonder if jumping out the window will be a viable option.</p><p>
  <em>And then what? What will you do then, assuming you don't break both your legs? Storm your aunt? With what wand?</em>
</p><p>I curse under my breath, slamming the side of my fist against the window frame in anger. My body shakes as I look out at the two dark figures, guilt weaseling it's way in to ride the wave of adrenaline in my body.</p><p>"Wonder what Bella's doin' all that for."</p><p>I ignore him, my mind twisting itself trying to figure <em>anything</em> out. <em>I</em> did this to her, I made her own murderer <em>torture</em> her—am I <em>not</em> supposed to feel guilty? Bellatrix says it's my compassion that conflicts most with what I need to do, my compassion that could potentially ruin everything for me, my compassion keeping me from learning Occlumency, but what else am I supposed to think when I know there's a girl right in my line of sight crying and writhing in pain that <em>I've </em>indirectly inflicted on her?</p><p>"So, she's a screamer, eh?"</p><p>Wrath rising to the surface of my skin faster than I can blink, I whip around ready to snap, but then Bellatrix's words echo around my head.</p><p><em>Clear your head. I want your minds blank and empty, devoid of thought and emotion. Whatever emotions you feel strongest, package them away. Your strongest opponents can practically </em>smell<em> fear, and especially incompetence.</em></p><p>I realize, with a sinking feeling, that she's right. Bellatrix is right.</p><p>And she's smart. She's so <em>very</em> smart, and she knows exactly what she's doing trapping me in my room with no way out and with an almost perfect view of <em>this</em>.</p><p>
  <em>This requires... high mental and emotional discipline. You need to grab reigns of all your emotions, and then you need to put them away. Forget about them. They are what lead you to failure.</em>
</p><p>She's forcing me to deal with it.</p><p>I glower at Amycus, wondering how long it would take for his face to go purple, eyes to bulge from their sockets, and tongue to swell and go limp between his lips while I squeeze his pudgy little neck with both my hands. He isn't even looking at me, humming to himself while the night breathes softly outside.</p><p>She doesn't scream again, but as the wind settles down and the leaves stop rustling, I can hear her cries. They're loud, panicked, breathy, more like whimpers, really. I swallow thickly at the noise, closing my eyes, and in my head I lay the bricks that form the foundation of my walls.</p><p><em>Look at her</em>, I seethe internally, my own breaths coming out as soft pants, though they slowly quiet until I'm breathing slow and deep through my nose. <em>You don't get to just look away. Look what you did.</em></p><p><em>It doesn't matter</em>, my mind scoffs almost instantly. <em>She had it coming. It would've happened whether I said something or not, and maybe she'll finally learn a damn thing from it</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Do you hear yourself?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You're talking to yourself, idiot. You're going insane. If you can't believe Bellatrix, this should be reason enough to realize just how badly you need Occlumency.</em>
</p><p>I turn around begrudgingly, gripping the bottom of the window frame and leaning out, flexing my arms and letting the metal of the frame dig into my palms a little to get rid of some of the tense adrenaline running through my veins since clearly I can't leave my room. I takes me a moment, but I find them in the moonlight. Bellatrix is crouching down beside her, and though it's a bit of a distance, I think I see her... I think I see her stroking Celeste's hair.</p><p>Anger surges up my body and my gut threatens to expel all its contents as my shoulders shake slightly as I watch, vision blurring in fury.</p><p>But somewhere in the corner of my mind, I begin tucking my anger away into the furthest corners, continue building that solid wall, bricks made of ice, to protect my mind from the onslaught of emotions that want to ravage it.</p><p>Bellatrix walks away, leaving Celeste's body crumpled helplessly on the ground.</p><p><em>Helpless</em>. I don't like seeing her just completely and utterly <em>helpless</em>. It feels unnatural. I think perhaps I'd rather see her glaring at me venomously, maybe standing above me while I bleed out from injuries inflicted by her. Spitting down at me like I'm worse than the muck beneath her show before landing the lasting blow. I'd rather see her like that than <em>helpless</em>, because she's too strong a force to be crumpled up on cobblestone. What a waste that would be, what a waste that <em>is</em>.</p><p><em>That would be your compassion speaking</em>, an irritable version of my voice snaps in my head as I sigh and drop my head, though forcing my eyes to remain on her body. <em>You just said you'd rather she kill you than see her like this. It's pathetic, Malfoy.</em></p><p>She looks dead.</p><p>I watch her through my window in silence, unsure how much time is passing. The light, warm breeze is back, rustling the trees, and if I let my mind drift off, I can almost imagine that the sound is her breathing. I can't let my mind drift off, not anymore. I realize now just how careful I must be to ensure that all the walls of ice in my head remain intact.</p><p>I think if I close my eyes, it'll be easier for me to focus, easier for me to start Occluding, but the part of me that isn't quite tucked behind a wall yet forces my eyes to remain open and on her. It's a constant battle in my head to either meditate, focus on the growing Occlusion in my head, or to turn and demand that Amycus let me out. I can't seem to decide, though, so I remain at the window with my hands growing numb until Amycus's clumsy voice cuts through the warm night air.</p><p>"What time is it? Ah, quarter til one! Righty, then, your auntie told me to let you out at this time. Wand's on your bed, Malfoy. I'll be off, now! Have a <em>bloody</em> good night!"</p><p>I don't turn to look at him even when I hear the door swing open and slam shut, his footsteps receding down the hallway. I look down at the garden, feeling so oddly calm.</p><p>Perhaps one last moment of <em>compassion</em> can't hurt.</p><p>—</p><p>I didn't expect her to feel so warm against my body.</p><p>I'm as quiet as possible creeping back into the house. I wince as I pass the room in which Death Eaters cheer and jeer and drink loudly, shouting about some victory or a bridge or something alone those lines. Portraits watch us as I carry her up the stairs and down the long halls, but I avoid their gaze. Most of them are asleep, but some watch me with scrutinizing grey eyes.</p><p>She's so warm. I thought she'd be colder even though the night is warm. Her body is limp in my arms, but as I approach her door, her hand slowly slinks up my torso, over my shoulder, and grips the back of my shirt.</p><p>I freeze, looking down at her to see if she's awake, but her eyes don't even move behind their lids.</p><p>It's when I'm laying her down that I realize—she's <em>asleep</em>. She'll have nightmares.</p><p>"Celeste," I whisper, knowing I should feel guilty as I shake her arms. After tonight, after this torment, she deserves undisturbed rest, yet at the same time, her mind will only continue to torment her if she doesn't wake up. "Get up, Celeste."</p><p>A soft sound like a whimper leaves her lips, a purely tortured, begging whimper. I see her brows tighten and her hands curl into her chest, but then her eyes flutter open slowly. They only open slightly, dark eyes looking at me hazily as if she's still asleep.</p><p>"Dray?" her hoarse voice is confused. I wince when I realize it's so hoarse from all the screaming.</p><p>"Sit up," I say quietly, tearing my eyes away from her to sit at the side of her bed and pull open the single drawer of her nightstand. She complies almost instantly, soft noises coming from her lips as she sits up slowly and rubs her eyes.</p><p>It doesn't take me too long to find her Sleeping Draught. It's next to the odd brown bottle, which looks untouched. I open the dropper cap before glancing at the back to figure out how much to give her, and then I quickly squeeze some of the draught into the dropper.</p><p>"Open your mouth," I say quietly, setting the bottle down and turning back to look at Celeste.</p><p>Her dark eyes are unfocused still as she wobbles slightly, so I reach out a tentative hand to her arm to steady her. She then tilts her head back and parts her lips, eyes closing once more. I scan her face for a brief moment, taking in purple bruises beneath her eyes and the tremble in her lower lip, and then I drop three drops into her mouth before capping the bottle and putting it away once more.</p><p>The effect is almost immediate. She practically melts, all her muscles relaxing while she slowly slinks down. I guide her by her arms to lay down once more, setting her head onto her silk pillow before wrangling with her sheets so they cover her. I watch as she struggles to pry her eyes open, and when they do, they're cloudy, a thin grey sheen covering them.</p><p>"I miss them," she slurs her words, eyes almost shutting but then opening once more to focus vaguely on my throat.</p><p>My brows furrowed slightly, but I loosen them as I choose to ignore her and get up instead, glancing around the room to make sure all is right before turning to the door.</p><p>"And I miss y.<em>..you </em>too," she slurs right as my hand hovers over the doorknob, making me freeze.</p><p>My eyes, wide, are stuck on the wood of her door, and then I slowly turn my head to look at her. Her eyes are closed. She looks small under her covers, face barely revealed under her thick curls and the blankets.</p><p>"Isn't that f... Isn't that f-funny?" she continues mumbling unclearly, pausing like she's falling asleep mid-sentence before waking back up. "I see you everyday... but... I..."</p><p>When moments later she hasn't finished her sentence, I assume she's finally fallen asleep. I deflate slightly, my eyes tiredly glancing over her peaceful figure.</p><p>I let them admire the slithering curls of her hair for a moment more before I slip the last brick of ice into my wall and step out into the hall.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what gift do you think draco would get u for whatever holiday you celebrate as your a) boyfriend, b) bestfriend, or c) fwb ?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0058"><h2>58. I CAN'T STOP MYSELF</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>warning: there is smut in this chapter. it's very rough and the degradation is frankly esteem-shattering. this applies especially to the next chapter</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WC: 11247 Words</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>August 17-20th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>AUGUST 17th, 1996</b>
</p><p>I pant softly, my temples throbbing lightly from the mental attack I just warded off. It doesn't hurt even <em>nearly </em>as much as before, but it takes some strain keeping those walls up.</p><p>"Good," Bellatrix chirps, her head tilting and practically resting on her shoulder as she glances between the two of us with those jarringly wide eyes. "So you've both finally picked up Occlumency. <em>Wonderful</em>. It only took forever."</p><p>I turn my chin up slightly, keeping my eyes set firmly on her while all too aware of her nephew standing a few feet away from me. The morning after she oh-so-considerately decided to torture me, it became so painfully clear to me why exactly my mind wasn't closing, why I couldn't sequester my thoughts and emotions and memories.</p><p>"We haven't dueled in a while," I say, scanning the woman and inhaling deeply. "I'm not too worried about my<em>self</em>, but I know for others that it can be... easy to become <em>rusty</em> when a skill isn't practiced."</p><p>Draco scoffs softly, but he doesn't say anything.</p><p>Bellatrix smirks slowly, her lips, painted a garish shade of red, contort cruelly as she looks me up and down. "Fair enough," she purrs in a high voice. "You said it yourself, you won't learn anything fueling each other. Tuesday, I'll find you two dueling partners. Tonight, get some rest. You still have quite a bit to learn before the summer is out..."</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>AUGUST 20th, 1996</b>
</p><p>I groan out in pain as I sink into my bed, feeling the silk sheets welcome by sore muscles with their cooling embrace.</p><p>When Bellatrix said she would find us dueling partners, I didn't expect her to scrounge up two of the most experienced Death Eaters of the entire lot. Honestly, I'm not sure if she even expected us to last more than ten minutes each. I'm not sure if she even paired us up with those two for entertainment or to actually train.</p><p>Whatever it was, all I want is a long night of rest.</p><p>Absentmindedly, I paw at my nightstand, sighing heavily while I pull the drawer open and pull out my Draught, glancing at it briefly to ensure it's the right bottle, and then twisting the cap open to let three drops into my mouth before capping it once more and putting it away.</p><p>Almost instantly, I feel it take its effect, my vision going blurry and grey as my muscles relax all on their own. My heart slows slightly as my eyes flutter shut, and soon I descend into sleep.</p><p>—</p><p>"Celeste!"</p><p>My eyes fly open as I inhale a loud gasp of air. My hands dart up to squeeze the wrists of their that tightly grip my shoulders, and I blink blankly at the face above mine, trying to understand what's going on.</p><p>"Honestly, witch, how am I supposed to sleep when you can't shut your bloody mouth?" that cold, cruel voice slips out of soft, pretty pink lips, like a bath of ice water that makes me gasp softly yet again.</p><p>"What?" I hear my voice ask, riddled with confusion that makes it waver and come out as a whisper.</p><p>A sound of irritation reaches my ears as my vision clears and head stops pounding just enough for me to think at least slightly lucidly. Draco Malfoy is above me, hands gripping my shoulders like he was shaking them and one of his knees propped up onto my bed. He looks tired, purple bags under silver eyes, fine hair tousled and falling over his forehead, and lips pursed down at me. He's scowling, glancing over my face.</p><p>"Idiot," he then seethes, letting go of my shoulders with a sharp shove, but my hands are still clasped around her wrists, squeezing tightly. "Let me <em>go.</em>"</p><p>"Huh?" I exhale with just as much confusion, my hands loosening from around his wrists as I bring them up to curl at the sides of my neck. My eyes dart around rapidly while I wonder why my heart is pounding so fast, why I have this strong urge to hurl.</p><p>"What, are you stupid?" he scoffs, sitting at the edge of my bed with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands roughly rub his face. "You were screaming my bloody ears off. Aren't you supposed to be on some draught? What, did you forget to take it?"</p><p>"No, I—" I close my mouth with a thick swallow, slowly propping myself up on my elbows and noticing how my body shakes slightly. "I took—I took it before I—" I interrupt myself with another dry swallow, my throat feeling absolutely parched. "I don't—I don't—"</p><p>"Fuck," Draco laughs dryly, now rubbing his temples with eyes closed, "you can't even fucking <em>speak</em> properly. Do me a favor, Zabini, taking a nice long sip of that draught and go back to sleep. If I'm gonna hear you scream, I'd rather you be under me. Night."</p><p>"But—I don't—" I choke on the air in my throat, falling onto my back when I reach a hand up to grasp my neck. My eyes go wide with realization as I struggle to breathe properly. I had a <em>nightmare</em>, even when I took the Draught.</p><p>I look over, finally getting a gasp of air in, to see Draco at my door looking at me with furrowed eyebrows and a small grimace. He scans me up and down.</p><p>"You had a nightmare," he says, and then he groans, rolls his eyes, and runs a hand through his hair aggressively while adding, "<em>Fuck</em>, you're gonna wake me up with your stupid screams when you go back to sleep, aren't you? Come on, sit up."</p><p>"What?" my voice cracks as I watch with furrowed brows as he strides back over and rips my covers off my body, looking at me impatiently.</p><p>"<em>'What? Huh? What?'</em>" he spits out sourly. "I said, sit the fuck up. Merlin..."</p><p>"Why?" I gasp out, heart racing as I slowly sit up anyway, my body feeling cold without all my blankets.</p><p>"Because you're gonna wake me up again if you don't deal with this right now. Move your leg," he says, sitting down on my bed in front of me when I do just that. "What was the nightmare about?"</p><p>My face twists in confusion. I open my mouth to respond, but he quickly interjects.</p><p>"I <em>swear</em> to fucking Salazar, if you ask me 'what?' one more time, I'll hex you to oblivion. <em>What was the nightmare about</em>, Celeste?" Draco snarls darkly.</p><p>"It was—I was—" I shake my head, sitting up a little straighter and moving a hand to the hollow between my collarbones to feel my pulse thump rapidly against my fingertips. I close my eyes, frowning deeply and forcing myself to breathe through my nose as I try to remember. "I don't—Why do you care?"</p><p>"Please," he sneers, a hand darting out to grip mine and throw it off my chest. "I could hardly care what monsters plague your <em>fragile little mind</em>. I just don't need you ruining my sleep, so I think I'll make sure of it before leaving."</p><p>I freeze, and then I scowl harshly. "<em>Excuse me?</em>" I spit at him, sitting up a little straighter and bending my knees to place a barrier between him and me. "My 'fragile little mind?' Oh, <em>please</em>."</p><p>"Am I wrong? You're clearly too pathetic to keep your Occlumency working for more than two bloody days. Now tell me what your fucking nightmare was about, or I'll pour the rest of your Sleeping Draught into your coffee tomorrow morning and rejoice when you never wake up."</p><p>"Shut up!" I snap, kicking at his leg with the heel of my foot. Well, I <em>try</em> to, but he grabs my ankle and forces my leg back towards my body with a ferocious glare in his eyes.</p><p>"What was it ab—?"</p><p>"I can't remember!"</p><p>"Of course you can't," he mutters bitterly, a dry smirk on his lips as he glances aside. "Not only is your brain incapable of Occlumency, it lacks the capacity to perform basic functions."</p><p>"Please! My Occlumency is perfectly fine!" I huff, getting out of bed and stumbling slightly as I forcefully shove my feet into my slippers and grab my silk robe, slipping it on and wrapping it tightly around my torso while storming towards my balcony.</p><p>"I beg to differ," he scoffs, and I see his reflection in the glass doors as he gets up, brushes off his pants, walks at a casual pace after me.</p><p>"<em>Beg</em>, then," I spit, swinging the doors open with perhaps a touch too much vigor. "It's one of the few things you're decent at..."</p><p>"At least I can Occlude."</p><p>"<em>I can Occlude!</em>"</p><p>"Prove it, then," his voice is icy as I lean against my balcony, crossing my arms over the railing and shifting forward to peer down at the grounds.</p><p>"How the fuck am I supposed to <em>prove</em> it? Unless you've suddenly learned Legilimency," I scoff, rolling my eyes even though he can't see them. I can feel his cold, contemptuous gaze raking up and down my back, so I turn my head over my shoulder to see him at the balcony doors. I'm suddenly so aware of his lack of shirt.</p><p>"Don't you know?" his voice is challenging and quiet, piercing eyes holding mine captive until I wrench my gaze away and look back out at the starry night sky. He steps onto the balcony, a chill wandering down my spine in spite of the warm air. "Fear and anger are two of the best ways to provoke someone, even an Occlumens... We already know what fear does to you."</p><p>"I'm not <em>scared</em>," I snap, knowing how large of a lie that is even though I can't even remember what my nightmare was about. It's easy to guess, though, since it's almost always the same.</p><p>"Oh, no, of course you're not. That's why you're trembling, right? Coward."</p><p>"<em>Don't—!</em>"</p><p>"Never mind that," his voice is a stretched, sarcastic drawl as I hear and sense him step closer. "It's anger I'm more interested in. Tell me, Celeste—how angry can I get you before your walls break?"</p><p>I exhale harshly, running a hand over my curls haggardly. "You overestimate yourself, Malfoy," I spit cruelly, the side of my lip turning up bitterly as I add, "Your father made the same fatal mistake."</p><p>"Oh, yes," his voice is strained, covered up in a careless, light facade, "and now he's in Azkaban. Let's hope you don't make the same fatal mistake <em>your</em> father made, or else..." He inhales softly, exhaling the air in a low chuckle. "Or else you'll mother will have to see if there's room for your name on the family headstone."</p><p>I clench my jaw, sensing him only a foot or two away from me. "Is that so? Tell me, Malfoy, what fatal mistake did my father make?" I ask testily.</p><p>He takes the last little steps between us, and then his hand is sweeping my hair away from one of my shoulders, fingertips grazing against my neck. I resist the urge to shiver, but my eyes fall shut as he leans forward to grab the railing right next to my arms, his head now turned towards the side of my face and bare chest practically pressed to my back. His lips brush against my ear, and then, with a cold laugh in his voice, he whispers—</p><p>"He was a <em>fool</em>."</p><p>I whip around in a flash, rearing my hand back to slap it against his alabaster face and hear that satisfying smacking noise, but when my palm is inches from his cheek, his ringed fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it tightly.</p><p>I gasp softly at just how tightly they squeeze, my other arm twisting awkwardly behind my back to grip the railing for support. I swallow thickly, staring intently at where his hand clutches my wrist, and then I look up at his face to see him already looking at me.</p><p>His expression is frigid, liquid silver eyes boring into mine as if he can read my head despite my Occlumency, angelic pink lips pressed in a firm line, and nose straight and hard. Shadows cast over the hollows of his cheeks, and his messy hair looks more pale than usual in the moonlight.</p><p>Draco then smirks slowly and sadistically, his hand squeezing my wrist tighter that I can feel my fingers start to go numb. I press my lips together to avoid reacting to it, but my arm moves on its own to wrench my wrist out his grip.</p><p>"See?" he laughs, starting to twist my arm in his grasp, holding it tighter the more I try to pull away. "It's so easy to provoke you. It's pathetic, truly. I suppose it's a good thing your father isn't alive to see you right now—I'm sure he would be disappointed."</p><p>Blood raging through my veins, I open my mouth to retort, but I quickly stop myself.</p><p><em>You're proving his point, idiot. He's trying to make you angry. Don't give him the pleasure of seeing your reaction</em>.</p><p>I close my eyes, exhaling harshly. His hand doesn't loosen or tighten in my wrist, though it still is very tight. I can move my fingers, but I can't feel them much. I concentrate on that numb, slightly prickly feeling, concentrate on the slight ache in the muscles in my back, concentrate on sweeping the anger and fear both that managed to sneak out back behind my walls. I bolster them, dust them off, and I open my eyes with a soft smirk.</p><p><em>Don't give him the pleasure of seeing your reaction</em>, I remind myself once more as I scan his face and see one of his eyebrows quirked at me curiously.</p><p><em>Pleasure</em>.</p><p>"You're forgetting something," I say in a low, silky drawl, my chin tilting up so I can look at him a little better.</p><p>He's more than a head taller than me, intimidating with his height combined with his musky scent and bare chest, but I see his eyes falter and flicker in recognition at hearing the intones of my voice.</p><p>"Am I?" he asks coolly, loosening his grip on my wrist.</p><p>I could easily pull it away, but instead I choose to keep it there. I lazily glance over his rings, and then I press my palm flat against his bare chest, biting back a triumphant smirk when I feel goosebumps rising instantly on his pale skin.</p><p>"Oh, yes," I nod mockingly, dragging my eyes back up to his, my other hand moving up to drag lightly against his torso. His abs instantly tighten, looking particularly defined in the white light.</p><p>"Really?" his voice echoes softly, his other hand encircling my other wrist as well, both of his hands holding my wrists captive with loose grips. His pink lips twitch as he turns lithely so that he's leaning against the balcony, making me step to stand in front of him. "Please, enlighten me."</p><p>I hum softly, though it quickly turns into a dry laugh as I watch him let go of my wrists and prop his elbows up on the railing, staring down at me with a lazy smirk and heavy eyes. I smirk right back, my hands dragging up and down his torso. His skin gives off intense body heat that I soak up greedily with my palms, enjoying the way his muscles flex when I tickle him with my fingertips, the way he inhales deeply at the sensation of my nails dragging across his chest.</p><p>My hands drag lower until one is teasing at the waistband of his sweats, slipping under and trailing over the skin on his hips and pelvis. My other hand drags all the way back up his torso, giving one of his nipples a slight scratch, and behind his neck to tangle with his white hair. He curses softly when I grip it tight and force his head back, my hand gentle cupping him from over his briefs while I lean up and ghost my lips over his ear.</p><p>"Fear and anger may be two of the best ways to provoke even an Occlumens..." I whisper breathily, seeing the muscles in his shoulders flex as his biceps tighten and hands roll into fists, "but..."</p><p>My arm aches slightly at the angle it's twisted so I can gently palm his growing erection. I feel his hips shift as he makes a small noise at the back of his throat like he's trying to resist something, making me smile slowly. I graze my teeth against his skin, letting go of his hair to trail my hand back down to his chest where I draw teasing circles.</p><p>"But?" I hear him grunt quietly, impatience lingering in his voice.</p><p>"But desire is <em>the</em> best way."</p><p>I attach my lips to his jaw before he can even respond. Draco exhales softly, his arms shifting where they rest on the railing. I slip my hand out of his sweat pants to grip his hair again, other hand holding onto his arm as leverage to keep me on my toes.</p><p>His skin tastes a little salty as I suck on a spot right below his jaw, feeling his pulse thrum again my tongue. I furrow my brows at the taste, wondering why it's so familiar, when I realize it's similar to the salt of stray tears that drip over my lips after a nightmare or an unanticipated attack.</p><p>He tilts his head back, but makes no otherwise noise or movement to indicate any kind of response. It only spurs me on. My hand slips behind his back, and my nails drag over the muscles there. His shoulders flex at this, and his already dropped head tilts to the side as well.</p><p>I suck down his neck, slowly lowering myself back onto my heels. That familiar scent bombards my nostrils, bitter green apples and faded cologne feeling like a distant dream even when they linger still on his pale skin.</p><p>My hand brushes against the front of his sweats, and I can't help but grin.</p><p>"Aw, poor little babyboy," I pout mockingly, my hand palming are his erection as I pull away from<br/>his collarbones—light red bruises covering them rather nicely—to look at his face.</p><p>He instantly picks his head up and flashes his eyes open to glare at me, but the glare fizzles away as I rub my palm on him a little harder, making his lips part to inhale greedily and head fall forward. His chest rises and falls dramatically while I continue pulling at his hair and palming at his cock, all while smirking to myself and tilting my head to catch his facial expressions.</p><p>"You can't resist me, can you?" I whisper pitifully, giving him a sympathetic expression. "It's not like I can blame you, though, Pretty Boy."</p><p>He moves quicker than my eyes, vision just a tiny bit blurry, can see.</p><p>I gasp when I suddenly find myself pinned against the balcony trailing, my ribs aching from where they've been rammed against the glass. I clutch the metal railing for dear life, gazing out at the grounds and dark night sky with wide eyes while so incredibly aware of the blisteringly hot body pressed against my back, and especially the something hard right near my tailbone.</p><p>A hand is pushing my hair out of the way again, and then lips press a searing kiss behind my ear. My hands tighten on the railing as I hear him chuckle softly in my neck.</p><p>"Desire, Celeste?" he murmurs in a tired, raspy voice.</p><p>One of his hands grips the railing so close to mine that I can feel the flexing muscles of his forearm and bicep against mine. His other arm wraps around my body so his hand may press to my stomach, slyly shifting the silk robe caught between by body and the railing to the sides to reveal my silken pajamas.</p><p>"You want to use <em>desire</em> against me?"</p><p>His hand carefully pulls my silk shirt up until it's no longer stuck, playing with the edge of it so his knuckles teasingly brush against my stomach. I swallow thickly, knowing he can hear how dry my throat is. All thoughts of nightmares evacuate my mind at alarming speed, filled instead with prospects of where this night may lead the two of us.</p><p>"You should know not to start a game you can't win..." he whispers in my ear, hand slipping under my shirt to press directly on my skin, just a few inches below my breasts that ache with need. "It's true, <em>I</em> begged," he then says, voicing my own thoughts, "but you'll find I've... grown more resistant since then. Perhaps it's my Occlumency, that is so clearly more resilient then yours."</p><p>I scowl, twisting slightly to turn around, but he just presses his hips tighter against mine and chuckles softly.</p><p>"Now, now, Celeste, don't get <em>angry</em>. You'll only prove my point, <em>chérie</em>. You want to prove to me that your Occlumency is sufficient, hm, darling?"</p><p>I shift my hips slightly, feeling him press his chest against my back and make me lean forward slightly. I catch sight of the ground all the way down, closing my eyes and opening my lips to inhale deeper gulps of air.</p><p>"Answer me," his voice is suddenly curt as the hand on my stomach grabs my side tightly, making me jolt. "Words, <em>chérie</em>. Pretty lips like yours can be good for more than pleasure, sometimes."</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, my chest flush with heat, but then I frown, finding my mind blanking as his hand slowly slips up my torso.</p><p>
  <em>What was the question?</em>
</p><p>As if he can read my mind, he whispers, "You want to prove you can Occlude properly, don't you?"</p><p>"Yes," I seethe quietly, wondering if I might be left with a burn mark in the shape of his palm. I find myself wishing the layers separating us would disappear, wishing I could feel his bare chest on my bare back.</p><p>His hand goes higher until his thumb is brushing against the bottom of my breasts. He curls his fingers slightly, scraping his shirt nails over the goosebumps on my black skin, and I let my back arch just slightly.</p><p>"If you're Occluding properly," he says, his voice drifting slightly in the warm wind that catches it, "you should be able to control and hold back <em>all</em> emotions. Fear, anger, both of which you clearly can't ha—hit my arm like that <em>again</em>, Celeste, I dare you," he snarls, hand darting up to grab and squeeze one of my breasts so tightly, I gasp and move a hand to hold his wrist. "See? You should be able to control all your emotions, like fear, anger, and even desire."</p><p>I bite my lip as he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, my robe slipping down my shoulders slightly. He buries his face in my neck where his hot breath makes me shiver slightly. His hips shift slightly to relieve the tension pressed against me, but he doesn't thrust or grind on me.</p><p>"I've made you cry before, haven't I?" he teases condescendingly, giving my nipple a sharp pinch that makes my mouth drop open and knees shake slightly. "I've made you beg too. I've made you forsake all your dignity, your entire self worth for something as pathetic as twenty seconds of bliss."</p><p>His teeth nibble on a patch of my skin while my face heats up in shame, and I struggle to unpin my hips from his, but it only makes him laugh.</p><p>"Perhaps the crying can't always be control, especially if it's due to... <em>pain</em>," he shivers deliciously "Now, if your Occlumency is as good as you say, <em>surely </em>there isn't <em>anything </em>I could do to your body that would make you <em>beg</em> again, is there?" his voice is husky while his hand massages my breast, eliciting a soft, gasping noise from me. "What do you think, Celeste? Are you strong enough to resist me like that?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," I exhale as firmly as I can, squeezing my thighs together as his lips find my exposed shoulder.</p><p>"Do you remember your safe words?" Draco asks slyly, his fingers now teasing my nipple very lightly, making me squirm against his chest.</p><p>"Very well," I choke out.</p><p>His hand drops from my shirt and shifts under where the railing is pressed to my skin to find the waistband of my silk shorts, his fingers teasing it. "Have you missed having me touch you?"</p><p>I clench my jaw.</p><p>Draco laughs darkly. "You don't have to answer me. I already know the truth. You're a <em>very</em> naughty girl, Celeste, aren't you? But you like being a good girl for me too. I wonder whether you'll be good or not tonight..."</p><p>My chest tightens in mild panic as my hands grip the railing tighter. My mind spins as I wonder if he wants full control like he did that day in the library, because, an Occlumens or not, I still don't think I can handle just giving it up.</p><p>"I'm not just going to give you full control," I blurt out, sighing in relief when the words come out as a coherent, unwavering sentence.</p><p>"No, I expected as such," he says simply, hand slipping into my shorts and making me gasp as he pushes my thighs apart to cup me from over my panties, fingers finding the damp patch on the cotton where my arousal leaks. "I don't expect you to give yourself up completely. Anyway, if you're the great Occlumens you say you are, then you shouldn't be worried about losing control, right?"</p><p>I swallow nervously, my robe slipping further. "Right," I mumble.</p><p>"Give however much you want to me," he says smoothly, stepping away from me. I can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, "I'm sure I'll be able to take away whatever you won't hand over, anyway. Now, remove your robe."</p><p>My hands tremble slightly, so I move them in front of my body so he can't see them.</p><p>"Say 'please,'" I say lowly, my head turning a bit over my shoulder.</p><p>Draco laughs darkly. "<em>Please</em>, darling. Take your robe off so I that I may unravel you. I expect it won't be very hard, but the less clothes you're wearing, the quicker this affair may end, and we may both return to sleep."</p><p>I slip my robe off my body, shivering despite the warm air.</p><p>"You have a mouth on you, don't you?" his voice is dangerously low in my ear, making me gasp at the sudden proximity.</p><p>Draco's strong hands grab my hips and force me back slightly, and then he's wrapping an arm around me to press against the railing and give him space for his other hand to slip between my legs and the glass. I can feel his muscular chest radiating heat through the thin material of my silk tank, but still I wish to remove that barrier.</p><p>"You think highly of yourself, Zabini, which is quite amusing when I know how quickly I could have you on your knees for me," he sneers, both arms around me now, holding me tight against his chest.</p><p>He leaves my arms free, so one hand grips the railing while the other grips his arm. One of his hands slides back up my tank, tightly gripping my breasts and pinching my nipples. My knees go weak at the feeling, but he holds me up perfectly well. His other hand is already slipping back into my shorts, teasing tracing his fingertips over my cotton panties.</p><p>"I lied earlier when I said lips like yours can be good for more than pleasure. A bratty mouth like yours is made for nothing other than to be fucked by my dick, but you'd like that, wouldn't you? I could probably make you beg for it within ten minutes, prove to you that you're wrong and get a decent blow job all at once."</p><p>"<em>Decent?</em>" I scoff incredulously, my arm twisting back and hand groping blindly in the air before, by some sheer stroke of luck, latching onto his white-blond locks and forcing his head forward near the crook of his neck, making him grunt. "Oh, we both know that I'm <em>more</em> than just dec—" I interrupt myself with a groan as his fingertips dip lower to press on my clit through my panties, but I don't let him stop me. "We both—We both know I'm better than just <em>decent</em>. I'd have to be more than just that for you to tell me that you'd do <em>anything </em>for me, or was I just imagining that?"</p><p>Draco scoffs coldly, harshly twisting my nipple and dragging his hand up against my clit again. I hiss softly and tug on his hair, already grinding down against his hand.</p><p>"I wouldn't put it past a pathetic little girl like you to fantasize about something like that. I'm sure you spend all your spare moments daydreaming about me. Tell me, Celeste—Do you like imagining my mouth between your legs? Or maybe my fingers there while my mouth pleasures your breasts? Or do you prefer imagining me standing over you with my cock in your mouth? Maybe if I'm feeling <em>nice </em>tonight, we'll make your favorite daydream come true."</p><p><em>You standing over me with your cock in my mouth</em>.</p><p>I don't say it out loud, of course, but I moan softly and let my head fall back as his fingers rub me over my panties. I bite my tongue, already feeling the urge to plead and beg for a quicker release.</p><p>"Already so wet for me," he says, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "So easy to please..."</p><p>I grit my teeth, yanking harshly on his hair and moving my other hand off the railing to dig my nails deep into the arm across my torso and drag them down, possibly drawing blood. Draco grunts loudly, and then his hand clasping a breast darts up to instead wrap around my neck, squeezing tightly and forcing my head back against his shoulder.</p><p>I choke loudly, my hands now flying to his wrist. I feel his forearm flex and dance as the muscles tense, holding my neck tight and making the pressure behind my eyes intensify. His hand is rough between my legs, pressing on my sensitive clit harshly and rubbing hard circles.</p><p>"Fucking brat," Draco snaps, his dark, guttural voice making my stomach twist. "You're just a stupid little girl, that's all. Just a little fuck-hole. If I tied you up and gagged you, you'd be <em>perfect</em>. How do you like that, hm, Celeste? If I did that to you? Rendered you incapable of fighting back, talking out of turn, scratching at me like that. You'd be good for nothing but a fuck. Bloody <em>whore</em>. You'd fucking enjoy it."</p><p>I whimper quietly, gut twisting and breasts feeling so heavy. I swallow thickly, knowing he can feel it against his palm, and tug fruitlessly at his wrist while struggling for a proper gasp of breath.</p><p>"Oh, Merlin, I can imagine it now," he groans, erection throbbing against my ass while his hand slows down slightly and fingers swirl over my clit and core, still right over the cotton. "Your own panties gagging your mouth shut, maybe my tie wrapped around it for good measure. Use that spell you like so much, <em>Incarcerous</em>, suspend your hands to the ceiling and force your legs wide apart so you can't squeeze them shut. Don't worry, <em>chérie</em>, I won't keep the gag on <em>forever</em>. Can't fuck every hole in your body if my favorite one is covered."</p><p>"<em>Draco</em>," I half-gasp and half-moan, feeling his hand finally slip into my panties while I tremble in shock. My nipples go hard just thinking about his words, imagining him tying me up so all my limbs are spread wide, and I moan again, eyes too heavy and falling shut.</p><p>"Another reason I won't keep the gag on the entire time..." he whispers, fingers skillfully rubbing my clit while his one arm pretty much holds my entire weak, useless body up. "It's rather satisfying hearing my name come out of <em>your</em> mouth like that."</p><p>I snap my mouth shut at this, biting my lip to muffle my moans at having him finger me like that. I let go of his arm, snaking my hands up and behind my head to find his silky hair and pull at it to relieve my frustration. He groans in my ear, a deep, low, and rich sound, like melted chocolate pouring over my body in the most sensual way possible. I pull on his hair again in hopes to hear it once more, but he just exhales softly and nips at my ear.</p><p>His fingers rub against me, my thighs quivering slightly from the strain of having to keep myself upright while under this bliss. He slips a finger inside me, curling it before pulling out to continue rubbing against my clit.</p><p>"You wanna come, Celeste?" Draco teases, his head turned to the side of my face while his hand squeezes my neck tighter. His hand speeds up in my shorts, making my knees wobble and forcing me to let go of his hair in order to steady myself on the railing. "Want me to let you come?"</p><p>I don't respond, my head falling back onto his shoulder.</p><p>His hand lets go of my neck to grab a fistful of my hair, tugging on it so hard that it makes me cry out. He shakes my head slightly pulling in my curls, hand in my panties continuing it's torment on my clit.</p><p>"<em>Answer me</em>," he snaps, teeth grazing against my neck.</p><p>"Yes," I gasp out, my body shivering in his hold.</p><p>"Beg for it, then," he says, forcing my head to turn by the hand in my hair, his lips attaching to my jaw and sucking harshly while his warm tongue brushes against my skin. "Beg for me to let you come."</p><p>I pant softly, eyes fluttering shut as I reach a hand up to his hair again, clasping it tightly while also holding onto the railing for dear life. He growls in my neck when I pulling on his hair behind my head, making me whimper softly and my legs shake more than they do already.</p><p>
  <em>Please, please, please...</em>
</p><p>"I won't beg," I moan, throwing my head back as he sucks on my neck, employing lips, tongue, and teeth alike.</p><p>"Then you won't come," he sneers, fingers so rough on my clit that my body jolts with each and every flick of his fingers.</p><p>I moan loudly, but it's choppy and punctuated with each shirt convulsion off my body as his fingers send sharp spikes of pleasure up and down my spine. His lips press open-mouth kisses to my neck, gif breath wafting over my skin while his tongue licks small stripes on it. The muscles in his torso twitch and flex against my back, so overwhelmingly hot as the warm breeze wraps around us.</p><p>"Fuck," I whimper, his hand jerking my head to the side even further before he wraps his arm around my waist to keep my body up. I completely give out, going limp except for the hand that continues tugging at his white hair while he sucks on my neck.</p><p>"Beg, darling, come on," he whispers, blowing air over a hickey as his finger rub over my clit. "I know you want it... I know you want to come all over my hand like the filthy little girl you are. Beg, <em>chérie</em>..."</p><p>"<em>No</em>," I gasp, my back arching and eyes flying open wide. "I—I won't—<em>fuck!</em>"</p><p>His arm tightens around my waist as my orgasm approaches like a wave made out of a pile of bricks, crashing down on my body and completely wrecking it. I writhe in his grasp, legs shaking and hands scratching at whatever skin I can find on him, and right as the pain starts to give way for the relief of the climax, he pulls his hand out of my shorts, unwraps his arm, and steps away to let me drop to the ground like a deadweight.</p><p>I'm crumpled on the floor. I breathe heavily, wide eyes darting this way and that, looking through the glass separating the edge of the balcony from the empty air beyond it, my head ducked slightly and my curls falling in my face. My legs are tucked under me, palms flat on the ground while I breathe heavily and try to catch my breath. There's a swirling, demanding ache between my legs where my edged orgasm dwindles away, replaced by pure need. I can see the faint reflection of his legs where he stands a few feet behind me, and then I hear his low laugh.</p><p>"You're too stubborn for your own good, Celeste," he sighs, and I see in the glass how he crouches down beside me. His hand gently rests on my shoulder, making me jolt. "I could've made you feel so good..."</p><p>His hand plays with the thin strap of my tank top, dragging it down to hang loosely on my arm. He then grunts softly as he stands up once more, hand ruffling my hair slightly before pushing my head down to make me nearly fall forward. Draco chuckles at this, my face burning hot as he walks around me to lean against the balcony railing.</p><p>I slowly lift my head up to look at him, my body shaking and feeling my overheated. His forearms rest on the railing, muscles in his back dancing as he turns his head to the side to gaze at the thick, dark green forest that stretches past the horizon where it meets a dark grey, cloudy sky. His sweats hang low on his hips, letting me see the band of his briefs.</p><p>I glare at his back, wondering how I might take that smug expression I'm <em>sure </em>he's wearing right off his lips.</p><p>"So, so stubborn," he murmurs, shaking his head.</p><p>Draco runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further, and then he turns around to face me. Leaning back against the railing, he props his elbows up on it and peers down at me from over his nose, looking completely triumphant and superior smirking down at me as I pant for breath at his feet.</p><p>"You're pathetic, Celeste," he then hisses coldly, his lips curling into a sneer while scathing eyes scan me up and down. "You can't even keep your mind closed for half a minute... You wanted to beg, didn't you? Only reason you didn't wasn't because of your Occlumency... it's because you're too bloody stubborn. Get on your knees."</p><p>I freeze. "What?"</p><p>"What, are you stupid or something? On your knees, witch, <em>now</em>."</p><p>I swallow thickly, glaring up at him. He doesn't glare back at me; his eyes are lazy, almost bored, and he lifts a hand up to massage his temple with two fingers. His other hand fiddles with the waistband of his sweats while he watches me expectantly.</p><p>"Do you really expect me to follow <em>orders</em>, Dray?" I then say in a quiet, challenging voice, my eyebrows rising as I slowly get to my feet, ignoring the way my thighs tremble.</p><p>He quirks his own brow at me as he watches me play with them hem of my tank before pulling it right off over my head, exposing my breasts to the warm air. His pupils dilate as his silver eyes narrow in on them, his tongue parting his lips almost hungrily.</p><p>"I think, if you won't let me orgasm, I'll go right back in my room and do it myself." I laugh softly, pulling my shorts down but leaving my panties on as I turn to walk towards the doors. "You can watch, if you like, or you can go back to your own room. Either way, I don't c—"</p><p>I interrupt myself with a soft yelp when I feel him grab me by my hair and forcefully tug me backwards until my back is pressed to his chest again. My hand goes to wrench his out of my hair, but then he forces it away and wraps his free arm around me, effector trapping both my arms to my sides. I thrash still, turning and jerking in his grasp while he holds me tighter, his chest inflating against my back with his heavy breaths.</p><p>"Struggle all you want, Celeste," he laughs breathily and darkly in my ear, teeth nipping at my earlobe while his hand lets go of my hair to wrap around my front and find my breasts. "Try to fight me. You should know by now that I like it, and you should know by now there's only one thing you can say or do to stop me."</p><p>I whimper when he pinches one of my nipples, my head falling back as I attempt to stomp on his feet. He just lifts me a few inches in the air, my feet kicking helplessly at nothing. Draco laughs again, and I feel him move to lean back against the railing again. My legs go limp, so he sets me down, but his strong arms refuse to let me go as he continues massaging my breasts and teasing my nipples.</p><p>"You should've let me make you come," he reprimands mockingly, shifting me so that my legs are on either side of his before lifting his knee so that his thigh brushes between my legs, making me moan in surprise.</p><p>"I doubt—I doubt you'd even be able to," I pant, my arms struggling to come loose as he gives a nipple a harsh pull. "You couldn't make me c-come if you tried. Not with your mouth, not with—with your fingers, not with your sh—your <em>short</em>, pathetic excuse of a di—"</p><p>He's turning me around and, with a tight grip on my hair, forcing me to my knees in a split second.</p><p>I cry out in pain when my knees fall to the ground in front of him, bruises no doubt forming already. His hand on my hair forced my head up to look at him, but I jerk away and fall back on my palms to scramble away from him.</p><p>He isn't having it, though, pulling me by my curls to kneel in front of him once more. His other hand grabs my jaw while he leans closer, forcing my mouth to open from how harshly he squeezes my cheeks. His hands shake my head violently, making me nearly fall over again as I grab each of his forearms with my hands, clawing at them. My vision goes slightly blurry as I glare at his pale face, but he just smirks at me cruelly.</p><p>"You are <em>nothing</em>," he whispers in my face, hand in my hair twisting to better grip my curls. "You're just a little object... a fuck-toy, something to pass time. Understand?"</p><p>His hand on my jaw forces me to nod while he laughs at me condescendingly, making me make a noise of protest and dig my nails into my skin.</p><p>"Objects can't speak, can they?" Draco's hand forces me to shake my head this time, and I make another frustrated noise while curling a hand into a fist and pounding it against his arm, but he can't seem to feel anything.</p><p>He then straightens up, letting go of my jaw to grab my hand that pounds against him, squeezing it to force my fingers to relax, and then placing it on his hips. Draco leans back leisurely, the round moon just over his shoulder and casting light over his head that leaves ominous shadows all over his sinister face. He smirks in a bloodthirsty way, darkened eyes ravaging my breasts before flicking up to admire my parted, panting lips. There's a large bulge in his sweatpants right in front of my face, and I gulp nervously when my eyes catch on it.</p><p>"Go on, darling," he chuckles, both his hands pulling my hair out of my face and twisting it carefully. He then rifles through his pocket before pulling his wand out, and then he slots it into my hair to keep it back in some sort of makeshift bun. "A slut like you should know exactly what to do."</p><p>I glare up at him. He props one of his elbows back up on the railing while his other hand cups the side of my face. He does so gently, but his fingers are tense, as if to remind me that he could grab my jaw, hair, or neck at any given moment if I act out.</p><p><em>I want to kill him</em>.</p><p>But maybe it'll better if I give him a taste of his medicine.</p><p>I shift to sit up a little straighter, hands trembling as they both slip their fingers into his waistband. I can feel his cold gaze boring holes into me, but I keep my eyes on his prominent erection, wondering how long it has been since I've had it in my mouth.</p><p>With a shock, I realize that the <em>last</em> time I had him in my mouth was also the <em>first</em> time.</p><p>He shifts his hips almost uncomfortably as I slowly drag his sweatpants down to the top of his thighs, exposing his briefs to the air and to my gaze. I clamp my lips together and swallow thickly while staring at the dark fabric, noting the way he bulges so obviously in it. His hand at the side of my face shifts to hold my chin, tilting my face up to look at me better. I glance up at him briefly, but he's looking at me so intensely with so much hunger in his eyes that I can't help but to look back down nervously.</p><p>When I gently brush my hand over his erection, he sighs softly.</p><p>Draco's thumb presses to my lower lip, dragging it down and to the side while I shift a little closer. One of my hands holds his hip to steady myself while my other hand now grips the waistband of his briefs. I don't pull it down, though, deciding to tease him a little.</p><p>Draco's hips shift forward again when I press a kiss to his stomach. His abdomen tenses, muscles flexing right under my lips. His strong hand goes to the back of my neck, cold rings piercing my skin while he holds it tightly—not enough to force me closer or away, but to just keep a grip on me. I drag my tongue just lightly over the band of his briefs, making him exhale sharply through his nose with impatience.</p><p>Slowly, my lips drag down to place butterfly kisses on either side of his still growing bulge. His other hand, limp from where his arm is propped on the railing, curls into a tight fist, but he makes no move to hurry me along. So I continue kissing next to his erection, enjoying the way his body heat is so concentrated under my lips.</p><p>When I press my lips at the top of his bulge, he groans. I glance up to see him close his eyes, clearly trying to keep his face devoid of any emotion or reaction. Smirking slightly, I part my lips to place more open-mouth kisses along his erection, feeling it twitch under my mouth. I stop just over where his tip should be, sucking lightly over the cotton material of the briefs. Draco moans this time, a slightly higher noise while his hips instinctually buck forward at the feeling of my tongue pressing flat against the cotton.</p><p>"Hurry," he croaks in a hoarse voice, hand at the back of my neck squeezing tightly.</p><p>I almost laugh at this, but I rather not end my fun so soon, so I swallow the noise back. Moving even closer, I now grip both his thighs to keep myself up, unable to stop myself from squirming slightly and clenching around nothing while I wish there was something between my legs to give me a little friction. He laughs lowly at this, making my blood boil slightly, so I slip both my hands behind his legs and up to grab his ass and squeeze tightly.</p><p>Draco hisses, his hand instantly forcing my head back. I open my eyes and look up at him innocently while he grabs my face and sneers down at me.</p><p>"<em>Idiot</em>," he seethes, pushing my head back towards his briefs.</p><p>I swallow back another laugh, spreading my kneeling legs to move lower in order to press my closed lips against the patch of his briefs wet with his pre-cum, right over his tip. I keep my eyes open wide and on his face as I do so, watching his mouth fall open with a shaky moan, and I keep looking at him carefully while the heels of my palms press again to his muscular backside. I can't help but smirk when his Adam's apple bobs with a thick swallow.</p><p>My eyes flutter shut again as I go back to paying attention to where his tip hides behind his briefs. My lips press kisses to where his pre cum leaks, and I lick my lips when I pull away to taste that slightly salty taste. His hips shift impatiently once more, so when I lean back in, I greet that same patch with my tongue.</p><p>"Fuck," he moans, hips slowly shifting forward, my hands holding him close to my face. His breaths are heavy, shaky, and hard as I tease my tongue over that patch, closing my mouth around it to suck gently. "Don't fucking tease me, Celeste. Hurry up."</p><p>I want to tease him more, but I've forgotten what it feels like to have him in my mouth, and I can feel my mouth watering just at the thought of it, so I just roll my eyes at him—after checking to make sure his are closed, of course—and pull his briefs down as slowly as possible.</p><p>His erection springs out of its confines and looms heavily against his stomach. A thick vein travels up its underside, and when I slowly wrap my hand around his cock and press my thumb against the vein, I hear Draco curse quietly, forcing me to stifle another smirk. Glancing up at him again. I see him now looking down at me, fine blond hairs flopping over his forehead while his hand rubs at his jaw. His eyes flicker between mine and my lips, brows furrowed and lips pressed in a firm line. I keep my eyes on his, staring at him almost challengingly as I tilt my head and lean in to press a kiss against that angry vein. His lips part like he wants to moan, but he glares at me and swallows it back.</p><p>Finding it too hard to hold back my smirk, I tilt my head back down at his erection where I can at least hide my amused expression. His hand cant decide what to do, rotating between the back of my neck, the side of my face, and my hair right under my bun while I slowly kiss up and down his long length. His lips let out soft moans and groans as I mouth at his base, one hand pulling his erection upwards, the other hand creeping up the inside of his thigh to brush lightly against his balls.</p><p>"Oh, <em>fucking</em>... Do that again," he groans, hand curling into my hair and pulling tightly.</p><p>My lips twitch before I lick a hot, slow stripe up from his base to his tip, hearing him shudder out a moan when my lips finally touch his tip directly. One hand holding him by his girth, twisting slightly to make him grab my hair even harder, my other gently squeezing his balls, I flatten my tongue over his wet tip, gathering a bead of pre cum over my tastebuds.</p><p>I moan softly at the taste, eyebrows knitting together tightly as I quickly take his tip into my mouth and lavish my tongue over it, massaging his balls between my fingers and pumping his length with a gentle hand. Draco groans, both of his hands now in my hair, clearly trying very hard not to push me down.</p><p>"Just like that," he gasps out, definitely ruining my curls from the way he fists at them so desperately.</p><p>I make a muffled noise in response, flicking my tongue over the sensitive flesh before using my hand around him to press his tip against the inside of my cheek, bobbing my head up and down like I'm nodding and moving him with my hand so he rubs against it. My hand continues traversing up and down what's not in my mouth, not so rough to hurt, but enough that I can feel him twitching in my grasp. My other hand moves to grip his thigh while his own two hands pull at my hair.</p><p>"I wish you could see how you look right now," he moans as I hollow my cheeks around his cock, taking in another inch or two of him but really focusing mainly on his tip. "<em>So</em> pretty with your lips around my cock. I like you better this way."</p><p>My hand curls into a fist, gathering the fabric of his sweatpants, and then I pump my hand up and down him harder, squeezing tightly so that he groans out and bucks his hips forward. My eyes squeeze shut tightly as I suck as much as I can, rubbing my tongue over his tip. When the telltale signs of his approaching orgasm come through, I'm on high alert, taking in his breathy groans, the curses that spill past his tongue like water, and how his arms go tense.</p><p>Right when I can tell he's about to burst right in my mouth, I pop my lips off of him and peer up with a cheeky smile.</p><p>He looks down at me in shock, and then Draco is moving faster than I can register.</p><p>His hand seizes my neck, making me choke as he forces me to stand on my knees slightly while he bends down to get close to my face. "Who the <em>fuck</em> do you think you are?" he seethes, squeezing my throat harshly while my eyes go wide, and my hands claw at his forearm. "You're <em>nobody</em>. You're <em>nothing</em>. Just another fucking slut at my fucking <em>feet</em>."</p><p>I cry out in pain as he, hand gripping my neck and the other hand holding me by hair, hauls me around, my head knocking slightly against the glass under the railing. My hand flies up to soothe the spot on the back of my neck, but he wrenches both my wrists in one hand and holds them together tightly. His other hand holds my neck tighter and pulls me up, forcing me to get back on my knees while I whimper softly and look up at him pleadingly.</p><p>"You like this, huh?" he practically spits in my face, and then he <em>actually</em> spits at me, lightly so but with a harsh expression of disgust on his face while I flinch away and struggle to get my hands free. "You like it when I treat you like this? How you deserve? Like the fucking brat you are? Beg for me to stop, Celeste," his voice is grave and dark.</p><p>"<em>No</em>," I cry out softly, my face twisting a little as the backs of my eyes start to sting a little. I turn to look away from him, but he gives my neck another tight squeeze before letting go and grabbing my jaw to force me to face him.</p><p>"I said to fucking <em>beg</em>. Beg for me to stop, plead for me to stop hurting you. <em>Do it</em>," he orders, squeezing my wrists so tight, I can't help the whimper that slips past my lips.</p><p>"I—I <em>won't!</em>"</p><p>"What was it?" he pants softly, letting go of my jaw to bring his hand to his still erect cock. A wince passes his face as he slowly pumps himself, rings glinting in the moonlight. "What was it, hm? That was stopping you from Occluding? Tell me what it was."</p><p>"No," I whispers, my heart beating loudly in my ears as my eyes flick up to his bloodthirsty eyes. I falter when I see how angry they are, and then I look back down to where his hand works himself.</p><p>"Tell me."</p><p>"I <em>won't</em>. You'll use it against me."</p><p>"How do you know that?" he laughs breathily, not an ounce of humor in his voice.</p><p>I hesitate softly, gulping when his hand stops moving, and then I say, "I'd do the same to you, and we're not all that different, really."</p><p>He's quiet, and then he laughs softly. I startle at the sound, swallowing nervously again while glancing back up to him, cautiously gauging his reaction. His face is dark despite his cool complexion and the moonlight cast over it. He laughs again, lips twisted bitterly and eyes on my chest.</p><p>My hand jolts in a panic, trying to cover it when I realize that, in the panic of waking up from a nightmare and that argument with Draco that turned into <em>this</em>, I completely forgot about the rune. I glance down as best as I can, my eyes first landing on my father's glinting golden ring that sits beside my locket, and then I look at the patch of skin where my rune should be. I just barely hold back a sigh of relief when I notice that the Glamour Charm there is holding just as well as the Glamour Charm hiding my Mark.</p><p>"I'm gonna fucking hurt you, Celeste, I swear to Salazar," Draco's voice is raspy, slow, and dark, prompting me to look back up at him. He's bending slightly to keep my hands pinned to the glass, hair falling over his face. "I'm gonna hurt you <em>really</em> fucking hard if you don't beg right now. Just admit it. Admit your Occlumency is <em>weak</em>. Beg, beg for me, beg for anything! Beg for me to stop, beg for me to fuck you, beg for me to let you come. <em>Beg</em>, that's what all worthless whores do."</p><p>"Hurt me, then," I pant, glaring at him stubbornly while my chest heaves in anticipation. "You know I like it."</p><p>"Say the safeword, if you won't beg," he whispers, all the venom in his voice dwindling away as the harsh scowl on his lips fades away into a soft wince. Draco lets my hands go, wiping his forehead with his forearm while breathing heavily, silver eyes darting between mine. "Say it."</p><p>"No," I choke out, glancing down to where he continues pumping himself up and down, hearing his breaths grow heavier.</p><p>His free hand slaps me harshly than ever before across my face. I cry out, my hand flying up to cup my cheek as I feel a tear drip down from my eye in shock from the unexpected force. His hand is then on my neck, squeezing so tightly all the air is pushed out of my lungs with a loud gasp. My vision blurs further as I grasp aimlessly for reprieve with my hands, falling from kneeling on my knees until my legs are curled up beside me.</p><p>"Say it, Celeste. Tell me to stop, <em>make</em> me stop," he murmurs huskily. I grip his wrist tightly while he squeezes on either side of my throat, making me whimper, looking at him pleadingly as my mind is too stubborn to let me vocalize my pleas.</p><p>"I w-won't," I croak with a slight rasp, closing my eyes tight when he, using the hand on my neck, forces me to kneel once more. "Do whatever you want, I won't stop you, I won't beg. Use me however you want."</p><p>"Oh, fuck," he groans, slightly bent in order to keep his hand on my neck, hand still going. I watch him close his eyes, lips parting while he inhales shakily. "Don't say shit like that..."</p><p>"Why not?" I choke slightly, my lips parting on their own while my throat closes. I let one of my hands release his wrist, and slowly I reach up, standing slightly on my knees, to his face to push a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. My hand drags down, and my knuckles brush gently against his jaw.</p><p>His eyes snap open, sharp and withering in their gaze. "I can't—I can't stop myself. Only y—I need <em>you</em> to stop me. Say 'red,' Celeste, please."</p><p>"I don't <em>want</em> to."</p><p>"I warned you. Open your mouth."</p><p>I part my lips, and then he's slipping his hard cock into my mouth. His hands are both in my hair, gripping tightly and pulling harshly, forcing me to lift my ass off my heels a little. I'm already choking when he's not even entirely in my mouth, my hands flying up to grip his sweatpants where they bunch up at his thighs, brows twisting together.</p><p>"<em>Ah</em>," I hear him moan, one of his hands leaving me to steady himself on the railing. His hand in my hair guides my head back and forth on his length, and I can tell he's itching to thrust into my mouth. "Fuck... all the things I'm gonna do to you tonight... It's been too long since I've had my way with your body."</p><p>I make a muffled noise, but he just fucks it away into nonexistence. His hand is suddenly rougher, nearly tearing my hair out of my scalp as it forces my head up and down rather than guiding it. I nearly fall forward, holding onto his thighs for dear life while his hand controls my head.</p><p>"You—<em>ahh</em>, fuck... Hit—Hit me three times <em>hard</em> to stop me," he struggles to choke out, then laughing hoarsely as his long, thick erection finally hits the back of my throat, making me choke violently. "But I already know you won't... stop me, that is. You like it when I—<em>Merlin—</em>when I use your mouth like this. Such a pretty, pretty mouth..."</p><p>My throat convulses, fluttering open and shut around his tip and making him moan lewdly. I try to whimper, but nothing comes out as he continues pushing my head back and forth. But even this doesn't seem to be enough for him, as he pushes me back until my back is pressed to the glass. I nearly fall off my knees, but his one hand cups the back of my neck while the other holds the side of my neck, keeping me in place. That's when he starts thrusting right into my mouth.</p><p>"<em>Ah... shit...</em> I warned you," he laughs breathily, thrusting quick and hard into my mouth, my jaw sore as I feel tears dribble down my cheeks from the pain of having his tip hit my throat so hard. I grip his thighs tightly, forcing my eyes to open so I can look at his face. "I told you I'd hurt you. Are you—Are you crying? Fuck, I love it when you cry."</p><p>He moans and throws his head back, twisting his hand in my hair and once more holding onto the railing while bucking his hips into my face.</p><p>"What were you saying before? What did you call my cock? Short? Pathetic? Remind me, Celeste, tell me what you said," Draco grunts condescendingly, my mouth starting to feel numb as my eyes blur over with a fresh set of tears. "C'mon, why so quiet? Shy, princess?"</p><p>I make a whining noise at the back of my throat, but it disappears into the air as he fucks violently into my mouth, making my head knock back over and over against the glass. I whimper softly, but it turns into a throaty groan as his hand finds my neck to squeeze while continuing his assault in my mouth.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," he practically hisses, slapping my face slightly. "Come on, pretty girl, tell me what you were saying. You can't, can you? Can't talk to me about my dick when you're fucking—when you're fucking choking on it." He makes a muffled moan, like he's biting down on his lip or something, all while thrusting into my mouth. I cry out softly, but all he does is wipe his thumb under my eye and just fuck me faster.</p><p>I open my throat as much as I can, but then I just find myself choking around him again, eyes watering even more while my head shakes. Making muffled whimpers, I close my eyes tight and knit my brows together, forcing myself to focus on just keep my jaw slack and throat open while breathing through my nose.</p><p>I move my hands to feel on his lower abdomen, enjoying the way the muscles there flex as his movements start growing rigid and sloppy, his moans weaker and punctuated with even more uncontrollable curses.</p><p>"Celeste," Draco gasps out, hips slowing down in their thrusts, allowing me to breathe properly, and then he's coming all over my tongue.</p><p>I swallow it back thickly as he pulls out of my mouth and tucks himself away with a shaky hand. He lets me go, and I slump back against the glass completely dazed but managing to tilt my head up and keep my eyes open enough to see his vague figure, blurred by my tears that just well up on my eyes.</p><p>I see him crouch down, his hand gripping my chin. For a moment, I think he's gonna kiss me for the first time tonight, because his lips brush against mine, but then he's whispering in my ear—</p><p>"I'm not done with you."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: if you were a supervillain, what would your power and origin story be?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0059"><h2>59. NO ONE IS COMING TO SAVE YOU</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>smut! but it's not happy!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>August 17-20th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>AUGUST 17th, 1996</b>
</p><p>"Hold on, Draco."</p><p>I pause, halfway out the door with my head turned to look down the hallway where I see Celeste's retreating figure turn the corner. Frowning, I drag my hand over the doorframe and glance over my shoulder to look at Bellatrix. Her back is towards me as she busies herself with something I can't see.</p><p>"Yes?" I ask quietly, glancing back towards the hall before turning to face her fully.</p><p>"Come back in here. I have something regarding training that... I think it may help with your task, in some way."</p><p>"Oh," I say, dragging a hand through my hair as she turns around, revealing a large book in her hands. "I'll go get Celeste, th—"</p><p>"Oh, don't worry about her," she giggles lightly, swaying slightly as she walks towards me with one foot directly in front of the other, lips curling up into a sly smile. "This concerns only you."</p><p>"Well, if it's about the task, shouldn't—?"</p><p>"Don't worry about her, dear. Now, come here!"</p><p>I swallow thickly, scanning her up and down. Her eyes look dark and empty of everything except cruelty and malice, and looking at them only reminds me what I overheard from my window hardly two nights ago. I glance aside, inhaling deeply, and then I walk over while wondering what it is she needs to tell me that she can't tell Celeste.</p><p>"I am, first and foremost, the Dark Lord's most loyal follower," she purrs, closing the hardcover book with a slight thud, running her fingertips over the spine with a tilted head. Her eyes lift, dark and knowing as they peer at me through long, spider-leg lashes. "His right-hand... <em>woman</em>, if you will." Her expression then sours as she looks away and adds in a bitter mutter, "Never question a single decision of his... Not even when he wouldn't tell me how Lettie <em>did</em> it—came back to bloody life. Of course, on his other hand he's got that bloody Severus. He was practically your father's lapdog back during our Hogwarts days, you know that? Your father trusts him, and now that he's withering away in <em>Azkaban</em>, the Dark Lord..."</p><p>I watch her mutter furiously under her breath, deathly pale skin starting to turn red as she clutched the book tightly to her side. I inhale deeply and hold my breath when she starts talking about my father, briefly closing my eyes as I call upon my Occlusion.</p><p>"The Dark Lord <em>values </em>the professor because he's got his feet in both sides of the water, his direct source on the other side of this... brewing war, but when you've got a spy that's as good as Occlumency as Snape is, how do you truly know which side he's on?" she sighs roughly, hand clawing at her chest while her wide, manic eyes dart around the room. "Even <em>your</em> mother—Even dear <em>Lettie's</em> mother trusts him. I... What was I talking about? Oh, yes. I am, first and foremost, the Dark Lord's most loyal follower."</p><p>"Of course," my voice sounds like a hollow echo as I clasp my hands in front of me, brows tightening.</p><p>"So there's nothing more important to me than his every whim and desire being fulfilled, you see? This task is <em>quite</em> important to him. He needs Dumbledore <em>dead</em>, and you should be quite proud that he's approached you for it." She then pauses, eyes going still, and then adds in a quiet, sly voice, "<em>Are</em> you? Proud?"</p><p>My throat goes dry. I open my mouth to respond, nearly choking, and then I cough out in a hoarse voice, "Yes, of course."</p><p>"Good, good—well, I couldn't care less who gets the task done, so long as it's done and he's happy. It could be either you or Celeste that lands the final blow, that performs the curse and eliminates him for good, and I'll find it a <em>marvel!</em> However..."</p><p>I find myself leaning forward slightly. "However?"</p><p>"It couldn't hurt to give you a slight edge, could it? I mean, you <em>are</em> my nephew, and, frankly, it's important for you to redeem yourself. Your whole family's name relies on it—your father's wellbeing and <em>freedom</em> relies on it. As far as I know, if you're the one to kill him and Celeste isn't, she'll be <em>fine—</em>if, of course, she's not dead by then—but if <em>Celeste </em>kills him and you <em>don't</em>, well..." She tuts softly, dragging her tongue along her lip. "Your family will only sink lower than it already has in his eyes... You don't want to disappoint my lord any further, dearie, for he's very liberal with his Killing Curses."</p><p>My throat tightens.</p><p>"Which is exactly why I don't suppose it should hurt anyone to give you a bit of an edge on her. It's actually not even something I'd be <em>giving </em>you, but something to make you aware of... I'm surprised, actually, that you aren't already. You see, it's a Black family trait. Perhaps you haven't shown signs of it because of how badly your <em>compassion </em>was blocking your Occlumency and messing with your mind, but..."</p><p>"What is it?" I step closer, brows furrowing together.</p><p>"Blacks tend to have the inherent ability to Occlude, so long as there's nothing major blocking them... And, similarly, they are <em>quite </em>adept at <em>Legilimency</em>."</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>AUGUST 20th, 1996</b>
</p><p>I grab Celeste by her hair, hauling her behind me as I storm into her room and towards her door, hearing her cry out in surprise.</p><p>She stumbles behind me, both hands clawing at mine while her mouth spews a whole stream of curses and insults at me in a soft mutter, as if she thinks I won't hear them. I smirk dryly, wrenching her door open and dragging her with me out into the hallway. I close the door behind her, wincing softly at the noise it makes. Luckily, it doesn't rouse any of the sleeping portraits on the walls, so I glance over my shoulder where Celeste is still struggling to pull my hand out of my hair.</p><p>I can't help but ravish my eyes over her body. She looks pathetic standing out in the candlelit hallway wearing nothing but a simple pair of cotton panties, thighs trembling and lips slightly swollen and bruises. She presses her folded elbows down to cover her breasts, no doubt feeling over exposed standing here like this in a hallway while I watch her with an amused expression, all while clawing at my hand.</p><p>I let go of her hair only to wrap my arm around her, pulling her into my side. She makes a soft sound of protest while I bring her across the hall and over to my room, swinging the door open, pushing her inside, and slamming it shut beside me, not caring if any of the portraits wake.</p><p>Celeste stumbles backwards, her calves hitting the side of my bed and making her fall back onto the mattress. She sits on it looking tense, feet propped onto her toes and hands clutching the duvet while dark eyes watch me warily. My wand is still holding her hair up out of her face, though a few curls have come loose and hang over her dark skin.</p><p>"You look <em>scared</em>, princess," I smirk, stalking over to her, watching her gulp thickly and slowly move backwards until her whole body is on my bed, palms flat against the duvet and knees bent in front of her.</p><p>I prop my knee up on the edge of the bed, raking my eyes over her once again. Her body still trembles slightly, nipples hard, goosebumps apparent all over her dark skin. She's almost entirely naked, the muscles in her arms flexing just like those in her calves, her chest heaving up and down with her loud breaths, her stomach tense yet still soft in the way it curves out slightly. My eyes linger on her thighs, and then I move forward to grab her.</p><p>Celeste cries out in shock when I'm grabbing one of her ankles and pulling it towards me, making her fall down onto her back. She tries to get back up, but I push her back down and quickly move to hover over her, my legs on either side of one of hers and a hand pressed flat to the bed beside her head. She looks at me with wide, hesitant eyes, her hands curling the covers in her fists, and then she's swallowing thickly and closing her eyes. Celeste takes a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling while her eyes flutter open once more, and this time she seems a little calmer. I smirk, realizing the walls of her Occlusion must have been receding.</p><p>"Are you just gonna stare?" she whispers, dark lips twitching slightly. Her hands move towards her body, and I watch with lifted brows as she runs them up and down her torso, one slipping into her panties and the other lightly massaging her breasts. "I don't mind being stared at," Celeste continues, her eyes closing and lips parting further while her hand in her panties starts moving, "b-but I might as well give you something to—to watch..."</p><p>I grab both her wrists and pull her hands away from her body. She doesn't protest, pull away, or hardly even react more than opening her eyes a small fraction while I grip both wrists in one hand and pin them to the mattress. Celeste makes a soft noise as grab her hip with my other hand and dive in to suck at her neck, smelling that bitter blackberry on her.</p><p>"You think quite highly of yourself, don't you?" I snarl into her neck, sucking harshly at a spot next to her throat that makes her arch her back and squirm under me. "You're a <em>very</em> proud little girl. It's about time someone show you what you're <em>really</em> worth."</p><p>Celeste cries out when I bite down on her collarbone, tugging at the skin there with my teeth. Her legs bend and spread slightly at this, knee brushing against my hip. I laugh lowly at her reaction, my eyes closing while I suck my way down her chest, biting harshly to feel her jolt and hear her cry out, sucking mercilessly to form bruises. Her skin is dark, making it hard to see the smaller bruises, but it only spurs me on to make sure she's covered in large, dark, purple marks that last for days.</p><p>"Draco," she gasps when I reach her soft breasts, grazing my teeth in the valley between them.</p><p>I drag my hand up from her hip to massage one of them, hearing her moan as my fingers press at the flesh and tweak at her nipple. My mouth latches at her other one, teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin and tongue flicking at the peak of it. She makes a muffled noise, back lifting off the bed to shove her breasts further into my face and hand.</p><p>I grunt slightly, popping her nipple out of my mouth and pulling away slightly to admire how it shines in the mild candlelight with my saliva. I lean back in to press open mouth kisses around he breast, pausing between them to continue speaking.</p><p>"I don't think you know the reputation you've earned... You're a fucking <em>slut</em> Celeste. You walk around acting like you own everyone, but everyone knows that you're just another common whore."</p><p>Celeste whimpers when I give her other nipple a harsh twist and pinch, hips squirming for some sort of reprieve. My mouth moves to pay attention to her other breast while my free hand drags its nails down her stomach as hard as it can, earning a shocked gasp and a pained noise as I do it again, possibly drawing blood, most definitely leaving lines of swollen, irritated skin. Her hands struggle for freedom where I have them trapped, and I contemplate holding them captive for a while longer, but then I let them go to prop myself up more comfortably, feeling them fly instantly to tangle with my hair.</p><p>She makes a muffled, high-pitched noise as I continue down her torso and bite down at the skin over her ribs, tugging at the flash and dragging my teeth over it. It's red and has the faint indents of my teeth when I let go, making me groan softly and lean in to suck on the spot ruthlessly. My hand scratches at her hips, and then, without warning, tears the side of her cotton panties.</p><p>Celeste gasps, her hand flying to soothe the side of her hip where the fabric snapped against her. I slap her hand away, tugging again at her panties until they've ripped at her other hip as well, and then I'm pulling it off of her and tossing it to land somewhere on my floor. She curses softly, now completely naked under me.</p><p>"You're good for nothing but your body," I snap, shifting down until my head is between her thighs, my hands grabbing her legs and forcing them wide apart and to bend at her knees. She moves them to rest down my back and over my shoulders, so I hook my arm around one to keep her from moving away from me. "Anyone who <em>ever</em> tells you they want you for more than your body is lying to you, princess," I whisper, my eyes now focused on what's between her legs, the way I can see her clenching around nothing at my words. Celeste whimpers softly, her hands pulling at my hair. "If you just kept your mouth shut, only ever opened it to suck my dick like a good girl... What's your color?"</p><p>I graze my teeth over her inner thighs, her hips jerking up at the sensation. I hear her breathing growing heavier as I wait for her answer, my tongue drawing stripes on her thighs.</p><p>"Gr-Green," she whispers after a moment, hands already sharply pulling on my hair.</p><p>I hum softly in approval, leaning in to suck on the soft patch of skin between her thigh and pelvis. She moans at this, her body responding to me perfectly. I graze my teeth over it, placing pressure on the patch of skin before pulling away to see it shining slightly. My lips scatter all over her thighs before finding her core, and Celeste lets out a moan of relief when they do.</p><p>I slow down, practically making out with her core in the way I move my lips lavishly and let my tongue pour over her folds and tease at her entrance. She sighs, rotating her hips down on my mouth and pulling at my hair. My eyes flutter shut while I tilt my head to get a better angle, nose brushing against her clit while I lap her up with my tongue. She tastes slightly salty on my tongue, arousal thick and warm and replenishing itself no matter how much I gather on my tongue.</p><p>"Oh, <em>fuck</em>," she moans, thighs squeezing on either side of my face and one of her legs lifting up in the air. Her hands pull at my hair, massaging and scratching at my scalp.</p><p>I pull away from her, opening my eyes and lifting my head to see her face contorted with pleasure. As soon as I stop, though, her eyes open and she lifts her head to look at me in confusion. That's when I glare at her and wrench her thighs apart, using my forearms to pin them as far down as I can. She cries out in shock, eyes squeezing shut again while her hips squirm to get away.</p><p>"Keep your legs open," I snap, giving her thighs a firm push with my hands before lowering myself back down between them. "Shouldn't you have enough practice doing just that?"</p><p>Celeste gasps when my mouth attaches back to her. This time, rather than slow and gentle on her core, my lips are wrapped around her clit sucking as roughly as possible. Her legs squeeze shut again, but she remembers quickly and spreads them wide open again. Her thighs quiver in strain as it clearly takes her effort to keep them open like that, and her loud pants that sound more like moans reach my ears.</p><p>"Drac—<em>Draco</em>," she croons, back arching off the bed and hands threatening to tear my hair right out of my scalp. "<em>Fuck</em>, it's—<em>ahh</em>... Y-You..."</p><p>Her legs quiver on either side of my head, lifting and slamming back down to the mattress accompanied by frustrated sounds from Celeste. They move to squeeze around my neck, and then they spread wide open like some invisible hands are working their force on them. Eventually, she's forced to let one hand go of my hair to grab onto the underside of her knee and pull it towards her torso, her other leg bent and leaning towards the covers.</p><p>I shift so I'm balanced on one forearm that rests under her right thigh, hand holding her hip. I shift my legs to keep myself up while my other hand wanders her torso, forcing her to keep her back pressed to the bed and hips lifted slightly to meet my mouth. Celeste whimpers as I scratch my nails over her stomach and chest, hips gyrating and grinding on my mouth.</p><p>"It hurts," she whimpers when my teeth graze lightly over her clit, quickly replaced by the tip of my tongue that's merciless in the way it presses and flicks the sensitive bundle of nerves. "D—<em>oh</em>, S-Salazar..."</p><p>I bring my hand back down between her legs, pulling my mouth away and quickly replacing it with my fingers. She gasps loudly, eyes practically rolling to the back of her head, when my fingers, stretched flat, rub against her aggressively.</p><p>I lick my lips, smirking at the taste, and then ask huskily, "You wanna come this time, Celeste?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," she moans out without a beat of hesitation, the leg she holds back with her hand folding at the knee. Her hand in my hair grips it tighter, trying to force my head back down between her thighs, but it takes just a sharp pinch of her clit to make her whine and loosen her hand.</p><p>"You know what I'm gonna ask you to do," I laugh darkly, leaning in to kiss her thigh. "C'mon, darling."</p><p>"I won't—I won't—" she cuts herself off with a breathy, strangled moan, eyes flying open while her back arches almost completely off the bed. "I won't beg!" she sputters, chest shaking as she drops back to the covers, letting go of her leg with a weak noise.</p><p>"You know I can't let you come, then."</p><p>She whimpers, almost like she might start pleading, but nothing comes out of her mouth other than some muffled noises of pleasure.</p><p>Shaking my head, I move my fingers away from her clit and swoop down to replace it with my mouth one more. Celeste makes a moan that almost sounds like a wail, both her hands tugging at my hair again while I lap her up and suck on her as forcefully as I can, my hands clamped down on her thick thighs to ensure that they can't squeeze around me. Her hips twitch, squirming to either get away from me or grind down against me, but I don't let them move either, so she takes her frustration out with her legs, dragging her heels against my sides and back and almost kicking me.</p><p>"<em>Fuck!</em>" she cries out as I squeeze her thighs harshly, no doubt making bruises on the soft skin while tilting my head to devour her warm arousal. "Draco, Draco, it's—it's—"</p><p>Celeste gasps loudly, hips trying to lift up, and that's how I know she's close. I hold back my smirk and continue eating her out, noticing how her hands curl into fists in my hair, how her legs start shaking uncontrollably, how her abdomen goes entirely tense, and right when she's about to climax right in my face, I pull away from her and lift my head to look at her face.</p><p>She moans in dismay, hands rising to cover her face while her legs unwrap from either side of me to squeeze together. Celeste turns onto her side, curling up slightly, and then her fist rams down onto my mattress while she shouts out in frustration. She knew it was coming, and still she's disappointed.</p><p>I chuckle quietly, lips twisting into a bitter smirk while my hand moved to rest on her calf. I slowly shift forwards to hover over her, my hand dragging over the side of her bare leg and naked torso until it reaches her shoulder where I push her to lay on her back again. She gasps softly at this, dropping her hands to look up at me. There's a completely lost expression on her face, but when she recognizes me, her dark eyes harden into a glare.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em> y—"</p><p>"Quiet down," I say calmly, my hand wrapping around her neck, making her cut herself off in surprise. I smile at her slowly, admiring the way her eyes glimmer in fearful anticipation and her lips glisten from how her tongue flicks over them. "You... think you are <em>so</em> much better than everyone else, but..."</p><p>I tut softly, resting my other palm next to her head while my hand drags down from her neck to her chest, pressing lightly on the faint bite marks I've left on her. She winces when I do so, her hand coming up to wrap around my wrist. I ignore it though, ignore the way her nails dig into my skin as I pinch her sore, abused nipples.</p><p>"Let me tell you, Celeste," I rasp, leaning down to slowly brush my tongue against her nipple, enjoying the way she inhales sharply. "I—" I grab her neck harshly, squeezing so tight that her hands shoot to grab mine, her eyes bulge and stare at me in a panic, her legs kick in the air.</p><p>She opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a weak whimper. I sneer at her, letting go of her neck to strike her across her face as hard as I can. Celeste cries out, her hand cradling the side of her face. Her eyes are shut tightly, head turned away from me while her body shudders slightly. Irritated, I grab her face by her cheeks, squeezing tightly so that her mouth is forced to open and making her turn back to look at me. Her eyes open as she digs her nails into my skin, and I see water starting to pool under those dark brown irises. Under the gleam of a sheen of tears, her eyes look lighter, and I can see cracks of honey in them.</p><p>"I," I say in a softer voice, my hand growing harsher in comparison as I tilt my head down at her, "will <em>always</em> be better than you in <em>everything </em>you do. In school, in Occlumency, in this bloody <em>task</em>, fucking <em>everything</em>."</p><p>Celeste makes a muffled noise, and while she was thrashing before, struggling to get out of my grip, she goes limp. Her hands trying to pry my hand off my face stop moving. They loosen first, and then they drop to her chest where her breathing has faltered. Her legs that were kicking at air, trying to get to me, are motionless on the bed. Dark eyes watch me intently, the tears in them threatening to spill as they glance between my own eyes.</p><p>"And while you're living in <em>my</em> manor," I continue in a threateningly low voice, pressing my fingertips deep into her cheeks, hearing her whimper shortly, "while you're eating <em>my</em> food..."</p><p>I move carefully even further up her body, seeing panic rising in her eyes while I shift to straddle her chest, making sure not to place all my weight on her while doing so just enough to place pressure over her lungs. She looks terrified from here, my hand gripping her cheeks, forcing her mouth open just inches away from my cock that has grown hard once more on my sweats. I curse softly at the sight, knowing just how helpless she'll be when I'm fucking her face like this.</p><p>"While you're breathing <em>my</em> bloody air, sleeping in one of <em>my</em> fucking beds," I whisper sharply, letting go of her face while harshly shoving it to the side.</p><p>My hand then goes to my sweats, and while she claws at my back, my legs prevent her hands from reaching her face, I manage to slip both my sweats and my briefs down just enough to pull my erection out. Her breath hitches, glossy eyes dropping down to watch pre come slowly leak from the tip, her lips parting already for me.</p><p>"While you're doing all that, you better not forget who you're dropping on your knees for every night. Understood?"</p><p>Celeste doesn't say anything, her eyes distracted.</p><p>"I said," I seethe with gritted teeth, my hand curling around my erection and slowly pumping it up and down, "do you understand?"</p><p>She blinks, a tear dripping down both eyes, and then nods slowly, one of her arms curling around my thigh as if in preparation.</p><p>"Use your <em>fucking</em> words, little girl," I sneer, seeing her flinch when my voice rises.</p><p>"Yes—I—" Celeste cuts herself off with a soft whimper, another tear or two dropping from her eyes and tracking down her cheeks when she looks up at my face hesitantly. "Y-<em>Yes</em>."</p><p>I lift my eyebrow at her.</p><p>She swallows thickly. When she speaks, it's in a feeble whisper.</p><p>"Yes, <em>sir</em>."</p><p>A groan rises from the back of my throat, low and long. I give myself another few pumps, my other hand finding the side of her face to quickly brush away a few tears and tilt it back, her hair still held up by my wand. Celeste makes a soft noise as her mouth opens shakily, eyes fluttering while I lean over to grab a pillow, forcing her head up to prop it underneath, and rise further up on my knees.</p><p>I can see her breasts heaving as I smirk at her coldly, twisting my hand in her hair to keep her head up. She twists one of her arms out from against hers side, a trembling hand wrapping around the base of my cock, cold against my overheated skin. Her other arm remains trapped between my thigh and her side, so I grab it with my hand and press it tight around my thigh, just in case she gets an ideas about touching herself.</p><p>"Go on," I urge with a dry chuckle.</p><p>She hesitates, and then she's wrapping her lips around my tip.</p><p>I curse, throw my head back, and resist the urge to start fucking her mouth already. Instead, I hold her hair tighter and feel her hands twisting up and down the length of me while her mouth works the first inch. Her tongue is precise in the way it drags over my slit, greedily gathering the pre come leaking from there. She rubs the underside of her tongue against me, making me groan and pull her head closer to me, which makes <em>her</em> make a soft noise in the back of her throat.</p><p>Celeste's hand squeezes tighter around me, pumping what isn't in her mouth at a steady pace. I watch as her eyes flutter open, first glancing down at her hand and then darting up to look at my face. They're still a little watery, watching my facial expressions intently yet cautiously. Big and brown, they close once more as she tilts her head and moans softly around my tip.</p><p>Her mouth takes in a little more of me, and she makes small noises with every twist of her hair that makes her soft cheeks vibrate around me. I groan softly, my hands shaking as I can't take a second more where I'm not fucking her mouth.</p><p>I pry her hand off of me and hold it tightly, pinning it to the pillow next to her head. Her eyes shoot open at this, glancing between mine in mild panic as she knows what's coming next. I smirk at her, one hand holding her hand down, the other gripping her hair, and I say—</p><p>"You know how to stop me, don't you? Now open your mouth for me, princess."</p><p>Celeste whimpers softly, her eyes crinkling as she gives me a pleading look with my cock in her mouth, another tear dripping down the corner of her eye and down her temple. I just give her hair a sharp pull, making her choke softly before she relaxes her jaw and opens her mouth as much as she can, breasts heaving in anticipation.</p><p>Leaning over her head slightly, I start thrusting into her mouth.</p><p>A groan escapes my mouth as I fuck into hers, hearing her cry out in surprise as my tip hits the back of her throat. The hand I hold pinned down to the bed writhes, trying to come free, while her other hand digs its nails into my thighs. I furrow my brows and grit my teeth slightly, trying to concentrate on not losing myself too much into the pleasure, trying not to lose myself so far that even Occlumency can't hold me back. Part of my mind is on the hand on my thigh, waiting for it to hit me like I always tell her to. It doesn't do so, though. It scratches its nails on the skin, curls into a fist to drive slowly into my muscle, and tugs my briefs and sweats down lower, but it doesn't hit me to make me stop.</p><p>Celeste sobs softly, her throat contracting around my tip. I curse loudly at this, twisting her curls around my hand to lift her head up even more and guide it to bob up and down my length while I continue thrusting my hips. She whines, but it quickly cuts off and turns into a soft moan while she tilts her head and manages to rub her tongue along my underside all while still choking on me.</p><p>When I feel my legs going stiff, I pull out of her mouth and let go of her hand.</p><p>"Wh—Why'd you stop?" she pants, shifting to rest her weight on her forearms, propping herself up slightly. Her plump lips are parted and covered in salvia, a string connecting her to me. She glances up and down between my erection, where I slowly pump myself, and my eyes.</p><p>"Cause I want you to look at me while I come all over your chest, princess," I say in a raspy, casual voice, seeing her mouth form an "O" and her breath shudder. "Why? Did you want me to come in your mouth?"</p><p>She's quiet, and then her eyes drop. She nods.</p><p>"Stupid witch," I murmur softly, untangling my fingers from her hair to brush her curls back. She leans into my palm, tilting her head back up to look at me with big eyes. "Only good girls get a taste, Celeste. I don't want you to look away from me, got it?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"If you <em>want</em> a taste, you'll have to beg for it, darling. But you said it yourself... Your Occlumency <em>isn't </em>weak, right?" I ask with a condescending pout, grabbing her jaw and shaking her face slightly, making her gasp and scowl. "It's <em>far</em> too strong to let you beg. Isn't that what you said? Though, clearly it isn't strong enough to keep you from whimpering like a fucking bitch."</p><p>Her face contorted with indignation, and whatever it was that broke past her walls and allowed her to be so submissive turns quickly into anger as she attempts to hit me with her knee. "Shut u—!"</p><p>I chuckle softly, throwing her head back to shut her up and then forcing it back up by her hair. My other hand begins rubbing myself again, and I see her falter as her eyes linger on watching the light reflect off my rings while I pump myself.</p><p>"It's adorable, actually," I grunt, letting my tip tap against her lips while I give myself a slight squeeze, "how <em>wrapped</em> I have you around my finger. Doesn't matter how much freedom, how much control you think you have. Your actions, feelings, pleasure—they're all mine. Don't forget, princess, you're <em>nothing</em> without me."</p><p>"My—I'm—<em>Fuck!</em>" she cries out in frustration, hands forming fists and tugging at the bedsheets.</p><p>I moan quietly, throwing my head back and twisting her hair while speeding up the pace of my head, feeling my orgasm slowly creeping up on me. Celeste tries wrenching my hand out of her hair, but I just shake her head, making her eyes fly open. They're glossy and angry while they glare at me, plump lips parted to let out her panties. Her eyes flicker down to my cock, a soft whine at the back of her throat, and then come back up to watch my face.</p><p>My hand slips from her hand to her neck. Her eyes widen, but I don't tighten my hand. I grip the side of her neck to help her keep herself up, watching her prop her elbows up on the bed before moving my hand to hold the front of her neck where I can feel her throat bobbing with every nervous swallow.</p><p>"<em>I</em> control what you do," I laugh breathily, my hand tightening both on her neck and myself. "Every orgasm you have, it's not because <em>you</em> want it, it's because <em>I</em> want you to have it. Whether you get to see, to move, that's my decision. Whether you get to <em>speak</em>, that's my decision. Even... Even..." I pant softly, my hand squeezing on either side of her throat while she lets out a soft exhale, eyes wide. "I even get to decide whether you <em>breathe</em> or not."</p><p>"Dr—"</p><p>"Quiet, princess," I pant, my hand moving back to her hair. I squeeze my eyes tight before I force them open to see her wide eyes fixated on my face. "Toys don't speak..."</p><p>"I'm <em>not</em> your t—"</p><p>"The sooner you accept it, the more fun this will be for you," I chuckle darkly, then groaning as my orgasm nears more and more. "<em>Ahh</em>, fuck me... Just you wait, as soon I come..."</p><p>As if on cue, my orgasm comes hurtling through my body at top speed, making me groan and grip her hair even tighter. I manage to keep my eyes open, though lazily so, to see her own eyes widen and tongue licks her lips, before looking down to where I cover her chest and breasts with my come.</p><p>"Fuck," I sigh, letting go of her hair and letting her drop back to the bed.</p><p>Celeste is panting, wide eyes staring up at me as if she's the one who's just had a mind blowing orgasm while kneeling over a girl's chest. She watches me lazily slip off the bed and pull my briefs back up but kick my sweats off entirely, her legs trembling and squeezing together. I chuckle at her breathily, running a hand through my hair.</p><p>"Get up."</p><p>Celeste gapes slightly, and then she starts moving. She sits up quickly, and I groan at the sight of my come slowly dripping over her breasts and tracking over a nipple. She notices too, and I walk back over slowly as she brushes a gentle finger over her breast to gather some of my come, looking back up at me with devious eyes before popping her finger into her mouth.</p><p>Instantly, I'm wrenching her hand away from her face with one hand and striking her cheek with my other, making her cry out. Her hair covers her face as her head turns to the side, and she slowly turns back to glare at me through a curtain of curls.</p><p>"Didn't you fucking hear me? Only <em>good girls</em> get a taste, and you're the naughtiest one I know."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>I grab her hips and force her to turn around, making her emit a noise of surprise. Her soft, warm skin presses to mine as I move to kneel on my mattress, knees spread apart, and pull her back against my chest so that she straddles one of my legs with hers bent on either side of it. She grips my arms tightly not to rip them away, but to burrow herself deeper into my chest, and she throws her head back with a light moan when my hand dips between her supple thighs to find the source of heat dripping its arousal down onto my leg.</p><p>I coax with my hand this girl I don't think I'll ever understand. I nip at her neck and hold her tight enough that she can hardly squirm, rubbing at the most sensitive bit between her legs while she croons and moans and melts in my grip. I watch the side of her face, watch her expression contort with pleasure and pain, contort with hope as well as anticipation, this girl that <em>died</em> and came back to life.</p><p>"You're a <em>strong</em> girl, aren't you?" I snap quietly, lips brushing against her ear while I feel her grind down on both my hand and my thigh. "Nothing phases you, nothing can hurt you, nothing can break you. Isn't that right?"</p><p>Celeste muffles a whine, biting down on her lip.</p><p>"Bet you got tired sitting around at home having everyone treat you like the pathetic little girl you <em>really</em> are. But you'd like to convince us all that you <em>aren't</em>, wouldn't you? No, Celeste isn't so little anymore... She's a big girl, isn't she?" I seethe, letting a finger dip into her warm holds and curl up, making her back arch. "She doesn't need to be held <em>gently</em>," I hiss, my arm around her tightening and my hand grabbing her side so hard, she gasps, "and she doesn't need to be treated like she's <em>fragile</em>, does she?"</p><p>Celeste doesn't respond, but her brows tighten and her lips puff out slightly. I lean in closer to her, my lips brushing down her jaw, and focus on her breathing. I tug and pull at my magical core, practically tangled with my heart in my chest, recalling what Bellatrix taught me, and find that it's exceptionally easy dipping into Celeste's mind.</p><p>It's like a well made of stone, and sometimes the water is all the way at the bottom, sometimes it's all the way at the top, and sometimes there is no water. Right now, the water reaches the very tip of the well, threatening to overflow, and I barely have to skim my fingertips over the rippling surface to feel what she's feeling—anxious, needy, confused, and so, so desperate. Desperate for a release, to let go, to go limp and let someone control her body like she's a puppet, yet at the same time, desperate for <em>control</em>.</p><p>I pull out of her mind, knowing fully well that when she's so unrestrained, so unfocused on fighting against intruders, she won't notice that I was ever there.</p><p>"Has anyone asked you, Celeste?" I snarl softly in her ear, slipping a second finger to get lost in her warm arousal, curling it much more harshly into that spot that has her writhing and clawing and gasping for air. "Has anyone asked you how you did it? I bet they haven't... I bet they're too scared you'll break like the little glass doll you are. They're too scared you're too <em>weak</em> to tell them how you did it."</p><p>"Mm... Mmph," Celeste makes muffled noises that sound like sobs, her lip tight between her teeth as she tries so hard not to let the noises out. I see tears slip out of the corner of her eye even despite how both are squeezed shut. She lets her lip go and gasps again for air, head falling back onto my shoulder while her raw lip quivers. "Dra—Draco...."</p><p>"Are you gonna beg?" I whisper.</p><p>She whimpers softly, warm walls clenching around my fingers, but says nothing. Inhaling sharply, I dive back into her mind. I'm out of there only a few seconds later, because the pure distress I'm hit with is overwhelming.</p><p>"Please," she whispers softly, so softly that I'm not sure I've heard her.</p><p>Her eyes then weakly flutter open, dazed as they take time to focus on the wall across from her, and then sidle over to meet mine. They're big, shockingly light compared to the dark brown, nearly black they usually are. They look like honey, maybe from the way the tears brimming over them catch the light, and they plead for me to show mercy.</p><p>"<em>Please</em>, Draco," she then sobs, eyes closing once more while her head knocks back against my clavicle. "I can't—I can't—"</p><p>"Color?"</p><p>"I—" Celeste whimpers softly. "Gr-Green."</p><p>I chuckle darkly, slipping a third finger inside of her and thrusting them all knuckle deep, hearing her gasp and go still for a moment before resuming her mild writhing. My fingers fuck up against her while my thumb moves to find her clit, brushing against her as roughly as I can from this angle.</p><p>"I'm telling you, Celeste," I rasp, squeezing her side again, "you're not worth half the shit you think you are. Bet you feel really fucking powerful, huh? Bet you think you can take anything, anyone. Do you feel immortal, Celeste? Dying and coming back to life?"</p><p>Her nails dig deep into my skin while her shaking shoulders still.</p><p>"Look what we have here. Most <em>powerful</em>, immortal girl in the world, begging for me to make her fucking <em>climax</em>. I should put you on your knees, shouldn't I? Or maybe right on the floor, worshipping my feet."</p><p>Celeste makes a high-pitched noise, a soft yelp while her body starts shuddering, legs trembling uncontrollably even when they're folded under her and on either side of mine.</p><p>"What were you saying earlier, princess?" I hum, slipping my fingers out of her to rub against her clit roughly with my fingers flattened out, making her moan in a shaking, falsetto quiver. "You won't tell me what was blocking your mind because I'll use it against you?"</p><p>She gasps violently, as if someone is choking her, and curves her back dramatically.</p><p>"You don't have to worry about that," I grunt, feeling her nails start to break skin.</p><p>Celeste whimpers, moans, gasps, makes all kinds of panicked, pleasured noises that make the air in my room seem a little warmer, her body shaking, and I don't have to dip into her mind to feel her hope, to know that she thinks I'll let her have this orgasm. When I pull my hand away at the last second and unwrap my arms from her, she sobs and drops forward to bury her face in the sheets and wrap her arms over her head, still sitting on my leg while crying softly.</p><p>"I don't need to know what was blocking your mind to break you apart," I say, shifting my leg away from under her, sighing softly as I watch her curl up tightly, bent over her kneeling legs with one hand curling my duvet up in frustration. "Clearly, all it takes is my hand."</p><p>It's a little fascinating watching someone like her shake on my bed, completely naked, covered in a slight sheen of sweat, and trying to muffle her cries, all because of me. Someone like her; someone so <em>haughty</em>, so arrogant, so <em>like</em> me yet so <em>unlike</em> me in all the worst ways. Someone so difficult and easy, impossible to understand. She's a reflection in a mirror that has <em>something</em> wrong about it, something that doesn't reflect perfectly, but I can't pinpoint what. Even with her mind likely at its most vulnerable in this moment, she's a warped reflection, and the most I can do is stare and revel in how the reflection has tears streaming down its hidden face.</p><p>I can feel something tugging behind my walls. They're new, they're young, and they haven't had much practice yet. Occasionally they suffer fissures and cracks, but they still heal faster than they break. Still, I feel something tugging, so I close my eyes and inhale deeply, and I feel the guilt in me trying to burrow its way through.</p><p>Or maybe it's compassion. It's either compassion or guilt, both equally useless emotions especially to Malfoy men, men that have names to uphold. Compassion and guilt are for those that overextend themselves for the benefit of all others but themselves, they're for those who stride without confidence and act without a sharp mind.</p><p>I glance at my left forearm. I think if I weren't living in a manor filled with other Death Eaters that don't yet know I'm one of them, I'd take the Glamour off.</p><p>"Color, Celeste," I say calmly, framing my words not as a question, but as a demand.</p><p>Her bent legs press closer together, and her hands drag through her hair, breaking her curls in the way they comb haphazardly and tug in frustration.</p><p>"I <em>begged</em>," she sobs softly, voice a little hoarse. "I don't—I don't know what you <em>w—</em>what you <em>want</em> from me." Celeste's back curves when I lazily drag my fingers from her tailbone up her spine, moving slowly to hover over her curled body while she continues in a shaky voice, "I don't know—I don't know what I did wrong, <em>please</em>. Tell me what I did, what I—" She hiccups softly, her hands ruining more of her tight coils. "You said that if I begged, you would... I could..."</p><p>I plant my hand flat next to her shoulder, my hand still on her back and teasingly grazing my fingertips on her skin, enjoying the way goosebumps crystallize under them like she's the Earth and I'm the winter chill. I trace her spine up and down, moving slowly until my lips are on her shoulder, searing a kiss into her tight skin.</p><p>"It's trust, isn't it?" I rasp lowly, my lips moving from her shoulder to her neck, making her arms tighten in an attempt to block me. "Is that what it was? Trust? You trust too easily, don't you..?"</p><p>Celeste doesn't respond. I don't need Legilimency to read her for once.</p><p>"Or—perhaps it isn't that you trust too easily—it's that you <em>want</em> to trust people. There's a little part of you that is still—" Celeste gasps when my hand, that was lingering near her tailbone, abruptly grasps a handful of her arse and squeezes tightly, "—<em>intact</em> despite how many people have broken your trust so many times. Am I wrong, Celeste?"</p><p>Her arms, positioned over either side of her head like a protective barrier, tighten to cover her ears. I hear her croon softly when my hand on her arse dips lower to briefly brush against her throbbing heat before traveling back up her spine.</p><p>"You're intelligent, darling," I whisper in her ear, my hand cupping the back of her neck, "you <em>know</em> by now it's dangerous to trust people... but you want to, don't you? You want to trust that someone will take care of you for once."</p><p>My hand snakes up so that my fingers may tangle gently with her black hair, the snake-like curls falling over the back of my palm. I hear her soft sniffles, feel the muscles in her body tense, and when I dip into her mind, I can sense her trying to recall her Occlumency, shove everything away before her mind breaks to the point of no repair.</p><p>"Poor, broken little girl," I whisper softly, my hand tightening in her hair and forcing her to pick her head up. She makes a soft noise, but doesn't attempt to struggle, closed eyelids glistening with smeared tears. "Dropped onto her feet so many times, it's no wonder she landed on her knees and shattered. You can cry all you want, little girl, no one is coming to save you this time."</p><p>"You said..." she whispers softly.</p><p>I'm still in her head, feeling her trying to piece herself back together. Her memories flash in front of my eyes, images of her father, images of <em>my</em> father, images of my aunt, and so many images of me. I could hear her thoughts if I concentrated a little harder.</p><p>"I said if you begged, I'd let you come. And you trusted me, didn't you? Your naivety is... it's endearing, I suppose," I chuckle darkly, my hand forcing her head to turn. Her closed eyes squeeze tighter and her thick brows furrow when I lean in to kiss below her eyes, licking my lips and faintly tasting her tears. "I'm not here to take care of you, Celeste. <em>Nobody</em> is here to take care of you. At least you can trust that much."</p><p>I wonder if my words will have the opposite of their intended effect. For a moment, I fear they have, for her emotions bombard me like a tsunami—violent green waters of shame barraging down my throat and suffocating me, burning blue riptides of betrayal searing my skin, and helplessness like white foam blinding my eyes. There's a brief moment where I'm bombarded by her ever-so-human suffering, by her desire to call out for help intertwined with her fear that nobody will answer.</p><p>And then it stops.</p><p>Her stone well, overflowing with a raging torrent, drains all of a sudden. There isn't even a single drop of water remaining as evidence of the super storm that nearly knocked me off my metaphorical feet, not the distant drip of leaking water. Just an empty stone well.</p><p>Celeste laughs dryly, if not a little shakily. "When are you just gonna shut up and <em>fuck</em> me? I'm getting bored here waiting."</p><p>My lips twitch.</p><p>"I asked for your color," I say calmly, pulling away from her to sit back on my knees before grabbing her by her hips and forcing her up onto hers, hearing her gasp in surprise. "You never responded."</p><p>Celeste nearly crumples back to the bed, but she quickly shifts so she's on her hands and knees, panting softly. Her head hangs forward, my wand dropping from her hair that's become so messed up from all the abuse it's suffered, and then she picks her head up and looks over her shoulder and arched back at me with heavy, dark eyes, plump lips in a smirk.</p><p>"Is this how you wanna take me?" she asks slyly, her back somehow arching further as she flips her hair out of her face.</p><p>"<em>Color</em>."</p><p>"Green, obviously," she scoffs, turning her head back forward while I rise to hold her hips, letting mine brush against her arse. "Who the hell do you think I am?"</p><p>I bite back a wince as I lower my briefs and pull my erection out. Three times in <em>one</em> night. I've done twice before many, many times, but never <em>three</em>. My erection aches in my hand, begging both to be touched and to be given a break as I move my hand back to her hip and let it grind slightly against one of her arse cheeks, exhaling softly at the feeling.</p><p>"You talk too much, Celeste," I rasp, leaning forward and reaching under her to find my dropped wand. "Open your mouth."</p><p>Surprisingly, despite her newly enforced Occlumency, despite the unprecedented spike in her insufferable brattiness, she obeys quickly, making a muffled noise when I shove my wand between her teeth and coax her jaw to clamp down on it.</p><p>"There we go," I groan, my hand finding her hair and yanking her head back while she makes a slightly muffled noise. "I know you can spit it out, but I also know <em>just</em> how badly you want to come, don't you, little girl? So badly, I think you'll try to be good for me, won't you? Don't talk, princess, just let me use you, and maybe if I'm in the mood, I'll let you come this time."</p><p>She makes a slightly irritated noise, but I quell it with a simple tug of her hair. I watch her hands curl tightly around the duvet while I use my free hand to line myself up with her. Smirking, I slowly drag my tip up and down along her core, tapping it against her red, irritated clit and hearing her gasp.</p><p>"Drop that wand, and you're in trouble," I say in a condescending voice, twisting her curls around my palm while I continue teasing myself against her. "I promise, not all punishment is enjoyable."</p><p>Celeste makes a soft noise. She grinds back against me, clearly desperate for more friction. I smirk, and then I'm pushing all the way inside of her.</p><p>I lose myself in the motion of thrusting in and out of her, feeling the backs of my thighs burn while her wet, warm walls clench around me like they want me to stay in her forever. She makes muffled moans, occasionally crying out or making sounds like sobs, trying to keep my wand in her mouth all while my hand tugs at her hair, forcing her to keep her head up and back arched dramatically.</p><p>I can feel her body threatening to collapse, and something in me pushes me to fuck her harder and faster, desperate to see it happen. Desperate to see her crumble in on herself, incapable of holding her body up, see her fall onto the bed helpless to my whims, just moaning incomprehensibly and begging to me to let her come with my wand between her teeth.</p><p>I forced her to put her walls back up, but now I wonder how much it would take to send them crashing back down again.</p><p>"Stupid fucking whore," I snarl, pulling her by her hair to force her off her hands, her back colliding with my chest before falling forward slightly. My hand keeps her there while my other slides from her hip to between her legs, quickly finding her clit to flick my finger again. She gasps and chokes on her spit, her hands clawing at both my arms. "You are so <em>pathetic. </em>It'd do you good to learn some fucking respect. Whose pussy is this?"</p><p>Celeste whimpers when my fingers smack against her clit, her body jolting as my hips keep thrusting up into her pussy.</p><p>"C'mon, even a dumb cumslut like you should know. Who the fuck do you belong to, huh?"</p><p>She sobs softly, nails digging into the wrist of my right hand as it continues smacking lightly against her clit at a rapid pace. Her noises, as muffled as they may be, ring clear in my head, echo in the confines of my mind louder than even my own groans and grunts, louder than the noise of our flesh hitting together. I try to stay out of her head, I try only to respond to her body and focus on how hers responds to mine, but this <em>desire</em> claws at my chest, a desire to feel what she's feeling and know what she's thinking.</p><p>Bellatrix's method is brasher, more raucous and perceptible. Her method invokes deep, physical pain as she claws through a person's mind, and she does it <em>intentionally</em>, knowing the pain only increases with struggle.</p><p>I'm more subtle than her, which is useful, of course. I'm more precise, wily. Rather than raking my nails against her, I caress her mind with my fingertips, will it to melt in my palms. Her mind trembles in my grasp. It's as though it doesn't take just an overwhelming barrage of emotions to make her walls unstable—she needs constant, unbridled focus to keep them up, and the harder I fuck her, the quicker I finger her, the tighter I twist her hair, the more concentration she loses. Her mind drifts from keeping herself together to losing herself in pleasure, and fissures run up and down her stone walls.</p><p>Celeste makes a muffled noise, like she's trying to say something.</p><p>I pull out of her head. "What was that, princess?"</p><p>"<em>More</em>."</p><p>I pause, and then my hand in her hair is pushing her back onto the bed. She barely manages to brace herself, but I grab her arms and straighten them out, extended on either side of the bed. She tries to pick herself up, but I wrangle my hand back into her messed up curls and push her head back down, the side of her face pressed into the duvet. Celeste opens her eyes to look at me, my wand clamped tightly in her mouth as she's desperate not to drop it.</p><p>My other hand grabs her hips, directing her back to arch as far as it can, making her balance on her knees and her chest so she's face-down and arse-up.</p><p>I give her hair a slight tug, leaning over her dark body to find her ear and laugh darkly, "So needy for me... Do me a favor, moan as loudly as you can."</p><p>And then I give her head another sharp push into the bed while straightening up, both my hands finding their place on her elevated arse to give it a tight squeeze while my hips begin fucking into her once again. She moans instantly, a shaky, high-pitched noise that's punctuated with several strangled gasps.</p><p>I don't let her legs move, my hands too tight on her thighs and her arse, fucking her so hard that I'm sure she's probably numb down to her feet. Her arms writhe as some sort of aimless reach for relief, moving to bend and prop her up like in a half-plank position, and then straightening out down her side uselessly, pounding against the bed and twisting the expensive fabric in her clutch. Her thighs shake on either side of mine with each power thrust, her dark skin soft, supple, yet firm in my grasp.</p><p>Celeste gasps as I throw my head back and squeeze her flesh, twisting it slightly in my hold while groaning lowly at the feeling of her slick moisture squeezing around my cock. She makes all kinds of sweet, tortured noises, low moans and breathy cries, interspersed by short gasps and breaks in her noises to the beat of my hips thrusting into her and making her body jolt forward.</p><p>I squeeze her arse in my hand, burrowing my palm into the muscle and feeling her squirm slightly. My hand, pale and bearing plain black bands and silver family heirlooms, looks like it simply belongs against her ebony skin, squeezing and massaging and leaving bruises I hope she'll be able to see on herself tomorrow morning in the mirror.</p><p>If she can't see them, I know she'll feel them.</p><p>"<em>Ahh</em>," she moans, elbows bent at her sides and hands gripping the duvet next to her shoulders. Her thighs are shaking now with the strain of holding herself up, but she tightens her brows and lifts her hips up higher, even gently jerking them back against me to meet my thrusts. "F-Fuck it's—<em>M-Merlin—</em>mmph..." she mumbles in a broken voice, the wand nearly slipping from her mouth.</p><p>I slide my hands up from her hips down her back, and then I'm following her arms until I find her wrists. She makes a soft noise when I grab them, lean forward until my chest leans against her arched back, and pin her hands above her head with mine while thrusting into her. My head is near her shoulder where I kiss and nip, and when she moans loudly as my hips speed up, I bite down on the junction of it to stifle my own loud groans, digging my nails into her wrists and rolling my eyes shut.</p><p>"Oh, fuck," she whimpers around my wand. "Please, please, oh, <em>Salazar's fucking—</em>mm... D-Draco."</p><p>Everything and nothing spills out of her mouth, her voice slowly progressing from needy whines and moans to full on sobs, desperation leaking through every crack and shake in her voice. I let go of her shoulder, kissing over the bite marks I've left there, and find her jawline instead while taking one more dip into her mind.</p><p>It's the same as earlier. I'm inundated by the raw, such mortal feeling of <em>need</em>, of the distress of being at the very brink of pleasure—to stand at the precipice of a cliff, trying to dive down into its soothing, blissful waters, but an invisible force standing shield. It feels like pure suffering, as it did before, except now it's not just the emotional suffering where it feels like I'm being hung by my fingertips to dry, but the kind of suffering where exactly that which could heal it is just within reach, but skirting away as soon as I come close. She is two kinds of distress, one which is everlasting and has managed to burrow a permanent home in her magical core, and another which is caused entirely by my body and can be ushered away only by my body.</p><p>She's whimpering, moaning with every thrust of my hips. I shift so that both her wrists are enraptured by one of my hands, and then I ghost my other hand down the side of my body and manage to slip it into the gap between her elevated hips and the bed. I brush my fingertips against her bent knee before moving them to between her thighs, and the sweet moan I'm met with when I find the most sensitive organ on her entire body nearly send me orgasming right then and there.</p><p>"Moan my name," I pant, letting go of her wrists to pull my wand out of her mouth and toss it away, quickly grabbing onto her hands again. She twists them to hold mine just as tight, nails sinking into my skin. "<em>Fuck</em>. C'mon, moan my—<em>ahh—</em>moan my name, tell me who this body belongs to."</p><p>"Draco," she pants out heavily, and then her voice turns into a trembly moan with, "Dr-Dray..." before morphing into a pathetically whimpered, "<em>please</em>, sir... oh, please..." and then a tragic sob that wracks her entire body while she cries, "I need—let me come, let me come for you. Draco, <em>Draco</em>..."</p><p>"Come on, pretty girl, louder," I whisper, my eyebrows knitting together tightly as I feel my orgasm beginning to creep up on me slowly. "Tell me you're mine."</p><p>"I'm <em>yours</em>," she gasps without a moment of hesitation, and I feel the walls in her head crack, desperation, pure need and agony spilling out of the vein in the wall at a steady pace.</p><p>"You're my <em>what?</em>"</p><p>"I'm your—I'm your—" She makes a high-pitched, needy little noise, like the warble of a bird in the morning, but more like a plea for mercy. Celeste finally weeps, "I'm your <em>t-toy—FUCK!</em>"</p><p>It's at this moment that both our bodies go rigid while at the same time tremble uncontrollably. Her legs shake, her back goes stiff, and her eyes squeeze shut while her mouth drops with a silent scream, tears dripping out of her tense eyes and falling down her dark skin, some dripping into her open lips, some trailing down her jaw—it's a beautiful sight to drink in while I release myself for the third time, this time right inside her while her tired, soft walls flutter around me with her own orgasm.</p><p>I let myself stay curled over her for only a few seconds. It's tempting to stay there pressed against her, maybe guide her so we can both turn on our sides and fall asleep without ever being bothered to slip under the covers. Her skin is cold even after all this, soothing compared to the warm night. I'm sure I wouldn't even mind her curls scratching my neck.</p><p>But I know I should get up, so I do, and I grab my wand to cast a quick cleaning spell over myself. I hesitate before doing the same on her, because with the way she's bent over, I can see <em>my</em> come dripping out of her ever so slowly, but I quickly snap out of it and mutter a few charms in her direction.</p><p>It's when I'm walking around the room to pick my sweats up that I notice she's crying.</p><p>It's quiet, very quiet. I've never met anyone who cries as quietly as she does. I probably wouldn't notice it if the room wasn't so still, so silent and unmoving.</p><p>I glance at her. She really is a quiet crier.</p><p>I've seen her cry before, of course, and due to myself only. I've seen her cry while riding me, cry while moaning my name and fucking me, begging me to fuck her harder. That's a different kind of cry. That's louder, unconfined, shameless.</p><p>This is quiet and small. She's hardly even moving, and while her lust-filled sobs tend to shake her own body, I see only her toes curling and her shoulders quivering slightly—and even then, I could be imagining that. She's hardly moved since I left her, still kneeling on the bed and bent all the way over, but her hips rest on the bed now, and her spine is relaxed. Her muscles, however, are tense, and her hands fist the duvet tightly before moving to burrow under her stomach, and I see her cradling one of her hands like it's injured.</p><p>Her cries are quiet, but I hear the occasionally crack in her voice from a silent sob, or a harsh sniff from when she tries to compose herself, no doubt anxious that I might catch her.</p><p>I look out my window, peering out at the starry sky. The glowing dots that float in the infinite expanse of darkness pulsate at me, glare at me threateningly.</p><p>Her mind is a mess.</p><p>I nearly have to sit down when I enter it. It's in completely shambles, her walls crumbling and deteriorating, her thoughts running amok, her emotions suffocating me. They're unbridled, yet, at the same time, they feel so agonizingly repressed. She feels like pain denied, not allowed, not expressed.</p><p>I can feel her anguish. I can feel the rampant intensity of her emotions tangle with my presence, running it's fingers haggardly through my soul, pulling me in with rushed, desperate kisses, trying to force its way into my throat. It's fear and pain in their purest form, absolutely destroying her and threatening to destroy me too.</p><p>I don't even have to concentrate to hear her thoughts. They're louder than my own, but for a moment I think they <em>are</em> my own—</p><p>Because they're in my voice. She's replaying my own words in her head over and over.</p><p>
  <em>I'm not here to take care of you, Celeste.</em>
</p><p>I snap my head back to look at her when I hear my voice.</p><p>
  <em>Nobody is here to take care of you.</em>
</p><p>This time, it doesn't sound <em>exactly </em>like my voice. It has my cold rasp, but it also has her silky whisper.</p><p>
  <em>At least you can trust that much.</em>
</p><p>And that's all her.</p><p>"Are you gonna stay there?" I ask her, walking over to my dresser for some clean clothes, tearing my eyes away from her but finding myself unable to pull out of her mind. "Your room is right across the hall, you know."</p><p>"What?" she whispers, as if she hasn't heard me.</p><p>"I asked if you're planning to stay here. Can you even move?"</p><p>"I'm—I don't know." I pretend I don't see her wiping under her eyes.</p><p>I sigh softly, rubbing my temples while I'm hit with another wave of her pervasive mind. "Fine. You stay here, I'll find a guest bed."</p><p>"Oh. Okay."</p><p>There's some rustling, and I glance over my shoulder to find her standing beside the bed, clutching its frame while her legs tremble.</p><p>"Could I use your b—?"</p><p>"Yeah, just—sure."</p><p>I turn away, hearing the bathroom click shut. I stare down at the open drawers of my dresser before pulling some clothes out. I contemplate a shower, but it's just <em>so</em> late, and I'm suddenly so tired, and the Cleaning Charm should tide me over until morning, so I opt to just put on a fresh, comfortable pair of briefs.</p><p>And then I pause for a moment, hearing the sink running in the bathroom, before pulling out a pair of boxers that I don't think I ever wore—I prefer briefs, after all—and grab a random shirt. I turn around right as Celeste wanders back out the bathroom, her face blank as she rubs her wrist and makes small movements.</p><p>"Here," I say, tossing the clothes onto the bed.</p><p>"Oh," she says softly, picking the shirt up and running her hand over it.</p><p>"I was thinking, it's my bloody bed," I then say, clenching my jaw and walking over to the left side of the bed, the side I typically sleep on, "and you shouldn't be able to kick me out of it."</p><p>"I didn't—"</p><p>"So I'm gonna sleep in it like I always do, and whatever you do is up to you. You can leave," I say, pulling the cover down and climbing into the bed before leaning over to my nightstand to tap the watch my mother gave me, grimacing at the time while I add more quietly, "or you can... you can <em>stay</em>. It's up to you, but <em>I'm </em>going to sleep."</p><p>There's some soft rustling as I pull the covers back over me and turn so my back is facing her.</p><p>Then I feel the covers being pulled down, and then the mattress dips just slightly as Celeste climbs in quietly.</p><p><em>Please hold me</em>.</p><p>I jolt when I hear her thoughts again. I hadn't even realized I was still in her head.</p><p>I hear a soft sniffle followed by a harder sniff. She sighs, and I hear her turn over and pat her pillow before sinking back down into the bed.</p><p><em>Please hold me</em>, her mind begs once again, and it's hard for me to realize that despite how real her begging voice sounds, she isn't actually pleading this to me, not out loud.</p><p>Guilt is <em>useless</em>. I'm above it, or at least I try to remind myself of that.</p><p>
  <em>Please hold me, please hold me, please—</em>
</p><p>I hear a small squeak, like a stifled sob, and then she's sniffing and sighing again, covering her noise with an aggravated groan like she can't find a comfortable position.</p><p>I slip out of her head and close my eyes tight.</p><p>I can't just <em>hold </em>her. Not after all that.</p><p>My back aches, so I turn around begrudgingly to find her already facing me. Her eyebrows twist when she hears me turn, but she doesn't open her eyes to look at me. The covers are all the way up to her chin, and her curls are spread around her messily.</p><p>We're closer than I expected, catching me off guard. Close enough that I can feel a small gust form her ever exhale, close enough that I can smell blackberries and sex on her.</p><p>I shift slightly, and my foot brushes against hers. We both go still. Her breathing halts, and I see her closed eyes flutter though they don't open. And then she relaxes, and I hear her breathing resume with a soft sigh.</p><p>In all honesty, my leg itches. I want to move, shift positions again, but instead I don't allow myself to move a single muscle for the rest of the night until I fall asleep, wondering what it <em>would</em> feel like to hold her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yeah...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0060"><h2>60. THE INEVITABILITY OF HUMAN SUFFERING</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>someone wants to see celeste and draco.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>August 27th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>AUGUST 27th 1996</b>
</p><p>Nauthiz.</p><p>Nauthiz, Naudiz, Noicz, Naud, Naudr, Nied.</p><p>It encompasses distress, acceptance of the unchangeable, need. It is harsh, but necessary, teaching lessons through gruesome turmoil. Hopefully, a person should come out on the other end stronger. Need is a powerful thing, after all, and balanced quite precariously. Humans need fire for warmth, safety, and comfort; humans fear the destructive force of its flames.</p><p>It is necessity, constraint, and the inevitability of human suffering. It is the loss that comes before emptiness. It is the sheer meaninglessness of existence, the destructive and breaking forces.</p><p>At least that's what I learned in Ancient Runes.</p><p>Just like the Raido rune on my chest, Naudiz is perhaps as long as the diameter of a Galleon. It's on the back of my right palm. They say it is supposed to look like two sticks crossed, rubbing together to create friction and fire. A line crosses vertically over my right knuckle, and at its center, tilted to create a diagonal intersection is the second line.</p><p>I cross my fingers, a common symbol of good luck, and watch blankly as the new rune on my skin twists with it.</p><p>It happened that night.</p><p>His hand was gripping both of mine tightly, pinning them to the bed, and perhaps serving as the only thing grounding me to reality while he whispered harsh words into my ear and fucked me like he hated me. It happened then, when the walls of my Occlusion came crumbling down for the nth time that one night, when his other hand worked its cruel magic on my body, when the fingers gripping mine brushed against my right hand—the knuckle of my forefinger, to be exact. That's when I felt that short-lived but searing pain that made me scream out in profanity, though quickly drowned out by waves of long-sought pleasure.</p><p>And now it sits calmly, almost mockingly, on my skin. It's under a Concealment Charm, of course, as are the other two black stains on my skin. But it doesn't ache, just like the one on my chest. Doesn't throb when prodded at, sting when scratched at. It's just a part of me, I suppose.</p><p>My Dark Mark aches.</p><p>Writing a letter is truly such a simple thing. It's a dip of the quill in ink and then scratching the tip against parchment, curving and manipulating the ink to form the right letters and words, rolling it up with some twine and tying it to an owl to send to the receiver. Honestly, it's a half mindless act.</p><p>But I haven't written a single letter since arriving at the manor.</p><p>I've received many, and they've all been shoved into the same drawer after being opened. Blaise and Pansy started out writing to me several times a week, but they've slowed down now, clearly realizing that I won't be writing back anytime soon. I'm almost <em>glad </em>that my mother gave them such a sick excuse for my absence, because nobody can hate someone for not writing back if they think that someone tried to <em>kill</em> themself.</p><p>It helps that my father died, I suppose.</p><p>I just don't see how I'm supposed to write back, what I should even say. I'd have to lie, make up stories of being at St. Mungo's when I don't even know what it's <em>like</em> being there. I'm not sure whether I'd have to pretend to be happy or pretend to be miserable there—though the misery would come easy to imitate, of course.</p><p>But it's time to write a letter.</p><p>Should it be so hard to figure out what to say to your own mother?</p><p>It isn't a new dilemma for me. I'm quick with words, witty with my responses. My mind is always churning, mouth opening before I can think, saying things I haven't really thought through and might regret later, or maybe saying the most thoughtfully crafted sentences that I know those to whom they're directed will ponder over late at night.</p><p>Words and language: they are my greatest power. I pick up languages with ease, I taste them on my tongue like they're homemade memories. Words are my weapon and my shield, and I can twist a mind with them just as easily as I can relax one.</p><p>Words are my source of witchcraft just as much as my the center of my magical core is, but they <em>always</em> fail me when it comes to Mother.</p><p>I need answers, though.</p><p>
  <em>Mother,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When can I see you? I have</em>
</p><p>I stop writing, making a small sound of frustration and instantly tearing that piece of parchment in half. I grab my wand, and with a wordless flick, the paper vanishes. Quickly, I grab another sheet and dip my quill in the thick purple ink.</p><p>
  <em>Mother,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I need to talk to you. Is there a chance I can see you before I go back to Hogwarts?</em>
</p><p>I stare at my scribbles blankly, and then I'm crumpling the parchment and tossing it over my back, muttering softly under my breath. This time, when there yet another fresh piece of parchment in front of me and ink is dripping from the tip of my quill, I take a deep breath before writing.</p><p>
  <em>Mother,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We need to talk, and before school begins once more. Write back soon and tell me if you can see me or not. I have questions that deserve answers.</em>
</p><p>I stare at my letter. It is short, concise, and firm.</p><p>How do I sign it?</p><p>From? Sincerely? Yours? Love?</p><p>I just write my name at the bottom of the letter before standing up, folding the parchment with nimble, distracted fingers while already on my way out the door and towards the Malfoys' Owlery. Mother sent my family owl, Chronos, to come with me, assuming that I would have letters to send and receive. Chronos, however, has spent his August fluttering around the Owlery and soaring the grounds while I receive letters from other owls.</p><p>The alabaster portraits on the walls follow me with their crystalline eyes as I walk quietly down the halls of this sinister manor, my body aching.</p><p>The past week has been consumed entirely by training. I've gathered all the books I could find on Occlumency, since clearly I'm pathetic at it, and have been reading them from cover to cover whenever I'm not dueling whichever Death Eater Bellatrix has procured for me to oppose, or perhaps practicing Apparition just outside the wards of the grounds or within the training room in which the wards have been temporarily removed.</p><p>And the Unforgivables, of course.</p><p>You can't kill a man if you haven't learned the most potent curse to kill.</p><p>I have to remind myself frequently that that is what all of this is for. That is the reason why everything is happening, why I was kicked out of my own home, away from my family and friends, and forced into this glacial, dark environment, why instead of smoking with Pansy and laughing with Blaise, I'm here learning things that will hardly even be mentioned at Hogwarts. At the end of this all, there's a man to kill.</p><p>I have to kill a man.</p><p>The Unforgivables come remarkably easy to me.</p><p>Bellatrix went on one of her long spiels about casting Unforgivable Curses. She told us all about how the precise movements of the wand, how the perfect pronunciation of the words, how the meticulous aim don't matter nearly as much as intent. Without intent, all those other things couldn't be enough to let out even a weak spark. You have to <em>mean</em> the curses, mean it when you want to torture someone, when you want to take away their agency, when you want to <em>kill</em> them.</p><p>And despite how difficult it seems for me to block away my thoughts and emotions, the Unforgivable Curses just seem like another new language to pick up. I'll be fluent soon enough.</p><p>It's unnerving knowing I'm capable of doing that which most adults will never master with considerable ease. Perhaps it takes me two or three tries to Imperius the mice Bellatrix scrounged up for us to practice on, and maybe the first time I Crucio one, it's more of a weak tug on its muscles, but it's more than what Draco can do, and Bellatrix said it herself—</p><p>
  <em>"You're a natural, aren't you? Born for the Dark Arts."</em>
</p><p>It takes intent to cast one of those curses, and if I can cast them so soon and so easily, I must be filled with pure hunger to see others in pain.</p><p>"Is that you, Lettie?"</p><p>I turn around right as Chronos flies off with my letter, heading off towards the Zabini manor where I'm sure Blaise will be disappointed when I realize I've written not to him, but to my mother. It's raining lightly outside. I hope the weather doesn't get too bad while he's out flying.</p><p>Bellatrix stands at the archway to the Owlery, her arms propped up on the sides in a showy position as she rests her weight on a hip and smirks at me, giving me a flash of her fingers as a little wave.</p><p>"Surprised to find you <em>here</em>, but never mind that," she says in a sing-song voice, stepping into the Owlery, sniffing in disgust when her bare feet nearly land on a little pellet an owl must have regurgitated this morning, and then stepping back out. "If you're done with your business, come with me, won't you? I've got <em>exciting</em> news."</p><p>"Oh?" my voice sounds hollow as I brush my hands off on the front of my pants, stepping over a pile of feathers and walking across the Owlery to join her, my stomach flipping anxiously when her lips contort into that sickening smirk.</p><p>"He wants to see you two."</p><p>I nearly trip over my own feet as she grabs my arm to pull me alongside her, her curls flying in my face. Stumbling and gently pulling my arm out of her grip, I frown at the ghostly woman while steadying myself to walk beside her, my heart thudding violently in my chest.</p><p>"He—<em>He?</em>"</p><p>"He's back from his little trip up north, waiting for both of you in your training room. He wants to see you two <em>alone</em>, see how well along you both are," she giggles, her hand patting my arm as she abruptly stops walking.</p><p>I pause only a few feet in front of her, glancing over my shoulder while feeling my stomach drop at her words. I wonder if I look as pale as I feel as I scan her face, drinking in that elated grin she wears, and ask, "Without you?"</p><p>"That's right, dearie."</p><p>I never thought I'd live to see the day where I <em>want</em> Bellatrix's presence.</p><p>"B—"</p><p>"He's waiting, Lettie. It's better not to keep him that way."</p><p>"No, of course, b—"</p><p>"Run along."</p><p>She waves me, looking at me expectantly with wide, manic eyes and lifted black brows. I swallow thickly, turning around and continuing down the halls at a slow pace, as if the air has turned to clay or thick, thick water, telling me to turn around.</p><p>It's as I walk and pass all the intricate silver decor on the walls that I wonder how I hadn't already noticed his presence. It's heavy, dark, practically tangible. I can practically taste it on my tongue, see it in the shadows at every corner, feel it weighing my body down and dampening my soul. The portraits on the walls whisper to each other, likely having noticed that he's here too.</p><p>When I turn a corner and see Draco standing outside the door to the training room, I freeze.</p><p>He isn't walking in, he isn't moving to open it, he's just standing beside it. His eyes are downcast, brows furrowed and lips pursed like he's deep in thought, maybe debating whether to go in or not, though it's not like either of us have much of a choice. I watch him take a deep breath, eyes briefly lifting up to the door, and then his hand darting up to nervously rifle through his hair.</p><p>I clear my throat quietly, though he doesn't hear it, and walk up to him, my shoes silent against the marble floors. He jolts slightly when my hand comes in his view and grabs the door handle, and though I don't look at him, I feel his eyes rest on the side of my face while I pull the door open, my fear and anticipation completely overridden by my hatred.</p><p>My shoulder brushes roughly against his as I push the door open and stride in, not bothering to hold it open and instead hoping that it hits him in the back of his head. When I don't hear a dull thud or a pained groan, however, I sigh softly in dismay, before my eyes settle on the tall, pale man with his hands locked behind his back peering out the window to watch the soft drizzle.</p><p>I freeze, and Draco must have been close behind me, because his arm knocks into mine. He instantly side steps, and I hear his crisp, shaky exhale.</p><p>"I've been wondering," his high, cold voice trembles through the still air, cutting the warmth into shreds and piercing my ears in the way it practically wraps around me, "how my two <em>prodigies</em> have been fairing in their training."</p><p>My body wants to give out. Every aching, dull bruise on my body, from my thighs to my wrists, suddenly amplifies in its pain. All the overextended muscles running up and down my legs quaver, threaten to give out and send me crumbling to the floor. His voice is so light and carefree, but it is riddled with Dark magic that wants to seep into me through my pores and grab hold of my soul with its greedy hands.</p><p>His head turns slightly over his shoulder, looking not at us, but at the corner of the room. "Won't you greet your master?" he whispers chillingly.</p><p>"Good evening, my lord," I exhale almost instantly, feeling like he's wrenched my breath right out of my lungs.</p><p>"It's a pleasure to have you back in the manor," Draco murmurs a yard or two beside me, and I sense him straighten his posture.</p><p>The Dark Lord could be picking through my brain in this moment, and I'm not sure if I would even know. He could be reading my thoughts at the very forefront of my mind, rifling through my memories from the last few days, feeding on the fear that blossoms at this very idea. I close my eyes momentarily, inhaling deeply and straightening my own back, trying to recall my Occlusion. Who knew stone walls could be so weak?</p><p>When I open my eyes again, I see through my peripheral vision Draco turning his head away from me.</p><p>"You two return back to Hogwarts in less than a week," the Dark Lord murmurs, his clasped hands moving to the front of his body as he turns his head back to examine the view from the window, his pale, veiny head tilting on its axis. "Do you feel prepared?"</p><p>I open my mouth, but I don't have the air to speak much less breathe.</p><p>"Yes, my lord," Draco utters after a few seconds of silence, his voice hollow.</p><p>"And you, Celeste? Do you feel prepared?" My heart drops hearing his eldritch croon whisper my own name.</p><p>"Bellatrix has been a better teacher than I could ask for," I respond quietly, tensing my muscles at the overwhelming urge to let my body give out, and it doesn't help when I sense Draco turn his head to look at me once more. <em>Don't look at me</em>.</p><p>"Really? Even after the... events that transpired near the end of your school year? They didn't prove to be distractions?"</p><p>I clench my jaw, willing my walls to stay up, to bolster themselves. "Not at all."</p><p>"Not at <em>all?</em> Inspiring..." he whispers, head turning to the side once more while my heart flutters in a panic. "<em>Not at all</em>... It's not often a girl as young as you dies and comes back to life. A noble thing, your father did for you."</p><p>My breath hitches while I close my eyes and furrow my brows. Anger flames up in me at the sensation of Draco's wintry, kaleidoscopic eyes narrowing in on me, brows probably contorting in confusion at the words of the powerful wizard that inundates this room with his suffocating presence.</p><p>"No, it's not often," I manage to say, stretching out my hands to stop them from trembling.</p><p>"Tell me, Celeste," he breathes, and my blood turns to acid at the sound, "would you ever do what he did for you? Is there anyone you'd do it for?"</p><p>The light patter of the rain is drowned out by his quivering coldness.</p><p>My immediate response is <em>no</em>. I inhale shakily for that, brows furrowing while the image of Blaise helping me down the stairs flashes through my mind, and then the picture of Pansy standing in the shower in her clothes helping me clean myself, and then my heart crumbles when I realize that, somehow, my answer is still no. If the one who did it for me hadn't done so, my answer would change. I don't think there's anybody left who would do the same for me, so why should I do it for them?</p><p>There's my mother, of course, who says she loves me enough to give herself up, but still I have to wonder if she loves me because she knows or because she feels obligated to.</p><p><em>Walls, Celeste</em>, I remind myself.</p><p>"You, of course, my lord," I finally say, opening my eyes and nearly jolting when I find him turned around and staring at me with unreadable red eyes. "Should you ever need me to..."</p><p>His thin lips twist into something that might be considered a smile; I decide right then and there that I never want to see it again. His long, bony hands brush down the front of his black suit while his head rolls slightly to stretch out his neck, mouth open with a silent laugh and red eyes staring us down, holding me prison to where I stand—though I think I'm too scared to move a muscle anyway.</p><p>"Perfect answer," he purrs softly, taking a step closer to us.</p><p>That one movement hits me with a wave of Dark energy, my lungs nearly collapsing from how quickly the breath is knocked out of me. I take a small step back, nearly stumbling, and when Draco flashes his eyes over to frown at me, I give him a sharp glare and take a step away from him as well.</p><p>"Bellatrix has been giving me... many updates on your <em>training</em>," the Dark Lord then says, his hand pulling his wand out of his pocket, and I flinch when I see it, expecting a Dark Curse hurtling towards me at any second now. "Interesting, to say the least. She says you're <em>quite</em> exceptional at Occlumency, Draco."</p><p>Draco goes rigid when the Dark wizard addresses him.</p><p>"She says you picked up rather fast for your age and amount of experience." He tilts his head, lips curling up further to reveal teeth like fangs, sharpened to pointy tips. "She also says that you've been <em>struggling </em>with your Unforgivable Curses. Is this true?"</p><p>The blond boy inhales deeply before clearing his throat and saying, "I haven't picked it up as quickly as other skills, but—"</p><p>"And <em>you</em>, Celeste, she says you're the exact <em>opposite</em>," the Dark Lord says, his eyebrows, though naked and barren of hair, rising while his eyes turn to pin on me. "Surprising, no doubt, that you're so capable of those curses when you can barely Occlude."</p><p>"Thank you," I say quietly.</p><p>"Unfortunately, however, dwelling on our strengths does not subdue any of our weaknesses," he then says, looking away to glance disdainfully at an empty portrait sitting on the wall near him. "Practicing our strengths means less time to practice our weaknesses, and this <em>task</em> requires no weakness."</p><p>"Right," Draco's voice echoes.</p><p>"For you, Draco, that means your Unforgivables, and for <em>you</em>, Celeste, that means your Occlumency. Fortunately, there is a way for both of your weaknesses to be practiced at the same time. Draco, I assume Bellatrix told you what I want you to do."</p><p>"Yes," his voice is quieter, pausing before he adds, "my lord."</p><p>He tilts his chin up, malicious gaze raking over my face. "Good. Turn to face each other, then."</p><p>I suppress a confused frown, instead swallowing thickly. My body turns to face Draco while I continue to watch carefully the Dark Lord, and when his gaze becomes unbearable, I finally turn my head to look at the Malfoy heir a few feet in front of me.</p><p>His intensely searing eyes lock onto mine instantly. I can't read the expression on his angular, ice-carved face, but I see his temples twitch as he clenches his jaw, bitter eyes darting between mine. They're truly the cruelest shade of grey. They're snow covering a patch of black ice, looking soft and inviting until you step and slip on its surface. His words from that night echo in my head, bouncing off the walls of my Occlumency before I grab them with a harsh hand and force them away.</p><p>What a stupid, bitter boy.</p><p>I feel my heart twist as his eyes scan my face, his brows tightening slightly. They relax a moment later, his angelic pink lips pressing together.</p><p>Such angelic lips capable of such vile things, both in what they do and what they say.</p><p>"Celeste, your mind is your weakest point," the Dark Lord says in a thin voice, my thoughts jolting away from Draco Malfoy's insufferably unfathomable actions and how they constantly give me whiplash. "You need to focus on defending it, on battling those that want to intrude on it and manipulate it for their own whims. Draco, your weakest point is your resolution. Remember why you do this, why we all do this. You want to serve me well, don't you?"</p><p>"Of course," his perfect lips barely move. His eyes are on <em>my</em> lips.</p><p>"Draw your wand, Draco."</p><p>I frown, turning my head abruptly to look at the Dark Lord. <em>What?</em></p><p>Slowly, I turn my head back to face Draco. His is already out and in his hand by his side, his rings glinting as he turns it in his grasp. He keeps clenching his jaw, scathing eyes skimming all over my face and narrowing in concentration.</p><p>"What's happening?" I ask as calmly as I can manage.</p><p>"Do it," the Dark Lord whispers, a chill shuddering down my spine.</p><p>Draco swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing while his eyes flicker up and down my frame. I frown deeply, my hand slowly inching to grab my own wand as I see him slowly bring his up. I stare at his hand alertly, but I feel his gaze on my face even when his hand is level with his chest and extended towards me. It's like he's waiting for me to look at him before he does whatever it is the Dark wizard just a few feet away from us wants him to do.</p><p>I lift my eyes up to his, hoping he can read the hatred in them. He doesn't flinch away from my glare, but his eyebrows furrow even more deeply at it. He deepens our eye contact, as if trying to tell me something silently, and then his lips part with a soft whisper.</p><p>"<em>Imperio</em>."</p><p>A soft shudder passes through my body. My eyes widen when I hear the curse, expecting to be overcome with pain, but instead the feeling is... comforting. It feels like I might just float away into the heavens, not a worry in the world—</p><p>But his incantation is weak, and his intent isn't fully there, so while the spell casts a brief shudder through my body, it doesn't hold.</p><p>"Again," the Dark Lord's voice is harsher, grating, making my ears feel like they might bleed.</p><p>My hand pulls my wand out right when the feeling fades, my eyes narrowing while rage surges all through my veins at the realization of what Draco is trying to do to me, and right as I thrust my wand towards him with full intent to blast him backwards, that cold voice stops me.</p><p>"Put that wand away. You won't fight him with it. Fight him with your mind, your will power."</p><p>I freeze, still scowling at him angrily and taking in his mildly worrisome but otherwise stoic expression, and then I pull my hand back and shove my wand away, letting my hands curl at my sides while they shake with fury. I close my eyes, thinking hotly about just how much I hate this stupid boy, and then I shove those thoughts away and open my eyes again, flicking them up and down his face as if to tell him to just <em>try</em> and control me.</p><p>My muscles tense when I see his hand lift again, as if I'll be able to physically ward the curse off.</p><p>"<em>Imperio</em>," he says again, this time louder.</p><p>Every thought and worry in my head is instantly wiped away. My muscles relax as I feeling of pure, blissful relaxation coaxes it into submission. That floating feeling returns, like gravity doesn't work on me anymore, and maybe the cosmos will welcome me if I go flying towards them. Really, it feels like nothing but... a vague kind of happiness, or maybe agreeableness. I'm hardly even aware of the presence to my left watching me keenly as I sigh softly, looking into intense silver eyes that hold me steadfast where I stand.</p><p>I notice that where my body had been aching—all over my thighs, hips, even my ass, my neck, wrists, and sides—now buzzes pleasantly. Yes, it truly is a pleasant sensation. It's hard to even imagine what the pain felt like... But why would I want that? To imagine the pain? This is <em>so</em> much nicer.</p><p>Pretty pink lips part once more, and a husky, intoxicating voice murmurs, "Come here."</p><p>Every cell in my body buzzes with delight at the soft-spoken demand, and I feel like I'm leaning forward from how the atoms that make me up pull towards him, like he's a magnet, or maybe like he's a light and I'm a moth. I inhale softly, my eyebrows rising, and take a small step towards him, nearly sighing in relief when I do so—I already felt so light, but following his command feels like responsibility I didn't even know was weighing my shoulders down is being lifted away.</p><p>I take another step, feeling lighter already.</p><p>Something tugs at the back of my mind when I'm just a few steps away from where he wants. It's a thought—<em>Why am I doing this?</em></p><p>Because he told me to.</p><p>
  <em>Why am I listening to him?</em>
</p><p>Because it feels good.</p><p><em>No, why is my </em>body <em>listening to him?</em></p><p>Because he's cursed me.</p><p>My breath hitches at the realization, but my feet are still moving slowly towards him. I try to move anything else, maybe curl my hand into a fist or contort my blank expression into one of contempt, but my body doesn't respond to anything but the desire to follow his orders.</p><p><em>Control</em>. That's what he's taking from me. My agency, my autonomy, my control, and I'm sure he's figured out by now just how much it matters to me. That's all I really want at the end of the day—control over myself, control over decisions regarding me, just <em>control</em> so I'm not so helpless in the torrents that ravage and destroy my life. And at the same time, I don't want it. I don't want the responsibility that comes with it, I don't want to be in charge of myself and all that happens to me. I want someone to take control, to be responsible for me, to take <em>care</em> of me, but the same stupid boy who is doing that right in this moment said it himself—</p><p>Nobody is here to take care of me.</p><p>And nobody is coming to save me. Not my father, not my mother, not the stupid locket around my neck.</p><p>Only I can, really.</p><p>And so half my mind wants nothing more to fulfill his every wish while the other half would risk destroying my mind by tearing it from his grasp as violently and quickly as possible.</p><p>The first half wins out when I find myself standing in front of him, tilting my head up to look blankly in his eyes and await my next directions.</p><p>Icy eyes peer down at me through fine lashes, scanning my face with a grim sheen over them, and then they lift as an impeccably carved face turns to face our spectator, as if looking to him for directions.</p><p>"You know what to do," a voice that's cold but muffled echoes into the air. "<em>Do it</em>."</p><p>Teeth bite down on the inside of a soft, pink lip, and sharp eyes look back at me. We're two feet apart, and I can feel myself swaying while I wait for a command. His features are so distinct, so sharp and perfect, and they consume me wholly while the rest of the room fades out of focus. His lips... lips, lips, lips, pretty, soft lips, the best shade of pink, and they speak with an exhilarating rasp—</p><p>
  <em>Stop thinking about his lips!</em>
</p><p>My shoulders shudder, and I blink blankly.</p><p>
  <em>"I control what you do," he sneers while tightening his hold on my neck. "Every orgasm you have, it's not because you want it, it's because I want you to have it. Whether you get to see, to move, that's my decision. Whether you get to speak, that's my decision. Even... Even..." I whimper when his hand squeezes on either side of my throat. "I even get to decide whether you breathe or not."</em>
</p><p>Am I allowed to breathe if he hasn't told me to?</p><p>I inhale slowly, finding my lungs filling up with air just as they always do, and when I exhale, it's partially out of relief.</p><p>A tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and then his beautiful mouth opens.</p><p>"Kneel."</p><p>Gravity comes back in full force, ten times stronger than before. My knees shake, wanting to sink down to the floor. Everything that makes up my body wants to descend until I'm bowing in front of him on my knees, and I find myself struggling to do just that. It's a battle between my body and the tiny sliver of my mind that's still awake, and it's a difficult battle, because fighting against it is <em>so</em> arduous, but I know that if I give in and just kneel, that pleasant feeling will return.</p><p>It truly is a pleasant feeling... Not an anxiety in the world, not a stressor to ponder, just the ability to sway in the winds of my puppeteer's whims.</p><p>My body shakes as I try to fight back against it, and it doesn't help that I can't tear my eyes away from his sharp, insidious ones. I can hear that cold voice form beside us urging both of us on, laughing boldly as it tells the body attached to those crystalline eyes to force me down, grating as it goads me to fight back, to stay upright.</p><p>My body wins, and I fall to the ground with a rough thud that sends pain jolting from my knees up and down my legs, but it quickly transforms into that pleasant buzz.</p><p>My gaze is on his hand.</p><p>It's his left hand, right in my line of sight, and it wears several rings that I stare at blankly while I kneel in front of him, torn between hating him for doing this to me and giving in to his compulsions.</p><p>"Don't <em>loiter</em>, Draco," that cold voice is still muffled. Everything, every noise is muffled, from the Dark wizard's icy trembles to the tap of the rain against the window. "You know what to do next. Bellatrix made it clear, did she not?"</p><p>His left hand twitches, and then it's moving towards my face. I don't flinch away—I <em>can't</em> flinch away—when it touches my skin. It's fingers are under my jaw, it's thumb across my chun nearly touching my lip, and then it's tilting my head up so that my eyes meet his once again.</p><p>A snowstorm brews in them. Clouds, some white, some grey, some nearly black, all simmer and broil together, complex and covering whatever emotion lays behind them. His icy mask doesn't melt. It never melts. It does, however, shift with his downturned lips, the way they twitch as his snowstorm eyes flicker between mine and my lips. Hesitation is etched all over the stress lines between his lightly furrowed brows.</p><p>Panic flares up in my body, momentarily overriding the curse as I shift my head back just slightly at the thought that crosses my mind—What is he supposed to do to me?</p><p>He couldn't have put me on my <em>knees</em> to—</p><p>No. I hate him, I hate this stupid boy and every fine hair on his head, every snowflake in his eyes, every pink pigment in his lips, but even if he's being <em>forced</em> by his aunt and our master to strip my control from me, to take away my agency and command me, he wouldn't violate my consent like <em>that</em>.</p><p>He wouldn't, he wouldn't, <em>he wouldn't, tell me you won't.</em></p><p>His eyes flicker slightly, brows tensing while he reads my face. I struggle to read his, to see what's going on in his mind. His fingers tighten on my chin before his left hand drops from my face and his right hand lowers so his wand replaces it, the tip under my chin and keeping my head tilted up towards him.</p><p>Unlike every other noise in the room, his voice is clear and almost sounds as if it's right in my head.</p><p>"You'll do anything I ask of you, won't you?" his voice is soft, head tilting and tense brows relaxing slightly.</p><p>Two voices scream in my head. One, the part of me that's fixated under his control, that thrives on letting go and allowing my body to do whatever he asks of it, screams "yes" a thousand times over.</p><p>The other voice curses him out.</p><p>I make a muffled sound, working against myself by keeping my mouth shut while my throat contracts to give him his answer. His lips twitch as he watches me intently, and his glacial eyes briefly flicker over to the Dark wizard supervising us before returning to me.</p><p>"Answer me," he urges, and I'm overwhelmed with this deep desire to do exactly that.</p><p>"Mmh..." I swallow thickly, eyes closing gently while a war wages behind them, two parts of me fighting. One part wants to yank my control back, the other part wants to lay it down at his feet, and the worst part is, I'm not even entirely sure if it's the Imperiusing that's causing this conflict in my head.</p><p>"Celeste..." his voice is raspy, the tip of his wand gently guiding me to tilt my head up further. "Open your eyes."</p><p>They fly open without hesitation.</p><p>His hair has fallen over his forehead, slightly messed up and nearly tangling with his eyelashes. "You'll follow my commands, correct?"</p><p>"Cor—" I literally bite down on my tongue, hissing at the sharp pain that swells up but is quickly replaced by the buzzing. Blood fills my mouth, warm and metallic, but still I open it without my own volition to mumble, "<em>Correct</em>."</p><p>"Do you have a choice?"</p><p>My teeth latch around my tongue again, making me cry out softly as they sink into where it bleeds, but I keep them there while forcing my head away from his wand and dropping my head, the backs of my eyes prickling.</p><p>My eyes squeeze tighter when I feel his left hand on the side of my face, and for some reason, I'm even more unnerved by how he gently coaxes me to tilt my head back up rather than doing so aggressively, because it makes it easier to melt into his hands. He holds my face with that one hand and brings his wand back up to my chin, but I keep my eyes closed.</p><p>"Answer m—"</p><p>"<em>No</em>," I exhale, "I don't."</p><p>The ice in his eyes hardens. He scans my face with a clenched jaw, brows tightening when he swallows thickly. His hand is shaking, not enough to be perceptible, but I can feel it in the way it tightens on the side of my face to steady itself.</p><p>He doesn't look away, but his words aren't for me. "Is that enough?"</p><p>"Not until she either breaks free or submits fully. She's still fighting; we haven't seen who's won..." that cold voice hisses, "who's stronger..."</p><p>He says more, but his muffled voice turns nearly silent when the pale boy turns back to look at me, as if gazing up into those crystalline eyes fades everything else into incomprehensible background fuzz. I see him nod slightly, a grim expression on his face.</p><p>His wand tilts my head up higher, and he licks those soft lips again, and again when they speak, their words aren't for me.</p><p>"Shall I make her move? Walk around?"</p><p>The cold voice responds, but it's so distant, I can't hear anything. I hear nothing but my blood rushing, or maybe it's <em>his</em> blood rushing, and maybe it's not my soft breaths but <em>his.</em> He nods again.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>All my nerves perk up at the sound of my name slipping from his lips, and I look at him blankly, but feel the intent desire to heed him.</p><p>His lips hesitate, and then they impel, "Tell me what you desire most. "</p><p>I inhale sharply, and a slightest sliver of reason returns to me when I hear those words. I glance between sharp eyes, closing my mouth to keep any words from spilling out of them, my hands itching to curl into fists from the strain, but it doesn't keep the part of my mind that wants to submit from running.</p><p>
  <em>I want my father back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I want to have people in my life and know I won't lose them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I want consistency.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I want a home.</em>
</p><p><em>I want you to let go of my fucking mind</em>.</p><p>I make a muffled noise when his left hand, still shaking slightly, tucks a lock of my curls behind my ear before going back to cupping the side of my face. It takes all my remaining willpower not to open my mouth and just exhale my answer right then and there, but I make another muffled noise at the back of my throat, my eyes fluttering slightly and head starting to dip down.</p><p>"I..." my lips betray me and utter the single word before I once more bite down on my bleeding tongue, wincing at the short lived pain that soon fades. "I w—<em>mmh</em>," I groan softly, tearing my head to the side and clamping my lips together. My eyes close, and I hold them that way tight while I feel the weak walls in my head attempt to rebuild themself. It's like when every second I resist, one brick piles back on, but with every second he holds me fast with his curse, two bricks topple.</p><p>The cold voice murmurs again, and again I can't quite hear what.</p><p>But then both of his hands are on the sides of my face, wand pressed between my jaw and his right palm while the curse continues, and then he's directing my head to turn back up at him. I falter at the feeling of calloused yet comfortingly warm palms holding my face, my eyes flicking open and lips parting to see strife staining grey eyes that look at me intently.</p><p>"I want—" I gasp softly, a hand rising to my throat, but I can't seem to stop myself. "My greatest—I want..."</p><p>"Tell me," he whispers, and for some reason, the way his brows twist and head tilts convinces me that he wants me to tell him not so he can show how powerful his magic is, but because he wants to know, and so my lips betray me again.</p><p>"I want something or some<em>one</em> I can..." I clench my jaw. <em>Shut up, Celeste</em>, a voice in my head whispers scathingly, but it's a quiet and lone voice compared to all the others compelling me to speak. His thumb brushes my cheekbone, and I exhale, "...<em>rely</em> on."</p><p>His alabaster face doesn't react, but his hands tighten as his eyes slowly turn to look at our spectator. Another muffled murmur, and then snowy eyes are on me.</p><p>"Tell me your greatest fear."</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>I grit my teeth, trying to physically wrench my face away from his grip. It's not even like he's holding me tightly; it's likely the gentlest touch he's ever given me. No, his hands are <em>too</em> warm and <em>too</em> comforting, and they are making me <em>too</em> compliant. He may have forced out of me the realization that I am to follow his commands, he may have seized from my lips my most profound wish, but he will <em>not</em> steal from me my greatest fear.</p><p>I steel my eyes as best as I can, though my face is probably still blank. The ice in his are fearsome to glare into, or imagine myself glaring into. He glances between my eyes. I can feel his magic grow stronger and more compelling; with it, so does my rage.</p><p>I am tired of being driven over like I'm a loose cobblestone on the path of the world. I am tired of having everything taken away, everything warped, everything ruined. I'm tired of being dealt all the worst hands and cards. I'm tired of having whatever last drops of control I possess being stolen from me drip by drip.</p><p>And while I can't change most things, at least I can keep this foolish little boy from utterly humiliating me more than he already has.</p><p>My stone walls grow and repair just as they do every day. Perhaps they'll fall down later just as they do every day, trapping me in a perpetual cycle in which my mind is in constant disarray, but all that matters is that I keep building it long enough until I can force this boy out of its barriers.</p><p>"Your greatest fear, Celeste. Tell me." His eyes trap mine.</p><p>
  <em>Where do I begin?</em>
</p><p>My mouth opens slowly and shakily, like two opposing forces are working at them. One force pries it open, another force tries to slam it shut.</p><p>
  <em>Never seeing my father again; going somewhere where he isn't.</em>
</p><p>I close my mouth and bite down on my tongue again, sensing more iron on broken tastebuds.</p><p>
  <em>Seeing my father all too soon.</em>
</p><p>I nearly heave from the pressure forming at the back of my throat, my muscles contracting and twisting and turning and wanting to form words that I won't allow out my mouth. I just need to fucking concentrate, push my thoughts away. Forget what he's asked of me, forget everything.</p><p>
  <em>Losing everyone else.</em>
</p><p>A lock of hair falls over my face.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I've already lost everyone else.</em>
</p><p>His ring brushes against my cheekbone when he pushes the hair away.</p><p>
  <em>Or maybe I'm in the process of losing them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I never had them.</em>
</p><p>I make a soft sound of struggle, my face twisting in pain, because all of a sudden the pleasant hum of the Imperiusing is being overridden by a sting that's familiar to combatting Bellatrix while she's thrusting her claws into my head. The pain encourages me to keep going, however, because I tell myself that's how I know it's working.</p><p>"Tell me..." his voice is a soft melody.</p><p>I can feel his magic surging to combat mine.</p><p><em>Shit</em>, I want to gasp out loud, <em>I just need more time, I almost have it, I almost have it—</em></p><p>I'm so close, <em>so</em> close. There are perhaps only a handful more metaphorical bricks to lay down on my walls, just a few holes left to fill until there will be nothing—no thoughts, no emotions, no memories out in the open to manipulate, just my wall of defense and will-power that will wrench the control out of his pale hands and place it in my darker ones.</p><p>But if his magic grows any stronger, I'm afraid I'll crumble entirely.</p><p>
  <em>Just a second more, a second more—</em>
</p><p>That's when I feel it falter.</p><p>It's hardly noticeable. If I had to describe what the falter in his magic felt like, I'd compare it to a tiny ripple in an otherwise still lake, or a line that looks straight from afar but has a nearly imperceptible curve to it from up close.</p><p>I'm not sure <em>why</em> he's faltered, not when his magic was growing so steadily. Perhaps the Dark Lord said something to him that I couldn't hear over the buzzing in my ears.</p><p>But it's just enough time.</p><p>When the last brick is placed, my hearing returns to me in a snap. It's jarring, making me jolt and snap my head up and eyes open in a mild panic. The still air is so loud, and the pattering of the rain pounds on my skull.</p><p>I look up at Draco Malfoy, who doesn't seem phased by my suddenly regained lucidity, and I snarl—</p><p>"Let go of me."</p><p>The rest is a bit of a blur. I'm vaguely aware of the Dark Lord uttering some sort of cold congratulations to me as well as a suggestion for a meeting to Draco, and I'm vaguely aware of him leaving the room and the two of us in it, but hardly so because I'm overwhelmed.</p><p>My walls come crumbling down almost instantly, because with the control shoved back into my grasp comes the suffering, distress, and the harsh responsibility.</p><p>Nauthiz.</p><p>I gasp for breath and exhale in a mildly pained moan seconds after the Dark Lord leaves, falling from my knees to curl my legs under me and brace myself by pressing my palms to the floor. I pant for breath even though I haven't moved in ages. My heart is beating three times faster than it needs to, and my lungs flutter in a panic for a good fill of air.</p><p>My head pounds, and I bring a hand up to rub my temples while making another small, pained noise. It hurts, it hurts so <em>much</em>.</p><p>I didn't realize how much pain that Imperiusing was taking away. I didn't realize how much that pleasant buzz was covering. It wasn't just physical. It wasn't just the bruises and sore muscles that it soothed. It was my mind, too. It took away my anxiety and worries and fears and regrets.</p><p>It took away my distress and need for <em>fire</em>, for someone to just breathe fire into my soul and warm me up again. To give me that safety and comfort.</p><p>Draco kneels in front of me. Why is he still here?</p><p>His hands go to my arms. I can feel how hesitant they are, because while they can be strong and demanding, they tremble lightly and hold me hardly enough to feel over the fabric of my shirt. I try to pull away from him, but instead a dry sob works it's way out of my lungs and escapes my stupid, betraying lips as a whimper. His hands tighten at this, falter, and then decide to ignore their second thoughts when they pull me towards their wielder while their wielder moves towards me.</p><p>"Celeste," his voice is tight and strained, almost as anxious as I feel.</p><p>I don't lift my head up to look at him, though, allowing my curls to fall and act like a protective barrier. My body feels too weak to move away from him even when I know it shouldn't. It's my mind that really hurts.</p><p>"I..."</p><p>Words seem to fail him, so he moves instead. It's like his hands don't know what to do, slipping under my shirt sleeves to squeeze my shoulder, slipping out to move to my back and massage lightly, move to the side of my neck to try to get me to look at him.</p><p>"Are you..?"</p><p>Idiot boy.</p><p>"Stop," I whisper, my eyes opening.</p><p>Draco freezes, hands still on my arms. I can imagine the way his eyes must be looking at me right now, searchingly and so intense.</p><p>I lift my head slowly, my body shaking with rage as I quickly find those icy eyes, hoping he'll read everything and every way I wish I could hurt him in this moment. Hair falls over my face, tangling with my lashes, and he lifts a hand to push it away, but I quickly grab his wrist and stop him while his fingers are inches from my cheek.</p><p>"From now on..." I say in a low, shaky voice, seeing his eyes on our hands.</p><p>"Wait.."</p><p>"...You don't <em>talk</em> to me," I spit as scathingly as possible, digging my nails into his wrist, "you don't <em>look</em> at me..."</p><p>His eyebrows slowly tighten, angular face starting to fall while I give him a look of pure disgust and feel my voice start to rise.</p><p>"...And you <em>definitely </em>don't <em>touch</em> me!" I finish with my voice trembling loudly, throwing his hand back towards him and ripping my arm away from his other.</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"The <em>hell</em> did I just say?" I snap, scrambling away from him and stumbling to get to my feet, nearly tripling over my own foot.</p><p>Draco, who is already up, holds his hands out to steady me, but I straighten and dart away quickly, turning to storm towards the door.</p><p>"Celeste, wait!"</p><p>"Fuck you!"</p><p>"I'm s—"</p><p>"I <em>hate</em> you," the words rip from my chest with an intensity I didn't know I was capable of, vibrating me as I whip around to glare at him ferociously with my hand on the door knob. "I fucking <em>hate </em>you. You are... You are the <em>worst</em> person I have ever met. You are..." I sputter slightly, my words failing me, and then I laugh dryly, seeing the gleam in his eyes dry. "There aren't words for you, Draco Malfoy."</p><p>"Cel," his voice is quiet while he looks at me insistently.</p><p>I shake my head, swinging the door open with quivering hands, muttering as I walk out—</p><p>"One of a <em>fucking</em> kind."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what is something stupid that you're passionate about?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0061"><h2>61. EXCUSE ME, MAY I SIT HERE?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>first day of sixth year! reminder that everyone is aged up. they start hogwarts at 12, and they're adults at 18</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>SEPTEMBER 1st, 1996</b>
</p><p>The train ride to Hogwarts has never been this quiet.</p><p>Blaise and Celeste are gone, off to some <em>Slug Club</em> meeting hosted by the man who is apparently supposed to be our new Potions professor, leaving Pansy and I alone in our compartment. Neither of us have actually seen Celeste yet, but I'm not sure I'm looking forward to a train ride in this small compartment with her. Anyway, Pansy and I had to visit the Prefects' carriage first for the typical briefing.</p><p>At least one good thing came out of that. Prefects get their own dorms now.</p><p>Pansy is leaning on my in silence. She grabbed my arm a while back and wrapped it around herself, so while I sit like a regular person next to the window, she takes up the rest of the space on the bench with her feet propped up and her head resting on my chest while her arms hold my right arm hostage around her waist.</p><p>"Fuck you," she says quietly after a while, tilting her head up so her brown eyes can peer up at me, covered slightly by her overgrown bangs.</p><p>"Hm?" I murmur distractedly, my eyes on her but my mind on another girl.</p><p>"<em>Fuck you</em>. You never wrote," Pansy sighs softly. "A whole month of <em>nothing</em>."</p><p>I glance over her pouting face and then turn my head to look out the window. We're passing by a thick forest, the trees a blur and above them, clouds cover the blue sky. "If it's any consolation," I murmur quietly, my head falling back to lean against my seat, "I didn't write to anyone."</p><p>"Thanks," she spits bitterly, "I didn't realize I was just <em>anyone</em>. Fuck you, dude, Blaise and I are supposed to be your best friends."</p><p>"You <em>are</em>—"</p><p>"Whatever," she huffs, giving my arm a tight squeeze before shuffling downwards until her head is resting in my lap and the rest of her body is curled tightly to fill the space left for two people that she occupies. She's always been so forgiving with both Blaise and I. "Draco," she says softly, and she doesn't continue until I look away from the window and look down at her, seeing her smile softly, almost bitterly, while finding my right hand to hold tightly. "It sucks. About your father."</p><p>I almost laugh dryly at this. "Right."</p><p>"I love you, you know that? We both do."</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"And <em>because</em> I love you," Pansy huffs with an irritated roll of her eyes, "I'm not gonna make you say it back. I don't want you to have a mental breakdown when you realize it's okay to enjoy the presence of other people."</p><p>"Shut up."</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>I sigh softly, tearing my eyes away from her to look back out the window, my hand curling around hers. My head throbs and my heart twists the way they both have been for the last four days, an agonizing pain that worsens whenever I think about it.</p><p>And then I concede quietly, "I missed you."</p><p>"Good."</p><p>It's at this moment that the compartment door slides open. Pansy and I both turn our heads to see Blaise step into the compartment, though he quickly pauses when his robes—<em>why</em> he's already wearing them, I don't know—get stuck on the lock. Blaise—who has gotten taller since I last saw him—curses violently and proceeds to try to tug his robes out of where they're stuck, a ferocious scowl on his face.</p><p>"Are you fucking incompetent?" Celeste's familiar voice rings out, and then her hands slip into view, carefully prying his robes free before playfully pushing him into the compartment. "Idiot. I leave you for one month, and <em>this</em> happens."</p><p>"Celeste!" Pansy exclaims, tumbling out of the seat (and my lap) to quickly brush herself off, shove Blaise out of the way, and then grab Celeste's hand to tug her into a tight, forceful hug.</p><p>I watch with slightly perked eyebrows as Pansy, despite being slightly shorter and having a more slender frame, tightens her arms around Celeste and lifts her several inches off the ground while the darker skinned girl's eyes widen and legs flail slightly.</p><p>"Put me down!"</p><p>"No!"</p><p>"Put me <em>down!</em>"</p><p>Pansy huffs and complies the second time, dropping Celeste to the ground. They look blankly at each other for a few seconds before simultaneously pulling the other into another hug. It's just as tight, but this time, their feet stay on the ground while they laugh softly.</p><p>"I missed you," Pansy says, her hand grabbing Celeste and pulling her to sit back down with her.</p><p>Celeste doesn't look at me, doesn't spare me a single glance, but I see her falter as her eyes settle on the space between Pansy and I where she's clearly meant to sit. She glances over her shoulder just in time to see Crabbe and Goyle slip into the compartment and take the two empty seats next to Blaise, her hand tensing, and then she turns back around to sit next to me,</p><p>"I missed you too," she says in a tight voice, very pointedly shifting to sit closer to Pansy.</p><p>Pansy leans past Celeste to look at me with a quirked brow. "It's Celeste, Draco," she says in a voice that reminds me of a mother scolding her son in public. "<em>Celeste</em> is here."</p><p>"I see that," I say calmly, trying to ignore the way Celeste's jaw clenches.</p><p>"Are you gonna greet her? We haven't seen her all summer."</p><p><em>Right</em>, I remember, running a hand through my hair. "Good summer, Celeste?"</p><p>Pansy reaches past Celeste to give me a sharp slap on my thigh. "<em>Idiot</em>."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Summer at St. Mungo's wasn't great," Celeste says sharply, her eyes on Pansy and her lips turned up in a sweet smile that doesn't match her tone, "but how was yours, Pansy?"</p><p>I turn my head away from the two, so painfully aware that Celeste's knee is just a few inches from mine, and if I made the wrong move or shifted without thinking right, I'd brush mine against hers. <em>Don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't touch me</em>. Instead, I look ahead at Blaise to find him already looking at me, dark eyes not glaring, but trying to read me as his jaw clenches.</p><p>"You disappeared off the face of the planet," he says after a moment, Goyle and Crabbe busy in their own conversation beside him.</p><p>My head throbs harder, and it takes all my effort not to reach up and rub it. "I know."</p><p>"What, did you get sent to St. Mungo's <em>too?</em> Not a single letter, not a single response, you stupid wanker. Pansy and I thought you were <em>dead</em>. We showed up at your fucking manor, you know," he says, and my heart drops because I had no idea, "and got turned away. We didn't know shit about you until we asked your mother, and <em>then</em> we found out that you weren't allowed out the manor. Fine, you're not allowed out, fuck the reason why, but you couldn't fucking <em>write?</em>"</p><p>I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.</p><p>
  <em>What was I supposed to write? That summer at the manor was wonderful? That my mother and I hardly noticed my father's absence? That our marble floors weren't being sullied by half-breed Death Eaters with no sense of respect? That I didn't spend every waking moment either pouring over books, having my mind invaded, dueling Death Eaters, having my bones broken, having my skin singed off, being forced to torture little insects and owls and your own fucking cousin?</em>
</p><p><em>Please don't hate me. I couldn't stand it if another person hated me</em>.</p><p>"I'm..."</p><p>"Go on," he scoffs, and I can feel Pansy looking at me and Celeste still refusing to do the same, but very obviously paying attention, "<em>apologize</em>. I know it breaks your little prideful Malfoy heart to do it."</p><p>I grit my teeth, shooting him a scalding glare while he looks at me with risen brows. "Fuck you."</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"I'm s—"</p><p>"All's forgiven. That Slughorn guy is fucking weird," he then whistles lowly, sinking in his seat casually and folding his arms behind his head while I blink in mild surprise.</p><p>"What did he want, anyway?" I purse my lips, leaning back and propping my elbows up on the top of the seat, glancing to the side where Celeste's short but thick curls cover the side of her face. She's fiddling with her hands on her lap, rubbing one of the fingers on her right hand and then switching to rub her left forearm where we both know an ugly mark sits and matches mine.</p><p>I hear a soft cough, and my eyes dart to find from whom it's come, but nobody seems to have moved.</p><p>"Just looking to find well-connected people," he shrugs, rubbing his hand over his short-cropped hair, "though he didn't find so many."</p><p>I lift a brow. "Who else was there?"</p><p>Celeste scoffs softly, muttering something unintelligibly and irritably under her breath while flipping her hair over her shoulder. I give her a slight glance, willing her to turn her head to look at me, but she gazes ahead steadfast.</p><p>"Cormac McLaggen, the Gryffindor."</p><p>I shrug slightly—it's a name I've heard before. After all, his father is big in the Ministry.</p><p>"Some... <em>Belby</em>, from Ravenclaw."</p><p>"Oh," I can hear the sniveled expression on Pansy's face, "he's a fucking <em>prat</em>."</p><p>"Yeah," Blaise laughs dryly, rolling his eyes, "and then there's Potter, Longbottom, and the Weasley girl." </p><p>I stiffen. "<em>Longbottom?</em> Neville Longbottom? He invited <em>him?</em>"</p><p>Blaise shrugs.</p><p>"The hell does he want from <em>Longbottom?</em>  The bellend can hardly cast a Levitation Charm. And of <em>course</em> he wanted a look at the precious <em>Chosen One</em>," I say dryly, leaning back casually and propping my foot up on my knee. "What's so special about the Weasley girl, then?"</p><p>"A lot of boys like her—" Blaise says, quickly interrupted by Pansy.</p><p>"And girls—"</p><p>"—and she's not <em>half </em>bad looking—"</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>, you said she's <em>hot</em>, Blaisey! You can't take that b—"</p><p>"Shut your <em>mouth</em>, Parkinson, or I'll—"</p><p>"I'll bet you <em>wank </em>off to her every—"</p><p>"I wouldn't touch a filthy little bloodtraitor like her no matter <em>what</em> she looked like," he snaps, his eyes glaring harder than I've ever seen before. And then he swallows thickly, a hand roughly rubbing the back of his head, and turns to look out the window while the compartment descends into a thick silence.</p><p>"Well," I say quietly, choosing to look out the window myself to half-heartedly admire the mountain range we now pass, "I pity his poor taste. Perhaps old Slughorn is a bit senile. I think my father had him back in his day, even used to be a favorite of his." My heart falters slightly when I realize Father must have been in this Slug Club, and perhaps he's far away in Azkaban, but when he hears that I didn't get an invitation but <em>bloodtraitors</em> did, he'll...</p><p>"I wouldn't expect an invite," I'm surprised when Celeste's low voice appears from beside me.</p><p>I turn to look at her, but she's staring off handedly down at her show while it kicks at the ground, her hands still wrangling with each other. "Why not?"</p><p>"He asked us about Nott's father when we first arrived," she says, picking her head up to look at Pansy rather than me. "They used to be old friends, but when he heard that his father got... caught at the... Ministry during the..." She inhales slightly shakily, and I catch her pushing away Pansy's hand that tries to rub her arm. "Anyway, he didn't look so happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think he's interested in Death Eaters, or at least not  the children of... <em>known </em>ones."</p><p>Her hand rubs her left forearm.</p><p>I let out a slight, humorless laugh, and when I close my mind, all I see is my father withering away behind a set of bars.</p><p>"Right," I say, then muttering under my breath, "Fuck what he thinks, anyway. I probably won't even be here next year..."</p><p>"What was that?" Blaise asks.</p><p>"Nothing," I say, opening my eyes to see Celeste's eyes on my knee, knowing she's heard me.</p><p>There's a slight silence following that. Chicken, the fat grey cat, jumps out of where he was perched on the luggage rack about Blaise's head, and I swear I hear a soft grunt at this, but nobody seems to notice as they watch the fluffy rat stretch itself out before leaping up to settle down between Celeste and I, long tail brushing against my arm.</p><p>I close my eyes, feeling that I might fall asleep, and then quickly force them open. I swallow thickly, glancing down at the cat beside me and watching Celeste's dark, nimble fingers absentmindedly stroking its fur. I can tell she's just as hyperaware of me as I am of her, even when her gaze refuses to meet mine, when she refuses to look at much more of me than my <em>leg</em>. I can feel her anger radiating off of her in thick waves that scald me, her fury and her hatred, and I wish that I could say that it's unwarranted, but I can't even blame her.</p><p>I just wish she <em>knew</em>.</p><p>Maybe I made the wrong decision that day. The consequences were terrible, and they've left me with this feeling like he's... <em>inside </em>me, a remnant of him forever plaguing my mind and my heart, not just a mark on my skin. I haven't been able to decide if the consequences were worth it, though.</p><p>I mean, if I hadn't done what I did, the same thing would have happened to her.</p><p>And that's the problem, that's what frustrated, that's the reason why I'm currently tugging at my hair and leaning my head back and sighing heavily. I shouldn't <em>care</em> that what happened could have happened to <em>her</em>. Maybe if we were still friends, but I made sure long ago that that wasn't an option for us anymore. That hasn't <em>been</em> an option for us for a while now. So I shouldn't care. It was either her or me, and I am a Malfoy man. I look out for myself and myself only. I had a choice between her and me, and I should have chosen myself.</p><p>Well, that's not true. I didn't know there would be consequences.</p><p><em>Yes you did</em>.</p><p>Fine. Still, enough pain has been inflicted on her because of <em>me</em>. Not after <em>that</em> night, that night where I was listening to her begging and pleading and did nothing, I couldn't just stand there holding her face and listen to her pleading again and still do <em>nothing</em>.</p><p><em>You could have. You could have ignored her</em>.</p><p>I should have. Bellatrix was right. Even with Occlumency, compassion somehow manages to get the best of me.</p><p>"I can see Hogwarts," Blaise says, snapping me out of my thoughts. "We'd better get our robes on."</p><p>—</p><p>Dressed in our Slytherin robes and ready to leave, we wait in our compartment for the Hogwarts Express to come to a full stop.</p><p>I'm standing by the window, a hand holding onto the luggage rack to keep my steady. My eyes wander around the compartment, watching my companions fiddle with their ties or slide their trunks out, before resting on Celeste.</p><p>She sits calmly in her seat, leaning all the way back against it so I can see her face. Her eyes stare straight up near the ceiling, looking distant as though she's lost in her thoughts. Her right hand is up by her neck, fiddling with her locket and that golden ring that I've noticed she's slipped onto the chain. I'd wonder whose it is, but it's probably her father's.</p><p>I bite my lip, silently wondering how much from that night at the Ministry when my father lead that attack that got him arrested I would see if I used my Legilimency on her. Then I physically shake that thought from my head, exhaling heavily and tightening my grip on the metal rack.</p><p>I watch Goyle swing his trunk down from the opposite rack, and as he does so, I hear the third odd noise of the entire ride. It sounds like a gasp of pain, and while it doesn't seem to attract any attention from the others, it makes me sure of my suspicions.</p><p>Someone's in here.</p><p>I look away, instead crouching down to make sure that my trunk is locked.</p><p>The corridor outside our compartment slowly fills up as the trains begins to slow. I watch heads bob about while waiting, and when it finally comes to a jerky stop, Crabbe pushes the door open and forces his way out, Goyle close behind him.</p><p>"Come on," Pansy sighs softly, her eyes on Celeste.</p><p>"Oh, no," the curly-haired girl responds, her hands fiddling with the lock of her trunk, "you go ahead without me."</p><p>"Draco?" Blaise, who waits by the door, prompts.</p><p>I glance at Celeste, shooting her a small frown, not that she's looking, of course, and look back at Blaise while so aware of the empty luggage rack across from me. "Both of you go ahead. I wanna check something really quickly."</p><p>"Suit yourself," Pansy sighs, giving Celeste's shoulder a quick squeeze before slinking her arm around Blaise, the door closing behind them.</p><p>I slip my wand out of my pocket, but Celeste moves faster.</p><p>"<em>Petrificus Totalus,</em>" she murmurs, a short flash of light leaving her wand.</p><p>I step back as I hear a small grunt, and then a body is falling out of the luggage rack and to my feet, a silvery cloak trapped between him and the floor. I clench my fists, baring my wand down toward the green-eyed menace, and scowl at his paralyzed face while Celeste slowly stands up beside me and steps over his locked legs to stand on his other side.</p><p>"Hear anything interesting, Potter?" I sneer at him, twisting my wand in my hand while his blank expression stares up at the ceiling. "I thought so... I knew I heard you when Goyle's trunk hit you."</p><p>"<em>Please</em>," Celeste scoffs, crouching down beside him to prod at his jaw with her wand, an unamused smirk on her face as she tilts her head. "I saw something flash in the air the moment we walked in. You need longer pants, Potter, I shouldn't be able to see so much of your socks."</p><p>I glower down at this stupid boy, hoping he can see the rage on my face. Harry bloody Potter, the fucking Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the Golden Boy of our age. He's the reason why I'm in this mess. He's the reason why my father is locked away, why I'm stuck in the prison that is the Dark Mark on my skin, why everything is being ruined, why I can't have anything or anyone. Him and his bloody Gryffindor courage.</p><p>I glance at her before looking back down at Potter, leaning over him so his frozen gaze is cast on me. "You're lucky you didn't hear anything I care about, Potter, but while we have you here..."</p><p>"What are you gonna do?" Celeste scoffs coldly. "Hex him?"</p><p>"No," I sigh, lifting my foot up and stamping it down on Potter's face as hard as I can manage, hearing something crack and Celeste gasp softly in surprise. When I pull my foot away, I smirk in satisfaction at the horrid contortion of his nose and the blood dripping from it. His broken glasses lay crooked over his pallid face. "That's for my father, Potter."</p><p>"How <em>charming</em>," she sounds unamused, pulling her wand away from Potter's face before any blood can get on it.</p><p>"Let's go."</p><p>"You're gonna leave him like this? Help me get his cloak out from under him," she says without sparing a glance at me.</p><p>"What, you want me to carry him out to the castle?" I spit incredulously, watching her tug on the cloak.</p><p>She pauses, slowly lifting her head up, and for the first time in days, Celeste looks me straight in the eye. It's not a polite look, no. Her stony eyes are ablaze with all kinds of emotions, from rage, to irritation, to impatience, to incredulity while they burn their imprint into my own eyes.</p><p>"No, you idiot," she then says, looking away once more to finally pull the cloak out from under Potter's stiff body. I then watch as she shakes it out before standing up to lay it over Potter's body, the insufferable brat disappearing as it settles onto the ground. "There. Now, let's leave."</p><p>I watch as she leans across his body to grab her trunk, sighing softly as she heaves it up her side and moves to get to the door. I see her hesitation as she opens it, pausing for a moment as if to hold it open and wait for me, but then she walks out and slams it shut behind her, striding off down the corridor and out of sight without glancing back at me.</p><p>I look back down at where Potter's face should be, scanning his invisible body. I then lean down to pick up my own trunk, walking towards the door while making sure to tread over his fingers.</p><p>"Enjoy the ride back to London, Potter," I say quietly, opening the door and closing it behind me.</p><p>—</p><p>The Great Hall is rowdy as usual, students digging in happily to the copious choices in the feast presented by the Elves after listening to Dumbledore's last beginning of the year speech welcoming <em>Slughorn</em> as our new Potions professor and introducing Snape as the professor for DADA.</p><p>I sit with Blaise beside me, clearly already forgiven me from the way he steals from my food as he tends to do, Pansy across from me, also clearly forgiven me from the way she whispers to me about how <em>hot</em> Verona got over the summer, and Theo and Warrington nearby, but still I sit in quietude. It's difficult to talk about hot summers and how horrible the workload will be and whether Snape will do well. It's difficult to talk about such trivial matters when my life has been upended and refocused to center around my task and my task only.</p><p>There's only one other person that would understand this, and she's sitting five seats away from me pretending to listen to Daphne babble on and on about her new boyfriend while very pointedly avoiding my gaze.</p><p>There's nobody else I'm in the mood to talk to.</p><p>The food at Hogwarts never disappoints, unlike nearly everything else here, but my plate is untouched spare for the bits Blaise keeps stealing form me as if he doesn't have his own serving in front of him. I don't mind. I prefer watching, observing, pretending to listen in.</p><p>Maybe I <em>would </em>actually pay attention if it wasn't for the throbbing pain. It feels like it's just growing and growing, consuming me whole, as if the Dark Lord took my Dark Mark and turned it into a soul-eating parasite. I'm not even sure what happened. One moment he was speaking in drawled riddles about weakness and conviction, and then another moment he was invading my mind with hands more forceful than even Bellatrix, and then when I was collapsed on the ground in mental exhaustion, he was shooting torture spell after torture spell through my blood vessels until I couldn't move. He was precise with them too. He never held them any longer than ten seconds, he never doled them out without a minute of recovery between each. He wasn't trying to damage my mind, he was warning me.</p><p>He was telling me how much worse I will face if I fail this task.</p><p>Which I <em>won't</em>. I can't.</p><p>It just feels like he's ravaged my entire body, mind, soul, even my magical core with his dirty, dark hands, leaving lingering traces of his destructive magic in me to slowly eat me inside out. There's no longer just a piece of him on my skin. It feels like he's inside me, constantly observing the things I do, say, <em>think</em>.</p><p>He's left me with this pure paranoia, and perhaps that was the best thing he could do to ensure I do what needs to be done.</p><p>It was just one day. Just a few hours in one day as punishment for one mistake.</p><p>What will he do if I fail?</p><p>"<em>Je peux m'asseoir ici </em>[Excuse me, may I sit here]?"</p><p>I glance up at the end of the table to see an unfamiliar boy likely around my age and dressed in Slytherin robes standing at the last remaining seat right next to Celeste. I narrow my eyes, realizing he's spoken in <em>French</em>, and see a smile on his face. Not just a polite smile, no, but a smile of <em>anticipation</em>, <em>excitement</em>, <em>familiarity</em>.</p><p>He's tall, maybe an inch or two shorter than me. His skin is brown and tan—not like he spent his summer under the hot sun in a tropical country, but a natural earthy color. His tousled dark hair reaches his chin, and his similarly dark eyes twinkle in amusement down at Celeste, who currently has her jaw dropped even though she isn't looking at him.</p><p>Slowly, she turns in her seat until she's facing him, eyes aligned with his waist, and then she turns her head up until their eyes meet.</p><p>"<em>Maxon?</em>"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what do you want to see more fanfics about? in terms of love interest and main characters in general</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0062"><h2>62. WHAT AM I DOING HERE?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste and pansy cuddle!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>CELESTE ZABINI</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>SEPTEMBER 5th, 1996</b>
</p><p>"I don't think your friend likes me very much," Maxon says to me in his light French accent, tilting his head up so his eyes meet mine.</p><p>"Mm. He's not my friend," I say absentmindedly, flipping a page in the book I'm reading before peering over it to look at him.</p><p>I'm on the ground leaning against a shelf near the back of the library, my legs outstretched and thighs acting like a cushion for Maxon's head. His tousled waves are just as long, hooded eyes just as brown, and smirking lips just as soft as they were when he was fifteen, but now it's been two years. It's been two years, and now his jawline is more defined, facial structure more mature, and just his whole body has certainly grown.</p><p>"Really? <em>Il te regarde tout le temps</em> [He stares at you all the time]."</p><p>"<em>Peut tu le reprocher</em> [Can you blame him]? I wouldn't take my eyes off myself if I were him."</p><p>Maxon snorts shortly, and then his hand lazily drags up to pull my book out of my hands, ignoring the way I gasp softly and shoot him an irritated scowl. He closes it and pushes it out of my reach even when I make a grab for it, instead trapping my hands in his and smirking up at me casually.</p><p>"<em>Tu as raison. Je ne peut pas le reprocher</em> [You're right. I can't blame him]," he says with a mischievous twinkle in those earthy brown eyes, his hands bringing mine up closer to his face until he's pressing his lips to my fingertips. "<em>Je ne pensais pas que tu pouvais être aussi jolie que dans mes souvenirs</em> [I didn't think you could be more beautiful than I remembered you]."</p><p>I scan his face slowly, taking in the thick swoop of his brows, the stray hair that crosses over his face, the creases at the corners of his eyes from smiling, the sturdy bridge of his nose, the gentle dip of his cupid's bow, and the soft brown shade of his smooth skin. I pull one of my hands away from his lips, moving it to smooth his hair so it isn't stuck between the back of his head and my thigh, and then, without warning, I yank on a lock of it.</p><p>"<em>Putain</em> [What the fuck]?!"</p><p>"In case you couldn't tell," I say, leaning over his head to grab my book again and flip through it to find my page, barely biting back my smirk while he rubs his head and pouts at me, "I've grown up a bit since I was fifteen. It takes more than some sweet-talking for me to pull my skirt down."</p><p>"I wasn't trying to <em>pull your sk</em>—"</p><p>"Don't lie, Maxie, I know you too well."</p><p>"Oh?" he asks challengingly, already pushing my book out of my face again to look at me.</p><p>I lift a brow at him, swallowing back my growing grin, and then he's suddenly sitting up, shifting so he's beside me and angled to face me. His forearm props up on the bookshelf near my head, and his face is so close to mine that I can smell him. He still smells the same, like amber cologne, rose petals, and a hint of <em>smoke</em>, and it makes me tilt my head up closer to his to get a stronger whiff.</p><p>"<em>I </em>know <em>you</em> too, Celeste. Don't you remember how well?"</p><p>My eyebrows lift slightly at his hinted innuendo, and then I turn my head back down to nonchalantly pretend to read my book while my ears start to heat up, so aware of his gaze on me and his soft lips twitching up into an amused smile.</p><p>"I suppose I remember <em>some</em>," I hum casually, flipping a page despite not having read a single word, "but not all of it. It wasn't that <em>memorable</em>, you see."</p><p>"Oh, really? <em>As tu besoin d'un rappel</em> [Do you need a reminder]?" I can hear the soft laugh in his voice as his hand comes down to brush against my right arm, fingers slowly tracing down it.</p><p>"Let me read in peace."</p><p>"Alright," he says softly, his arm propped up on the bookshelf shifting so that his hand can tuck my hair behind my reddening ear, making me bite back a small smile.</p><p>"Are you going to just watch me?" I ask casually.</p><p>"I haven't seen you in so long, <em>mon bijou</em> [my jewel]," he replies with that soft, alluring accenting. "Won't you let me memorize your face before you leave me again?"</p><p>I snort softly, choosing to ignore the way my entire face warms up slightly as I briefly glance up at him and say dryly, "Once a flirt, <em>always</em> a flirt."</p><p>"Since when is <em>honesty</em> considered flirting?"</p><p>"Oh, quiet."</p><p>"I'm starting to think you aren't glad my family has moved here," he says with a soft, amused laugh, his hand twirling a curl before letting it fall down to my head.</p><p>The Carliers are a relatively well-known Pureblood wizarding family from France. As far as I know, Maxon had been living there in France for his entire life before moving here. We met first, of course, when I moved to France halfway through my third year after a five month long stay in the United States. At that point, I'd been used to moving around, and making friends was never a concern for me—I could do that with ease. However, after missing a semester, everything from studies to social life was more difficult than usual.</p><p>Maxon helped. That's who Maxon is, after all. He was quick to befriend me, to practically drag me to sit with his friends during lunchtime. His friends became mine. His <em>notes</em> became mine (until eventually I surpassed him after catching up and <em>my</em> notes became <em>his</em>). He's always been charming, and during my year and a half stay at Beauxbatons, I never met a single person who disliked him. Boys and girls alike fell for him left and right, and he gladly caught them and spent nights with them.</p><p>"Don't be stupid," I say, letting my head fall until it's resting on his shoulder.</p><p>I exhale softly, my eyes on my book but not seeing much as I feel his arm fall to slip around my shoulders, holding me just firm enough that it feels comforting but not trapping. I close my eyes, letting my muscles relax for once, my mind wandering to the hidden runes on my chest and my hand, the hidden Mark pulsating on my wrist. His arm tightens slightly, pulling me closer into his side. He's warm, radiating heat and familiarity, but...</p><p>Even a returned old friend can't distract me forever.</p><p>"Celeste," his voice is a quiet whisper, "people... <em>talk</em>. Whispers all around the school. I've heard what happened this summer, where you went... J<em>'espère que je ne marche pas sur des œufs</em> [I hope I'm not out of line]... We have not known each other for two years. I see you have many closer friends—<em>Pansy</em>, I like her, she wears nice clothes, and your cousin Blaise is... <em>adorable</em>—"</p><p>"Oh—?"</p><p>"—that blond boy is a bit questionable—"</p><p>"I told you, he's <em>not </em>my fr—"</p><p>"Yes, yes—What I mean to say is... I know you have all these other friends now, I know I probably don't know you at <em>all</em>, but I'm... here. <em>D'accord</em> [Alright]?"</p><p>"Mm. <em>D'accord</em>," I murmur, grateful when a bit of my hair falls over my face. I can practically <em>feel</em> him itching to say more or hear more from me, his shoulder tensing slightly, but then he relaxes and shifts his arm around me so that his hand can rub my bicep.</p><p>"Curfew is in ten minutes," I hear him say softly, his cheek resting on the top of my head.</p><p>I groan softly, the idea of having to <em>get up</em> and <em>walk</em> all the way across the castle making my legs hurt. "Fuck."</p><p>—</p><p>"He's cute. He's, like, <em>so </em>fucking cute."</p><p>"But you're gay. You're, like, <em>so</em> fucking gay."</p><p>Pansy throws a pillow at me, though I manage to dodge it and glance over my shoulder to see it land on the floor near her closet. Quirking an amused brow, I turn my head back to see her climbing onto her bed.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm gay, but that doesn't mean I don't know a cute guy when I see one," she huffs with a roll of her eyes, sitting on top of her covers before leaning over to pull the drawer of her nightstand open. "<em>Fuck</em>, I love having my own room. What are you doing standing over there? Get your arse over here. We have a lot of cuddling to do to compensate for this summer."</p><p>I roll my eyes at her, walking over anyway to stand at the other side of the bed. "Are you sure?" I ask, pulling the covers down. "You sure you really wanna get your own room just to share it with me?"</p><p>"What, and leave you by yourself with Tracey, Millicent, and Daph? You're the strongest bitch I know, but you wouldn't last a week without me. Get in here."</p><p>With a slight glare, I'm slipping into the bed beside her, and before I'm even settled in, she's wrapping her arms around me and pulling me towards her. My head ends up resting on her chest, our legs tangled together while she grabs my right hand and pulls it to intertwine with hers, our tightly clasped hands resting on her stomach. Her other arm wraps over my shoulder, reaching up to stroke my hair while the candles extinguish myself.</p><p>My muscles are rigid while I stare with wide eyes into the darkness, my lungs neither inhaling nor exhaling while Pansy's chest rises and falls naturally under my head. Her hand squeezes mine, and her arm tightens over her shoulder, and this inexplicable feeling of warmth overwhelms my body and forces my muscles to relax.</p><p>She holds me like it's so normal.</p><p>"Sorry are you—are you not a cuddler?" she then asks, her voice slightly groggy. "I tend to get very... <em>huggy</em> when I sleep, but I can—"</p><p>"No, it's—" My throat dries and cuts my voice off, so I clear it and try again. "Don't worry."</p><p>"Okay, <em>good</em>, because you're really fucking comfortable. Now, tell me about him."</p><p>"Who?"</p><p>"<em>Maxon</em>, dumbarse."</p><p>"There isn't much to s—"</p><p>"Don't give me that shit," she scoffs, her finger drawing shapes on the back of my hand on her stomach. "Isn't he your first kiss?"</p><p>I'm silent for a moment, feeling my face heat up slightly. "He's, uh, actually my first <em>everything</em>."</p><p>Pansy freezes. "<em>Everything?</em>"</p><p>"Everything."</p><p>"Like—? Okay, kiss, yeah. Your first fuck?"</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>"First boyfriend?"</p><p>"Yeah. Lasted like a <em>month</em>, though. We were better off as... friends with benefits," I say, my eyes closing as I remember the months I spent in France doing... <em>him</em>.</p><p>"Really <em>good</em> friends, I'm assuming, considering how close the two of you already are," Pansy says in a sly, suggestive voice, as if implying something—and I already know what.</p><p>"Merlin, Panz, there's nothing th—"</p><p>"Good, because I have this running bet with Verona that you and D are gonna get together by the end of the year, and while I can afford to lose a dozen Galleons, I'd rather not lose my pride," Pansy says matter-of-factually, her hand pulling lazily at a curl while I freeze up, unsure if I've heard her right.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"You heard me."</p><p>"I don't—"</p><p>"Forget <em>that</em>, I wanna know more about Maxon."</p><p>I swallow thickly, unable to take my mind off of this <em>running bet</em> she has. Me and <em>Draco?</em> Together? In what context? I know Pansy knows that Draco and I have fooled around before, but she only knows because she just <em>knows </em>those things. We haven't really had a conversation about it. I can't fathom why she'd bet twelve Galleons on Draco and I getting together... in <em>another</em> way.</p><p>My hand curls into a fist on her stomach. <em>Dating</em> Draco Malfoy. That's a fucking joking. I can't even stand looking at him anymore. The thought of him disgusts me, especially after everything this past month. Bellatrix may have been the one to torture me, but she did it because of <em>him</em>. And then he treats me like <em>that</em> many nights later, tears me apart into a little speck of dirt, and falls asleep like a fucking baby while I'm next to him hardly holding it together. And then there's the Imperiusing. The fucking Imperiusing.</p><p>Dating him. Please.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>I jolt slightly. "Hm?"</p><p>"Were you falling asleep?"</p><p>"No, I was just—Maxon," I sigh, clearing my throat and pushing a stray hair out of my face. "Maxon, Maxon... What do you want to know?"</p><p>"Everything," she says, her fingers following the veins on the back of my hand, "anything."</p><p>"Well... okay," I sigh softly, my hand moving up her torso until it rests loosely on her other shoulder while I turn more onto my side. "I moved around a lot, but you know that. We, uh, we moved to France halfway through my third year," I say, eyes fluttering shut as I feel her hand slip under my shirt to rub my back, hand cold and soothing against warm skin. "I..." I falter when my mind flashes with images of spending time with my father in bookstores and coffeeshops, and instantly my walls dart up to hide them away. "Maxon and I became friends pretty quick. I mean, you've met him, he's a charming guy, I'm a charming girl, it was only inevitable. But, I mean, back then, I wasn't so... <em>me</em>."</p><p>"Were you a brown-noser? A goody-two-shoes?" she laughs softly.</p><p>"<em>No</em>," I huff in mock irritation, rolling my eyes while keeping them closed. "I mean, I wouldn't call myself that. I guess I was innocent, naive, I hadn't really done anything much up until that point. But, anyway, I eventually started <em>crushing</em> on Maxon. You can't blame me, can you? I was fourteen, he was this flirty, pretty French boy that <em>doesn't</em> have an overblown ego <em>or</em> fragile masculinity."</p><p>"Maybe I'm not gay."</p><p>"Shut up," I laugh softly, kicking her lightly under the covers. "No, but really. It wasn't anything <em>big</em>. It's not like I ever fell in <em>love</em> with him or something—we were just kids."</p><p>"And then he <em>kissed</em> you."</p><p>"Right," I smile slightly, feeling her nails scratching my back lazily. "My fifteenth birthday, he's suddenly pulling me aside, telling me how happy he is that I moved to France, clasping a little silver bracelet around my wrist... I've never liked the color silver, you know that? But he was so cute, I kept it on. I mean, I've lost it since, but still. And then he kissed me."</p><p>"Tongue?"</p><p>"Very light."</p><p>"Hm. Tasteful."</p><p>"Agreed," I say, the two of us choking back laughs. "He took my first kiss, and then... Fourth year began, and we had been sending letters back and forth for the rest of the summer since my birthday. And... <em>ahh</em>, I don't know," I find myself <em>giggling</em> softly, turning my head to bury it in her shoulder while Pansy cackles quietly—nearly choking on her spit from the effort it takes not to shriek the way she usually does—and cups the back of my head.</p><p>"Are you <em>blushing?</em> I know it's dark in here, but are you <em>blu—?</em>"</p><p>"I'm <em>black</em>," I huff softly, my hand tightening around the fabric of her shirt, "I don't <em>blush</em>."</p><p>"Yeah, well, I can feel your cheek on my skin, and it is <em>very</em> hot."</p><p>"Whatever, okay!"</p><p>"I think you've done more scandalous things than <em>kiss</em>, Cel," she teases.</p><p>"It just... talking about it brings back how it felt at the time," I huff softly, tilting my head up to glance at her before nestling it back down. "Shall I continue, or do you want to keep tormenting me?"</p><p>"<em>So</em> dramatic... go on, then."</p><p>"<em>Thank you</em>. After that summer, we naturally started spending more time with each other, and of course that lead to some <em>kissing</em> here and there, and then one night there was this little party with just the fourth years, but neither of us went to it because we <em>both</em> had too much work to do. He invited me to his room and..."</p><p>"<em>That's</em> how you lost your virg—?"</p><p>"Mhm. And then it became a... regular thing."</p><p>"Was he the only guy you fucked?"</p><p>"No," I sigh softly, starting to feel a bit overheated wrapped in her arms under the covers, but feeling too... <em>comfortable</em> to move away. "At first, yes, but I began... <em>branching </em>out. And then I stopped, of course, when we dated some time in the spring, but that quickly ended. It just wasn't right."</p><p>"And then you moved."</p><p>"And then I moved. Again."</p><p>I go quiet for a moment, feeling Pansy's hand stroke my back. I moved, again. I moved from France to <em>here</em>, where I met Draco Malfoy. He called me an easy slut while he had a girl waiting in his bed, and so I proceeded to make his life <em>very</em> difficult—I think he still doesn't know that I paid Lavender Brown to mess up their Potion, and that one waiter to trip him at that gala, or every other little thing I did to screw his life up <em>just</em> slightly—and then suddenly we became <em>friends</em>.</p><p>And then I died because of the fucking locket sitting around my neck. My locket burned me alive and then dragged me to the Ministry of Magic, and then I died because of an attach orchestrated by <em>his</em> father, died because of a spell shot by <em>his</em> aunt. And then I woke up in a morgue, stuck in a metal box that smelt like death. I woke up to find out that my father died instead of me, <em>for</em> me, I woke up with a fucking <em>rune</em> on my chest, I got thrown into the Malfoy manor being told now that <em>I've</em> died, now that I've been both dead and alive, now that I've nearly gone to the afterlife, now that I know how it feels to be dead, I have to kill someone.</p><p>I have to kill someone, and I realize now that I don't feel too guilty about it, because I <em>have</em> died. I have been dead, and I can remember that despite how excruciating the <em>dying</em> was, the <em>death</em> was peace like none other. I don't feel guilty, because I envy the man I have to kill for getting that eternal peace before I do.</p><p>What am I doing here?</p><p>What am I doing here? Laying in bed, talking about <em>boys?</em></p><p>I have a man to kill.</p><p>My throat closes up, my heart starts to pound, and my body moves on its own pushing away from Pansy. It's dark, but I can see her head pick up to look at me in confusion as I sit up, my hand rising to my chest so my fingertips can feel my pulse pounding and my palm feels the heavy rise and fall of my lungs.</p><p>"Cel?" Pansy sounds tired, her hand reaching blindly for me. "Alright?"</p><p>"Yeah, I'm just—" I choke slightly, struggling to crawl out from under the covers. Her hand finds my arm, but I pull away and slip out of bed, hearing her make a confused noise. "I think I'm—I think I'll go for a... a walk? Before I sleep."</p><p>"Cel—"</p><p>My Dark Mark is throbbing where it's hidden on my forearm. I grip it tightly as I grab my wand and head for the door, hearing Pansy move. I freeze at the door, inhaling deeply and closing my eyes before turning my head over my shoulder to say as calmly as possible, though my voice trembles slightly—</p><p>"Go back to sleep, Panz. I won't be too long."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: you have three wishes. go:</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0063"><h2>63. AT LEAST I'M NOT YOU</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste and draco sneak around late at night</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>September 5th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>My mother sent Sleeping Draught with me, but there's really no point taking it even if it to quell the nightmares. I hardly doubt I'll be sleeping more than three or four hours a night anymore.</p><p>Especially with that incessant banging on my door.</p><p>Maybe if I pretend to be asleep and ignore it, it'll go away. I've accepted the possibility of only getting three hours, but two is just <em>unacceptable</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Thud, thud, thud!</em>
</p><p>I groan softly, turning my head so one ear is pressed into my pillow and bringing my covers up over the side of my head.</p><p>One loud <em>thud!</em> reaches my ears, as if someone has kicked the door in frustration.</p><p><em>Who the fuck needs me at this hour?</em> I mutter internally, thrashing slightly to turn around onto my stomach and bring my covers up over my head, my arms locking over my ears. I am <em>determined</em> to sleep.</p><p>"Open the <em>fuck</em> up, Malfoy!"</p><p>My eyes shoot open.</p><p>My body is moving faster than my brain, ripping my covers off of me, throwing them onto the floor, leaping down from the bed, nearly slipping on the covers previously thrown, and stumbling towards the door in a half-asleep stupor. When I grab the doorknob, unlock it, and swing it open, I see Celeste standing there with her fist raise about to knock it on the door.</p><p>She freezes when she sees me, and I freeze when I see her.</p><p>She looks like a mess, dressed in just cotton shorts and a massive shirt. Her curls are bed-ragged and pulled up into an incredibly messy up, stray locks pouring from it wildly. Her eyes are wide, as if she's shocked I even opened the door at all, when I realize she's taking them up and down me, taking in my naked torso and my thighs below where my briefs end.</p><p>"Were you sleeping?" she then asks firmly, eyes still on my thighs as her hand drops from the air.</p><p>I quirk an incredulous eye at her. "At four in the morning? Yes, just like <em>you</em> should have been."</p><p>"Did I wake you up?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>."</p><p>"Good," she says, pushing past me—knocking her shoulder against mine—to stride into my room as if it's hers, leaving me standing and holding the door, staring blankly at the door across mine with tired eyes, still in disbelief this is happening at all. "Are you just gonna stand there?"</p><p>"No, ma'am," I exhale under my breath, run  by into a hand through my hair while I swing my door shut and turn around to see Celeste pacing my room, her arms wrapped tightly around her. "What <em>are</em>... you doing here?" I ask, yawning half way through, my eyes squeezing shut.</p><p>"Well—" she laughs dryly, tearing a hand through the bottom of her incredibly tangled bun, "I couldn't fucking <em>sleep</em>, you know, cause I was busy thinking about how we have to <em>fucking kill—</em>"</p><p>"Hey," I snap softly, glancing over my shoulder at my closed door before stepping over a strewn pillow and towards her, "quiet down."</p><p>"Don't tell me to fucking quiet down," she snaps in a softer voice anyway, shooting me a cutting glare over her shoulder that makes me drop my shoulders and sigh heavily. "I've been—well, I snuck out to the library—"</p><p>"You didn't get caught?" I frown.</p><p>"No, I'm not a fucking idiot. Can you not interrupt me? Fuck..." she shoots me another withering look, a slight green glow outlining her body from the glass wall on the other side of my room separating it from the Black Lake. "I was at the library for a few hours, y'know—"</p><p>"<em>Hours?!</em>"</p><p>"Can you <em>let me sp—?</em>"</p><p>"Go to sleep, Celeste!"</p><p>"Shut up!" she huffs, grabbing a pillow and whipping it at my chest where I catch it, taking a small step back while lifting my eyebrows at her in surprise and taking in the furious gleam in her eyes. "Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me what to do? Contrary to what you clearly have shown to think these past few weeks, you <em>don't </em>control me," her voice is lethal, though it trembles perhaps from both fury and tire.</p><p>I've never noticed that when she's overwhelmed in some way, her voice changes. Her <em>accent</em> changes, a blend of a myriad of other accents she perhaps picked up after growing up all around the world.</p><p>"Celeste," I sigh softly, the meaning behind her words hitting me like a toppled pile of bricks, or maybe a pile of sand bags slowly weighing me down, "I don't—"</p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>, Malfoy, <em>honestly</em>," she sighs harshly, seating herself down at the edge of my bed and burning her face in her palms while bent over so her elbows dig into her knees.</p><p>I watch her harshly rub her eyes, closing my mouth to keep from speaking while that throbbing in my head that was so muted before I forgot about it intensifies. I rub my temples gently, feeling sick as what feels like pure Dark magic wraps around my insides. My eyes close for a moment as I tilt my head back and groan softly, both from fatigue and discomfort, feeling the fraction of himself that he left behind dance.</p><p>"I was in the library," she starts again lowly, lifting her head out of her hands to look at me, though the light is too dim in my room to see her properly. "Y'know, looking for things on the—on the cabinet. There's books in the library that we didn't have in yours, but..."</p><p>I open my eyes and walk briskly across the room until I'm standing near my desk and at the glass wall, peering out into the dark green waters where I can see obscure figures swimming past. I can feel Celeste's eyes follow me, but I don't turn to look at her.</p><p>"We don't even know where it is," she finally sighs softly. "We don't even know <em>where</em> to find the Cabinet."</p><p>"The Cabinet? It's in the Come—"</p><p>"The Come-And-Go Room, yes, Malfoy, I've heard the stories even if I've only been here a year," she snaps bitterly, and I hear soft ruffling that prompts me to glance over my shoulder and see her, with a sigh, lean back until she's resting on my bed, legs swung over the edge. "Now, where the hell do we <em>find</em> this room, huh? Ever been in there?"</p><p>"No, I... I don't know anyone who has actually found it, but..."</p><p>"That's where the DA was caught, correct? Dumbledore's little... <em>Army?</em> That's what I heard, at least, I think maybe I overheard Umbridge muttering about it to Filch..."</p><p>"They weren't caught in the <em>Come-And-Go Room</em>," I can hear the confused frown on Celeste's face as she turns her head to look at me, still pressed to my bed. "That Ravenclaw, Marietta Edgecombe—she was the one who told."</p><p>"No, no, you're right," I say, my eyebrows tensing as I step away from the window and move back to my bedside, fiddling with my watch on my nightstand. "They weren't caught <em>in </em>the act, Edgecombe went by herself to Umbridge. <em>Why</em> she would do that, I could hardly tell you, but she went to Umbridge and I think she told her <em>where</em> the DA were hiding out, the Room."</p><p>"Which means she had to have told Umbridge where the Come-And-Go Room actually <em>is</em>," Celeste says, a faint hint of realization tinging her voice.</p><p>I'm quiet, tapping my watch once to read the time. 3:52. I turn my head over my shoulder subtly to look at her, the dim glow from the lake barely illuminating her features. Her curls have almost completely fallen out of her bun, spread out around her head like a tangled, perfect halo, or if I squint and blur my vision through my lashes, they almost look like snakes at rest. I can just barely see her lashes fluttering as she blinks slowly, eyes cast up at the ceiling, plump lips parted a bit, arms limp and resting on either side of her head.</p><p>"How does that help us, though?" she then says quietly. "It's not like we can <em>ask</em> her or any of the other DA members where the room was. I mean, we could, but then there's the whole process of Obliviating them afterwards, or we <em>could</em> Imperius them to force them into telling us, but that's a whole lot of traceable work for something as simple as—"</p><p>"Aren't you and Edgecombe, er..." I clear my throat, wondering why this topic is suddenly so <em>uncomfortable</em> to speak on. "Don't you two... hook up? I think I remember you saying—"</p><p>"<em>Once</em>," Celeste scoffs slightly, her hand rubbing her face. "It happened—It only happened once. I mean, we hardly did anything, but—Hey, even if I <em>was</em> hooking up with her, I can't just ask her where it was. Why would she tell me?"</p><p>"Why wouldn't she? You're clever, you can be sly about it."</p><p>Celeste shakes her head. "I <em>am</em> clever, not that I need you to tell me, and I <em>could</em> be sly about it, but I hardly doubt she'd even willingly engage in conversation about the DA or that room or anything involving it, not after all her friends <em>ostracized </em>her because of what she did."</p><p>"You couldn't... get close to her, maybe?"</p><p>"What, you want me to start hooking up with her? Fucking <em>cuddle</em> her afterwards, convince her I'm her friend?" she snaps, and my heart thuds slightly at the idea of her doing that to... <em>anyone</em>. It doesn't sit well with me for some reason, so I'm glad when she mutters, "Yeah, fucking right. First of all, that's ridiculous. I'm manipulative, yeah, but that would be fucking <em>torture</em>, acting like her little therapist. And, anyway, it would take too long. We need to know where it is... <em>now</em>."</p><p>"Alright, well..." I trail off, my mind too tired and weary to think of an idea. I sigh heavily, sitting down at the edge of my head, resting my elbows on my night stand and burying my hands in my hair to massage my scalp. I hate it, I hate this <em>feeling</em>. It was only a few hours, and it was only a day, and it was only a spell to invade my mind and a spell to torture my body, but it's left me feeling like he's still <em>inside</em> me, still invading every crevice of me, still <em>with</em> me, lingering and soiling me.</p><p>"Do you think... I mean, the DA—they were breaking Hogwarts's school rules, weren't they? Not <em>D—</em>" Celeste cuts herself off, and it only takes me a moment to realize whose name she was about to say. "Umbridge's rules at the time, of course. Right?"</p><p>"Well, yeah."</p><p>"So—So there should be a... a written <em>report</em> of it, correct? Like, whenever a student gets detention or in trouble or something, wouldn't there be a physical record of it?" she asks quietly, sitting up and turning her head to look at me. I see her hand twitch when she sees me already looking at her, so I quickly turn my head away, feeling my throat start to close.</p><p>"Definitely. There should be."</p><p>"Where would we find it?"</p><p>"Filch's office, most likely," I say, turning my head back to look at her with furrowed eyebrows. "But—"</p><p>"Great," she says, promptly getting off my bed, brushing off her shirt and striding towards my door, "let's go, then."</p><p>"Celeste, we can't just go and <em>break into</em> his office," I scoff, glancing back at my watch for the time again.</p><p>"Why the hell not? We're gonna murder someone this year, a little breaking and entry isn't gonna make a fucking difference," she mutters bitterly, turning around to face me as she stops at the door, a shadow cast over her face.</p><p>I swallow thickly at her blatant word choice, slowly getting up myself. I can't see her eyes, of course, so I wonder if I'm just imagining it when I feel her gaze take its time soaking in my bare torso.</p><p>"Because it's <em>four in the morning</em>."</p><p>"What better time to do it? No professors patrolling the hallways, Filch is <em>bound</em> to be asleep—"</p><p>"In his room that's connected to his office," I interrupt, reminding her.</p><p>"And? We'll be quiet. What, are you scared you'll get caught? Written up, ruin your perfect little record?" she sneers cruelly, her hand fisting at her shirt. "Don't worry about that. It won't matter once you have the old man's blood on your hands—"</p><p>"<em>Merlin</em>, Celeste," I sigh, rubbing my face, "you don't have to be so—"</p><p>"Honest about it?" her voice is quiet. "Yeah. Whatever, I don't care if you come with me. I'll find it myself."</p><p>"Fine," I say bitterly, watching her fumble to unlock my door, her hands shaking slightly.</p><p>I tear my eyes away, glancing down at my watch where my hand moves on its own to tap it twice, and this time, rather than the <em>time</em>, that dragon conjures itself. It glows softly, silver, purple, and green, floating and flying in spirals in its confined space, freckles dotting its body in the shape of the Draco constellation.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," I curse softly when I hear the door unlock, Celeste step out, and slam it shut behind her, and then I'm getting up to tell her to at least wait for me to get dressed.</p><p>—</p><p>Dressed in sweatpants and a shirt, I walk briskly down the hall beside Celeste.</p><p>"Can you quiet down?" she hisses out of the corner of her mouth while we turn left down the hall towards Filch's office.</p><p>"I'm not even saying anything," I mutter back, glancing over my shoulder with a small frown.</p><p>"No, but do you have to walk like you're a fucking <em>giant?</em> Merlin, your footsteps are practically echoing off the walls."</p><p>"Fuck off."</p><p>"No, <em>you</em> fuck off, you'll get us caught."</p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>," I hiss, grabbing her arm and tugging her back towards me when she keeps walking and nearly passes Filch's office. "You don't even know where you're going, dumbarse. Maybe if you slept at a normal hour, you wouldn't be such a mess."</p><p>"<em>Hey!</em>"</p><p>"Quiet down," I murmur, my hand slowly twisting the doorknob on Filch's office. "Fucking hypocrite... It's locked." I pull my wand out of my pocket, twisting it a few times in my hand before pointing it at the door, murmuring softly, "<em>Alohomora</em>."</p><p>Not a second later, I hear it click, and then silence as the now unlocked door sits waiting for it to be pushed open.</p><p>Celeste rips her arm out of my grasp, muttering, "Don't touch me," as she brushes past me to pushing the door open, her hair lightly brushing against my cheek.</p><p>I watch her walk in, standing in the doorway and sighing softly. She walks in slowly, sticking her head into the room and glancing around warily before stepping inside quietly, her hand tightly gripping her wand. The window on the opposite side of the room is open, allowing light from the half-moon hanging in the dark, starry blanket outside to stream in and cast a white glow around her body.</p><p>My chest deflates as I watch her, leaning against the doorframe and letting my eyes wander over her. Her free hand is nimble in the way it gently grazes over Filch's desk, tapping his name plate. Her shirt is massive on her, hiding her shapely frame, but her shorts are tight and don't hide at all the way the subtle muscles in the sides of her thick thighs shift with each purposeful step.</p><p>"Why <em>are</em> you awake, anyway?" I ask quietly, pushing off the doorframe and walking slowly into the office as well before one last curt glance over my shoulder.</p><p>"Close the door," is all she says.</p><p>"I asked you a question," I respond, wincing when the door creaks slightly as I push it shut. My hand grabs the handle before it shuts all the way, twisting it so the lock doesn't click so loudly while I push it in slowly.</p><p>"I told you, I was in the library."</p><p>"No, I know," I say, watching her start pulling open drawers in his many filing cabinets, skimming them with her soft fingertips, "I know where you were. I was asking why you were awake in the first place."</p><p>Celeste's shoulders tense, but she doesn't falter in her search. I watch her for a moment longer before choosing a filing cabinet across the room, pulling a drawer open and closing it almost immediately when I see the dates marked on the files ranging from 1940 to 1950.</p><p>"Why do you care?" her voice is quiet when she finally responds after a long minute.</p><p>"You disturbed <em>my</em> sleep, so I want to know why you were awake."</p><p>"That's stupid," she mutters, but then she sighs softly and, while moving onto another filing cabinet, says, "I couldn't sleep. I feel like that was a pretty obvious answer."</p><p>"Couldn't sleep?" I ask curiously, frowning as I also move onto another filing cabinet after seeing the one I was at is filled with files from decades ago. "Don't you take the Draught for that exact reason?"</p><p>"No, I take the Sleeping Draught for ni—" Celeste cuts herself off quickly, clearing her throat. "Why are you talking so much? Concentrate."</p><p>"I <em>am</em> concentrating. Just making small talk at the same time."</p><p>"That's not concentrating."</p><p>"I'm good at multitasking."</p><p>"No, you're just good at being fucking annoying," she mutters softly under her breath while I carefully shut the last drawer on the filing cabinet I'm on and sidle around Filch's messy desk to get to the next one, noticing Celeste only a few feet away from me.</p><p>"Tomorrow's a Friday, you know. Or, <em>today</em>, actually. We have to be up by eight to get ready and have breakfast, but don't you get up earlier? Six, right? To study, if I remember correctly."</p><p>I feel Celeste give me a lingering, inquisitive look, and it takes all my willpower not to turn my head and meet her gaze, look into those dark eyes and actually <em>see</em> them for the first time in about two weeks. I know, however, that as soon as I do, she'll look away, so I choose instead to enjoy the feeling of her gaze on me while I rifle through these files.</p><p>"How do you know that?" she then utters with a hushed, silky voice.</p><p>"You told me, remember?"</p><p>"No, I d—How do <em>you</em> remember?"</p><p>I shrug slightly. "I've got a good memory, I suppose."</p><p>"Oh, yeah?"</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>"You remember calling me easy, then? And nothing? Remember calling me a slut after I sucked your dick in the common room while Pandora was waiting in your bed?" she asks casually.</p><p>I furrow my eyebrows, turning my head to face her to see that she's gone back to glancing over files, her jaw clenched.</p><p>"No, I—"</p><p>"I guess your memory isn't that great, then."</p><p>I swallow thickly, turning back to the last open drawer in the filing cabinet I'm at, though I'm hardly looking at it. Of course I remember that night in the common room, I remember getting passed at her, but I don't recall saying those things.</p><p>"I..."</p><p>"I'm good at holding grudges, Malfoy, and I'm <em>very</em> patient when it comes to getting revenge. It doesn't matter to me if a person knows I'm getting revenge, so long as it happens," her voice is grave as she closes a drawer a bit forcefully.</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"Keep that in mind the next time you, I don't know, tell your aunt—my <em>murderer</em>, by the way, my <em>f—" </em>she clears her throat, "my <em>father's</em> murderer—to fucking <em>torture</em> me for—for what?" Celeste laughs dryly, her voice trembling. "Not being able to concentrate? Being too busy recovering from my fucking <em>death</em> to worry about reading about some stupid cabinet?"</p><p>"I didn't think she'd—I was worried about my—"</p><p>"Self? Your<em>self?</em>" she interjects with a cold whisper, laughing humorlessly under her breath, "Figures..."</p><p>"About my <em>parents</em>, Celeste," I sigh softly, twisting my brows to look at her desperately. "I don't—"</p><p>"Or maybe the next time you fuck me—I mean, it's not gonna happen again, cause <em>Merlin</em> knows I'd never touch someone like <em>you</em> intentionally—"</p><p>I swallow thickly and glance back down at the filing cabinet, trying to ignore the way my chest swells with pain.</p><p>"—you won't—<em>fuck</em>, I don't even have the words for it. Maybe you'll just be less of a fucking <em>dick</em>, because I don't know if you thought that was <em>degradation</em>. It wasn't, by the way."</p><p>"You never said red," I say softly, my fingers trailing over the files, not really seeing what they're labeled.</p><p>"No, I didn't," she says in a bitter, scathing voice. "I suppose the personal attacks you were practically <em>raining </em>down on me clouded my judgement. I'm a strong fucking person, don't get me wrong, it's not like anything you said really both—really bothers me," Celeste exhales sardonically, shutting another drawer rather forcefully, the metallic slam making me wince, "and it's not like I give a shit what <em>you</em> of all people think of me, if you think I'm a <em>common whore</em>, or that I'm good for—" Her voice cuts off. She pulls another drawer open, her tense arm shaking. "Good for nothing but my—my <em>body</em>, or—"</p><p>"I didn't—"</p><p>"—or that you think you're <em>better</em> than me, that I'm useless and—and <em>pathetic</em>," she laughs breathily, and when she inhaled, it's akin to a shaky gasp, "and weak. Right? Don't get me wrong, I couldn't care <em>less</em> that you think that way about me, bec—"</p><p>"I <em>don't—</em>"</p><p>"—cause I might be nothing more than a useless slut that nobody gives a fucking <em>shit</em> about—I <em>think </em>that's more or less what you said—but at least I'm not <em>you.</em>"</p><p>She's quiet after that, the only sound the slight breeze coming through the window and the way she inhaled and exhales heavily through her nose, occasionally sniffing sharply while she rifles rather aggressively through the files. My hand is in an open drawer, but I'm frozen, lips slightly parted and eyes on the cabinet but not really seeing it. I'm a little confused when I'm not instantly swept off my feet with a wave of <em>pain</em> or <em>anger</em> or something. Instead, my body just tingles slightly, like when a limb falls asleep and goes numb spare for the needles jabbing into it. I guess I'm not surprised.</p><p>"You're right, though," she then says quietly.</p><p>My eyes lift.</p><p>"I <em>didn't </em>say red, so, uh," she chuckles sardonically, "at least we can say that you never broke my consent. Oh, wait," her voice is light as she pulls a file out of the drawer, turning to face me, though I don't dare meet her gaze, "except you <em>have</em> broken my consent. Isn't that fucking <em>cute?!</em>" she snarls, her hand slamming the drawer shut so harshly, I jolt at the noise and instantly lift my head to meet her moonlit stony gaze.</p><p>I don't breathe.</p><p>And then I hear shuffling. Both our heads snap in the direction of a door at the left end of the room, the door reading to Filch's <em>room</em>. We're both frozen, listening to him walk around groggily, and then I'm moving.</p><p>As quietly but quickly as possible, I push the drawer back into the cabinet, grab Celeste, and pull her down to the ground with me. She makes a startled noise, but I quickly clamp my hand over her mouth while shifting us around Filch's desk chair to hide underneath his desk, cramped in the small, hot space.</p><p>We settle right as the door swings open, the office flooding with yellow light that reaches my shoe, making me realize it's peeking out from behind the edge of the desk. I quickly cramp my leg in tighter, well aware of the position Celeste and I are in.</p><p>My back is pressed against the inside of the desk, slouching slightly, and my legs are open just enough to trap Celeste's between them. Her back is leaning against my heaving chest, and I'm sure she would pull away from it if there was even enough space to do so. The top of my head presses uncomfortably to the top of the desk, and hers would definitely hit it if she tried to move.</p><p>My arm is wrapped around her waist and my other hand remains clamped over her mouth. One of her hands grips the one on her waist tightly—not to pull it away, but just hold it, so I relax my fingers and close my eyes as I feel her hand hold it tight enough that it starts feeling numb. Her other hand grips my thigh, nails digging in through my sweatpants.</p><p>I cringe when I hear Filch belch quietly before walking out into the office.</p><p>"Who's there?" his tired, gruff voice sounds.</p><p>I tense slightly, my arm around Celeste pulling her tighter against me while my legs squeeze and shift just in case a slightest bit of us is showing.</p><p>Filch walks further into the office, his feet scuffing against the floor and unsteady as they approach the desk. Celeste's nails dig further into my thigh as he nears, and I'd close around her tighter if I could. I can feel her sharp exhales against my thumb as my hand tightens over her mouth.</p><p>That's when I notice the dropped file right in front of the desk.</p><p>Cursing internally, I tense further when I hear Filch come closer yet, sniffling and coughing violently like he's sick or something. I close my eyes, trying to gauge exactly where he is, before deciding to fuck it and stick my foot out of the confines of the desk to rest the heel of my shoe on top of the file. Celeste stiffens and <em>intentionally</em> jabs me with her nails, as if to ask what the <em>fuck</em> I'm doing, but I just ignore her and slowly drag my foot closer to me. I stop instantly, however, when the file makes a scratching noise against the floor.</p><p>I curse silently again, pausing to see if Filch has heard.</p><p>"Did ya see who was in here, Mrs. Norris?" I hear him croon in his raspy, thick voice, clearly to his beloved pet.</p><p>Nearly sighing in relief, I lean in towards Celeste's ear, feeling her jolt when my lips brush against it. "Celeste," I whisper as quietly as possible, tightening my grip around her waist, "my wand is in my pocket. Do you know how to cast a Disillusionment Charm?"</p><p>She doesn't move for a few moments, and all I hear is the hard pounding of my heart in my chest, ears, everywhere in my body, but then she nods slightly.</p><p>And then her hand on my thigh moves while I unclamp my hand from her mouth, bringing it down to join my other arm around her waist. I tense slightly feeling her hand slide up my thigh, waiting for her to find the opening of my pocket and pull my wand out before I move again.</p><p>I lift my foot up slightly so it's placing less pressure on the file, and this time, when I drag it towards us again, it doesn't make that scratchy noise against the floor. Celeste flicks the wand, and I don't hear her voice, so I assume she casts the charm Nonverbally. Sure enough, I feel a shudder of magic pass over my body, and I know she's done it successfully.</p><p>Celeste's hand grips my wand tightly as I finally bring the file into the desk, and I feel her deflate with a puff of air. I myself relax slightly in relief, hearing Filch murmur incomprehensible things to his cat, perhaps <em>baby-talking</em> to it.</p><p>Still, neither of us dare move while we curl in the cramped space, the file sitting under my shoe, Celeste sitting between my legs, and my back <em>really</em> starting to hurt. I can't straighten it, though, not without having to put my head straight through the top of the desk.</p><p>"Think they're still hiding somewhere in here?" I hear him coo to his cat, my stomach twisting in discomfort at the sound of his gravelly voice. "Bloody students... always... making trouble for me... I'd think it's those <em>Weasley</em> twins if they hadn't left last year with their bloody <em>swamp</em> and <em>fireworks</em> for me to clean up."</p><p>Celeste's head falls back to rest on my shoulder. She lets out a soft puff of exhaustion while I tense slightly, furrowing my eyebrows and glancing down to see her tired eyes flutter shut.</p><p>I hear his unsteady footsteps again, and then I curse when I realize he's heading towards the desk. Celeste's eyes shoot open and head darts back up, her hand that doesn't grip my wand finding <em>my</em> hand again to squeeze the absolute life out of. She lets go of it quickly, her hand squeezing into a fist. I swallow thickly, tearing my eyes away from her to glance out at the minimal view our spot under the desk gives us.</p><p>I wonder if she can hear my pulse.</p><p>When Filch's feet, dressed in ugly, worn moccasins, appear before us, I flinch away violent, my arms squeezing Celeste tightly around her middle and my legs curling away from him, nearly pushing the file away. Her hair falls in my face, but I just close my eyes and focus on breathing slowly so he can't hear.</p><p>Blackberries.</p><p>Eventually, his feet walk back towards his room, and I vaguely register him talking to Mrs. Norris before his door slams shut, the yellow light disappearing with him.</p><p>We stay in our tight position for a few minutes longer.</p><p>It's rather uncomfortable. My neck is bent nearly in half, and I fear my spine might permanent curve in this unnatural position it is now. My legs are starting to cramp up from being folded in such a minimal space, and with Celeste between them, there's even less. I can hear each and every one of her thick swallows as we simply sit there, waiting for our pulses to calm, breathing to steady, and making sure that Filch isn't coming back out any time soon.</p><p>Part of me desires deeply to know what's going on in her mind right now, to dip inside and feel what she feels, hear what she thinks, but I force myself not to.</p><p>
  <em>Isn't it a few weeks too late to hold her?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shut up.</em>
</p><p>Slowly, I loosen my arms, clearing my throat as I drop them to my sides, waiting for her to move. She doesn't shift at first, but then she stirs with a slight sigh, her hands trembling as they reaching out for her to crawl uncomfortably out of the space.</p><p>I wait until she's out and standing before following after, nearly hitting my head twice before I'm standing. We both glance briefly at each other before she reaches back down to grab the file, gently dusting it off. There's a footprint on it from my shoe, but she quickly gets rid of it with my wand before handing it back to me.</p><p>"Thank you," I murmur, pocketing it.</p><p>She doesn't respond.</p><p>My chest feels cold.</p><p>I step to stand closer to her and right behind her shoulder, sensing her tense as I peer from behind her into the opened file in her hands, watching her finger trail up and down the papers in it. She stops abruptly on a line, and before I can read it, she's snapping the file shut and carefully opening the filing cabinet to place it back.</p><p>"Where is it?" I ask as she closes it, gently this time.</p><p>"Left corridor, seventh floor," she says simply, not bothering to glance at me as she walks back around the desk and heads towards the door.</p><p>"Oh," I murmur softly, trailing behind her slowly.</p><p>When she opens the door, she doesn't look at me, but she holds it open, waiting for me to catch up with her. We quietly step back out into the hall, my body buzzing slightly in this odd, undefinable energy as I watch her carefully close the door and mutter a spell so that it locks again, using her own wand that she procured from the back waistband of her shorts.</p><p>We walk quietly back to the dungeons. My mind keeps trialing back to Filch's office, everything she was saying to me before we nearly got caught, the way her body felt so warm against my chest, the way it was so cramped under that desk yet so <em>comfortable </em>at the same time.</p><p>"Celeste," I say hesitantly when we reach the dungeons, seeing her tense slightly. "I just..." my voice echoed as we carefully descend the narrow, crumbling stone steps, green lanterns away precariously above us. "Everything you said..." At least she's not <em>me</em>.</p><p>My walls shoot up as I remember it, and then I find myself struggling to figure out what to <em>feel</em>. It's like I'm standing at the very top of my tall walls, contemplating whether to dive into the still waters of my Occlumency, where I can't feel anything I don't want to, or jump into the raging torrents of my emotions and hopefully figure out <em>what</em> is going on there. Guilt: it's not something I'm supposed to feel, something I've never been <em>allowed</em> to feel, whether by my father, myself, or the general expectations the world has for me. But it's strong. Too strong. I can feel it making my walls of ice away.</p><p>"Are you trying to <em>apologize?</em>" her voice is a cold echo, laced with venom.</p><p>"I..." Don't know, truthfully.</p><p>"Don't bother. You won't mean it. I hardly doubt you mean a single thing you say, except that night, of course. Was it satisfying? Lashing everything you think about me right onto my skin while you were fucking me? Did it feel good? Honesty can be relieving, don't you agree?" her smooth voice is bitter as she hops smoothly over the second-to-last step, turning on her heel to face me. Her face looks grave under the green glow of the lanterns.</p><p>My pulse picks up as I pause right in the stone steps, lifting my brows at her. "But I <em>didn't</em>, I <em>didn't</em> mean what I s—"</p><p>"Why should I trust you?" her voice is eerily calm, her face eerily peaceful. I preferred it when she was yelling, glaring. "You said it yourself. I'm <em>naive</em>. I desire too much to trust people. Don't worry about me, I'm working on it. <em>Callidus</em>."</p><p>The large stone that acts as our doorway scrapes against the ground as it slides out of place, but Celeste doesn't turn to walk into the common room. Her eyes are still on me, waiting to see if I have anything to say.</p><p>And then she speaks herself, hesitating softly before saying, "Don't try to tell me you didn't mean any of it. You <em>did</em> mean it, all of it, at least to some extent. You wanted to hurt me, Malfoy. Why else would you bring up my father?" Her voice is thin, a slight tremble in it. "Or—Or how I <em>died?</em> Why else would you tell me all those things? That I have <em>nobody?</em> You're smart, Ill give you that, to figure out what I had to block for my Occlumency—trust. You didn't have to use it against me, though."</p><p>I swallow thickly, wishing I knew what to <em>say</em>, to <em>feel</em>, wishing I had an excuse but knowing all too well that there simply isn't one.</p><p>"I know you're sadistic, but... <em>Merlin</em>, Malfoy, that's just <em>sick</em>. You're fucking <em>sick</em>."</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>"And..." She shakes her head, as if deciding not to say whatever it is. "What I said, after you—you <em>Imperiused</em> me... it still stands. Obviously, we can't <em>not talk</em> or <em>look</em> at each other if we want to get this task done, but... I don't want you to talk to me unless it's about the task, or unless you have no choice. I don't want you staring at me—yes, I notice—all the damn time. And..."</p><p>She rubs her arms, and though the lighting is dim, I can see her gaze drop to my hands.</p><p>"There's no reason for you to touch me anymore. Goodnight."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: would you rather go to the past or future? what's the first thing you would do?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0064"><h2>64. I CAN BE YOUR NEW ADDICTION</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste talks with blaise and maxon</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>September 12-16th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>SEPTEMBER 12th, 1996</b>
</p><p>I gasp, eyes flying open.</p><p>My heart pounds wildly in my chest, my throat constricting, and instantly I start choking, air unable to get into my lungs or escape them. I'm scrambling for purchase, ripping the covers off my body and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.</p><p>I pant heavily, clawing at my throat with one hand and twisting the bedsheets beside me with another, face screwed up tight while I will my breathing to slowly calm.</p><p><em>Walls</em>, I remind myself, and through the struggle of getting a lungful of sweet air, of calming my racing heart down, of relaying my nightmare over and over again in my head, I manage to swell the size of my stone walls just enough to breathe normally. Sighing out in relief, I drop my hand from my throat and grip the edge of the bed tightly, waiting for my pulse to relax.</p><p>Behind me, a soundly sleeping Pansy makes a tired noise, still deep in her slumber.</p><p>A <em>nightmare</em>. This isn't the first time I've had a nightmare even after taking my Sleeping Draught before going to bed. It worked the same, making me almost instantly tired, dropping me off into the blank abyss of my mind within seconds, but here I am now, veins electrified and ready to fight or flee at any given second, at—I glance up at the clock over the bed—two in the morning, up and with my mind still reeling.</p><p>When three drops stopped being enough, I started taking four. That lasted about a week, so now I'm taking <em>five</em>. For some reason, my magic is building an immunity to the Draught. It's not strong enough anymore, not working the way it should against my nightmares—</p><p>Just like that odd woman in the apothecary on Knockturn Alley said.</p><p>I swallow thickly, pulling open the drawer of my nightstand. Pansy's room is mostly devoid of my belongings, as despite the fact I spend most nights here with her, I keep all my clothes and study materials back in my shared dorm. Some of the only things here include my Draught.</p><p><em>Both</em> Draughts, actually. I carefully pick up that dark brown bottle, the one lacking a label, and then it over in my hands before deciding that unless I want to die some kind of torturous death, I should keep it aside. I pick my regular Draught up instead, sighing softly as I turn it over to read its description and warnings.</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>9/10 Traumatic Counseling and Sleep Therapy Healers recommend Sleep-Mojo </em>
  </b>
  <em>for those suffering from sleepless nights, dreams plagued with night-terrors, or an infrequent sleep schedule! Works in under one minute!</em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>NOTE:</em>
  </b>
  <br/>
  <em>It is illegal by order of the British Ministry of Magic to use this on an unsuspecting Muggle. All Sleeping Products are banned from Wizarding bars, pubs, and clubs. This product should not be used on those under eleven years of age.</em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>WARNINGS:</em>
  </b>
  <br/>
  <em>Ask your Healer before using if you have or have had:</em>
  <br/>
  <em>• narcolepsy</em>
  <br/>
  <em>• somnambulism</em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>SYMPTOMS MAY INCLUDE:</em>
  </b>
  <br/>
  <em>• sleep paralysis</em>
  <br/>
  <em>• occasional visits from Dream Demons</em>
  <br/>
  <em>• nausea and headache</em>
  <br/>
  <em>• temporary coma</em>
  <br/>
  <em>• short attention span</em>
  <br/>
  <em>• temporary memory loss</em>
</p><p>I frown slightly—none of this is what I'm looking for. But then I suddenly spot near the bottom in <em>very</em> fine print:</p><p>
  <em>This product may not fit those with severe post-traumatic stress disorder. Ask your Healer for a prescription Draught if over-the-counter isn't strong enough.</em>
</p><p>I curse softly, placing the bottle down on the top of my nightstand before burying my face in my palms where I laugh humorlessly, feeling the muscles in my back ache as I do so. It's not funny, it's not funny in the slightest, but soon I find myself gasping for air for an entirely different reason that I was before. My hands are trembling, and I have to keep flexing the muscles in my calves to keep my legs from shaking violently, and my abdomen is really starting to hurt from all my stifled laughter.</p><p>I hear Pansy moan tiredly, turn slightly where she lays, and then her soft voice sounds, "Cel?"</p><p>I clamp my hand over my mouth.</p><p>"Why are you up?" her voice is quiet, sounding almost as if she's drifting off already.</p><p>"I just—need to use the bathroom," I say quickly and quietly, a small snort leaving me as I bite down on my lip and slip off the bed. "Go back to sleep, Panz."</p><p>"Mm..." she hums, and then she's turning back around.</p><p>I'm shoving that bottle away into a deep corner of my drawer, no longer needing to clamp my hand over my mouth to physically restrain my laughter form spilling past my lips. Instead, I'm wearing a shaky smirk, my lungs fluttering in my chest, a pressure crawling up my throat, and I try to let it come out as a soft, sick laugh, but instead it's a small sob as my fingers pick up the envelope on top of my nightstand.</p><p>Chronos delivered it to me two days ago. It's from my mother.</p><p>I clutch it tightly in a shaking hand, swallowing thickly to push another quiet sob down my throat while walking across the room to slip into the bathroom, the lights turning on by themselves.</p><p>I find myself sitting on the floor leaning against the door of the glass shower, holding the envelope out in front of me while tugging my knees up close to my chest. My mother's swift, neat handwriting spells out my name, and it stares up at me calmly, judging me, like it's wondering how something so pretty and perfect can share a name with someone who is such a <em>mess</em>.</p><p>I sigh softly, figuring I might as well open it.</p><p>My hands carefully pluck the black and gold wax seal, imprinted with an ornate <em>Z</em>, off the letter, breaking the seal and opening it to slide the letter out. I set the envelope down in the tiles shakily, unfolding the letter to scan it with my eyes to see that it's contents are nearly as short and terse as the message I sent to her sixteen days ago.</p><p>It took her two weeks to respond to a request to see her before school begins.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Celeste,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I apologize for the late response. I'm not at the manor currently. My work has sent me to Cairo, and they forgot to register my temporary address, so unfortunately your aunt wasn't sure where to redirect your letter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I won't be back for a little while, but I hear Hogsmeade is opening up to students in October. We may meet on the fifth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don't send Chronos, he'll tire from the journey. The falcon I sent, Heru, will stay with you until you write back. Do so soon.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Mother</em>
</p><p>I swallow thickly, setting the letter down and then fumbling with the neckline of my shirt until I can pull it down and reveal my locket hanging over my Raido rune, the Concealment Charm clearly having worn out. I look at it blankly for a few moments, the black stain in the shape of a scrawled 'R' sitting on my sternum innocently. And then I'm resting my hands on my knees, the inside of my left wrist glaring at me while that permanently aching Mark swirls and coils on my skin, black and inky. The Nauthiz rune on the back of my right palm is silent.</p><p>And then I'm scrambling to get off the bathroom floor, filled with a sudden urgency to write back to my mother and write back to her <em>now</em>.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>SEPTEMBER 16th, 1996</b>
</p><p>"Why are you so tired?" Blaise asks, glancing down at me as he drapes his arm over the top of my arm chair, sitting on one of the wide arms.</p><p>"Mm... stayed up all night teaching myself Arithmancy," I stifle a yawn, letting my head fall back against the cushiony top, my hair ruffling against his arm. It's not a lie—I <em>did</em> stay up all night studying. Not just Arithmancy, though, and not just the classes which I'm self-studying, but also to do all my homework for my other classes. I didn't have time to do it during the day, not after spending hours in the library reading silently with Draco and trying to figure out how to fix that stupid Cabinet. I still didn't finish all my homework—Flitwick is <em>so</em> close to giving me detention at this point.</p><p>"You shouldn't do that," he says in a stern but soft voice, his hand dropping to squeeze my right shoulder. I can feel his gaze at the top of my head while I watch lazily the others in the common room around the fire talking amongst themselves. "It's more important that you get sleep."</p><p>"Yeah," I exhale softly, my eyes distractedly resting on Pansy, watching her smile to herself when Verona—whose pixie-cut hair is now <em>rose</em> rather than <em>purple—</em>lays her head on Pansy's lap and reaches a manicured hand up to push her bangs out of her face. "I'll keep that in mind."</p><p>Blaise jolts me slightly. "That's a lie, isn't it?" he asks quietly.</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"Are the... nightmares..?"</p><p>I swallow thickly, wondering if I should tell him that the Sleeping Draught I became so dependent on over the summer isn't working on me anymore, that I keep having to increase the dose, which <em>can't </em>be healthy. I don't want to tell him, though, I don't want to tell him the Draught isn't working, because that means telling him that I <em>am</em> having nightmares, and that means talking about them.</p><p>"I just like keeping my mind busy."</p><p>"Yeah, well, your mind needs a break, Cel. You're <em>exhausted</em>. I don't even see you at meals half the time."</p><p>"I'm not—I don't get that hungry," I lie, because in reality, I <em>do</em>, but it's hard to have much of an appetite for the best roast in the world after studying up on how to murder a man sitting in the same room.</p><p>"Bull."</p><p>"<em>Not</em> bull."</p><p>"Don't argue with me," he says simply, knocking the back of my head with his palm, the mild headache I've been having banging on my skull. I turn my head up to glare at him, but he just says, "I swear, Celeste, don't argue with me. I don't care. I—I didn't take care of you properly this summer, I realize that—"</p><p>My eyes widen and lips part as I look at him in shock, my heart shattering at his words and the pained expression in his eyes as they dart away.</p><p>"—but I'll be bloody <em>damned</em> if I don't take care of you <em>now</em>."</p><p>I look at him quietly, watching him look away and pretend to listen in on the conversation Daphne, Theo, and Adrian are having nearby on the couch. I watch the way his lips twitch, eyebrows tense, relax, and tense over and over like he keeps forgetting not to look worried <em>for</em> me. I want to tell him that I don't <em>need</em> him to take care of me, but as I feel the broken pieces of my heart sinking slowly in my body, I'm not so sure how true that is. Perhaps I could use someone reminding me to drink water every once in a while. It couldn't hurt.</p><p>But he doesn't know—He doesn't know that he can't <em>really </em>take care of me. Or maybe he does, but he's so insistent on trying anyway because of his stupid guilt that he <em>shouldn't </em>have, guilt over something that <em>didn't </em>happen.</p><p>I don't <em>want</em> him to feel guilty, so I think I'll let him have this, just this one time. At least one of us could feel better.</p><p>"Fine," I say quietly, looking away from him and towards the crackling fire.</p><p>I feel him turn to look at me, and I think he's about to say something, but someone interrupts him.</p><p>"Hey, Zabini!"</p><p>We both snap our heads to the side to see Cassius Warrington stepping out of the boys' hall, his hand running through his wet, dark hair and his eyes resting on us—<em>no</em>, on Blaise. He smiles slightly, lifting a hand up as a polite wave before walking over.</p><p>"Sorry, Celeste, the <em>other </em>Zabini," he says with a crooked smile and a good-hearted laugh.</p><p>I respond with a dry smile, saying, "You don't want the better one?"</p><p>"Asshole," Blaise mutters, unwrapping his arm from around me to shove my shoulder before tilting his head up at Warrington. "Hey, Cassius."</p><p>"Yeah, hey, sorry for taking so long," he laughs slightly, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing offhandedly to the side. "Still wanna help out?"</p><p>"Yeah, of course," Blaise says casually, slipping off the arm of the chair. He turns to face me, pointing a finger into my forehead to knock my head back while saying sternly, "Eat a granola bar."</p><p>"Fuck you," I snap as he moves to walk away, grabbing his arm so he can't move. "What are you helping him out with?" I ask, nodding towards Warrington who's already on his way back to his dorm.</p><p>"Oh, I—He asked me to help him decide who to call back for the second round of tryouts," he shrugs slightly, ripping his hand away.</p><p>I lift my eyebrows. "Wait, so—"</p><p>"Bye!" he turns quickly to dart away before I can finish my sentence, leaving me sighing softly and shaking my head while I watch him disappear.</p><p>And then I sink low into my armchair, exhaling loudly and practically deflating as my eyes turn back to the crackling fire. My cheek rests over my fist as I close my eyes for a moment, wondering if a quick nap in the common room would hurt my schedule for today at all, but quickly I open them once more. There's nothing I'd hate more than to wake up screaming from a nightmare in front of all my peers.</p><p>My eyes land lazily on Tracey. Her blonde hair, now sporting blue ends, is tied up, and it sways in a way that draws my tired eyes into a slight trance. I find myself watching her blankly as she talks to Millicent on the loveseat near the fire, the two of them leaning in close to each other so as to not miss a single word.</p><p>They're whispering, glancing side to side covertly, nodding with lifted brows and gaping with shocked eyes, and then I see Millicent turn her head over her shoulder to glance at me discreetly. When she does, however, she sees me already watching. Wide-eyes, the brown-haired girl quickly ducks her head away, whispering harshly in Tracey's ear.</p><p>They were talking about me. Of course. It's hard to run out of things to say about the girl whose father died in the Ministry attack and then allegedly went on to become hospitalized for a month for trying to <em>kill</em> herself.</p><p>I wonder how much worse the whispers would be if they knew I died too. Or perhaps if people thought I have a Dark Mark.</p><p>"<em>Bonsoir, Celeste</em> [Evening, Celeste]," a warm voice prompts me to turn my head, and then Maxon is dropping himself down into the space next to me in the armchair, wincing when our hipbones collide. We both quickly adjusts ourselves, however, so that we're seated more comfortably, with Maxon's arm around my shoulder.</p><p>"Hey, dummy," I yawn softly, though my yawn turns into a soft shriek when his warm hand clamps on my waist and tugs me into his side, his other hand tucking into my knees to curl them and pull them up onto his lap. I sputter slightly, eyebrows rising as I question, "Oh?"</p><p>"More comfortable this way," he explains with a small smile, but I see the mischief shining in his eyes.</p><p>"You're an idiot."</p><p>"<em>Vraiment </em>[Really]?" Maxon's warm brown eyes twinkle as his arm around my shoulders pulls me in closer to him. "I didn't know. Guess what?"</p><p>"Mm, tell me," I say, my head dropping on his shoulder. I shiver slightly when his hand slides down my back, making it straighten in surprise. This lets him slip it under my grey sweater, and though I wear a shirt underneath, I can feel the warmth of his hand as it rubs slightly against my shoulder. His fingers rub against the muscles there, and I find myself sighing softly and letting my back loosen. I lean back against the armchair once more, this time with his arm pressed to my back.</p><p>"I tried out for Seeker," he murmurs near my ear, his hand lazily dragging further up to fiddle with the chain of my locket, goosebumps making themselves present all over my skin as that cold chain and his warm fingertips drag against it.</p><p>"<em>Quoi? Pourquoi tu ne me là jamais dit </em>[What? Why didn't you ever tell me]?" I frown softly, one of my elbows resting on the top of our seat right behind his head, my hand reaching up to play absentmindedly with his long brown waves.</p><p>"I wanted to surprise you, I suppose," his voice is smooth, sounding the way the first bite into rich chocolate feels. I hum softly, letting my eyes close again as his other hand rubs comfortingly on the side of my thigh, never dipping so high as to slip under my skirt, but giving me goosebumps nonetheless. "But I think they'll either give me the position <em>now</em> or call me back for a second round of tryouts, so..." I can hear the smile on his face as he laughs warmly, calloused palm gently cupping the back of my neck, fingers lightly massaging the muscles there. "<em>Je suis trop excité, c'est pourquoi je te le dit maintenant </em>[I'm too excited, that's why I'm telling you <em>now</em>]."</p><p>"Good," I say firmly, lifting my head up off his shoulder to look him firmly in the eye, "they'd be <em>stupid</em> not to take you, anyway. I remember watching you play in <em>Beauxbatons</em>," another yawn escapes me, and then my head falls back down onto his shoulder, my body enjoying the way he rubs his back. "You hardly lost a game."</p><p>"<em>Merci, mon bijou</em> [Thank you, my jewel]."</p><p>My toes curl slightly. "<em>Pourquoi est-ce que tu m'appelle comme ça</em> [Why do you call me that]?"</p><p>"Hm? '<em>Mon bijou?</em>'"</p><p>"Mm."</p><p>"Why? You don't like it?" Maxon murmurs, a slight teasing hint in his voice as he drags his nails up my back.</p><p>"<em>Je n'est jamais dit ça</em> [I never said that]," I hum.</p><p>He chuckles softly, hand lightly squeezing the side of my lower thigh. My eyes open at the feeling, but they land on Daphne who is looking at me with wide eyes and lifted brows, glancing suggestively between Maxon and I and then giving me a meaningful yet inquisitive look. Restraining the urge to roll my eyes, I instead shift them to look at Pansy, seeing her stroking Verona's short pink locks and saying something that makes the seventh year laugh, all while smirking at me pointedly.</p><p>"<em>Je t'appelle comme ça puisque c'est ce que t'es </em>[I call you that because that's what you are]."</p><p>I frown slightly, and then I'm lifting my head off his shoulder and drawing away from him slightly to get a better look at him, my heart thudding dangerously as I <em>pray</em> to... <em>whoever </em>or <em>what</em>ever it is, if such a person or thing exists, that runs this shitshow that he doesn't mean what I think he means. He glances at me, smiling in an unbothered way, eyes flickering between mine and my lips.</p><p>"I'm your... <em>jewel?</em>"</p><p>"My most precious stone."</p><p>I swallow thickly, pulling away from him a few inches more while looking away as well. I can feel his confusion as his hand tightens on my back before loosening and allowing me to lean away.</p><p>He's a very warm person, both metaphorically and literally. He radiates heat in the way a comforting bed does, or like crackling fireplace that melts the frost off the tip of my knows. I can think of one another boy who is always <em>so</em> shockingly hot—the one with ice in his eyes and very ironically radiates beat like I'm at the center of a bonfire, or perhaps walking on the surface of the sun itself.</p><p>I'm <em>picky</em> about touch, you see. Sometimes I hate it, sometimes I shamelessly engage in it. I'll sit on a boy's lap if I think it'll earn me a covert make out session later, or I'll curl up next to a pretty girl if I think she'll let me touch her under the blankets, or I'll share an armchair with a boy like Maxon, knowing fully well what I'm doing when I pull on his hair, knowing that <em>he</em> knows what he's doing when his hands are roaming all over my body.</p><p>And his touch <em>is</em> very nice. It's a warm that's appreciated even when the fall has hardly even begun. It's strong and encompassing, it's flirty and endearing, but if it means more to <em>him</em> than it does to me, then I don't want it.</p><p>I don't like engaging in <em>feelings</em>, especially when they're mixing into touch and sex, two big parts of me. I don't mind flirting shamelessly or squishing myself into tight spots so that I'm pressed up against a boy, but only if we're both aware that it's all only a form of fun. If he's about to talk about feelings, about how I'm the <em>apple of his eye</em>, or his most coveted <em>treasure</em>, then I'm out.</p><p>I don't like <em>this</em>.</p><p>"What do you mean, Maxon?" I try to ask calmly.</p><p>"I don't have a <em>crush</em> on you, if that's what you're getting all nervous about," his voice is effortlessly calm as his hand pulls out from inside my sweater only to go to the nape of my neck and play with a curled baby hair there, his finger twisting around it.</p><p>I sigh softly in relief, my face warming when I hear him chuckle in amusement. "Don't <em>laugh</em> at me for being concerned, okay? You just told me—"</p><p>"Am I not allowed to show you affection without it being romantic?" he queries curiously, his hand leaving the back of my neck so that his fingers can wrap gently around my jaw and direct me to look at him as well as lean back into him. My arm moves on its own to rest back behind his head while my body naturally fits into his side, and his small smile grows when I roll my eyes at him and push his hand away.</p><p>"Shut up."</p><p>"Would it really be so bad if I <em>did</em> like you like that?" he then asks, his right arm wrapping back around me while his left hand finds my chin again, pulling me gently closer to him. "You reacted as if I'm as bad as..." his lips twitch as he thinks, "<em>dragon</em> pox, or... <em>Mumblemumps</em>, or—"</p><p>I press my finger to his lips, looking at him unamused while he smirks against my finger, brown eyes twinkling wickedly.</p><p>"You babble too much, you know that?"</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>"And... I didn't mean to <em>offend </em>you," I huff with a roll of my eyes, ignoring the goosebumps on my arms when his hand on my face tugs me closer still, "I just... don't really want to <em>deal</em> with..."</p><p>"Emotions?" his voice is a faint whisper, and I realize his lips are mere inches from mine.</p><p>"Yes, emotions... I don't want to deal with <em>emotions</em>, especially of—of <em>those</em> sort right now..." my voice trails off as my lips settle on his alarmingly smooth lips and my mind becomes hyperaware of the other people in the common room possibly observing us right now. I smirk softly before lifting my eyes up to his. "You understand, don't you?"</p><p>Maxon smirks. "Last I checked, it was <em>you</em> who developed feelings first."</p><p>"Oh, fuck off. Last <em>I</em> checked, <em>I</em> was the one who broke things off, and didn't <em>you</em> go crying to Mag?"</p><p>Maxon laughs boldly, letting go of my chin to lightly tickle my neck, making me jerk while he says, "Well, it's hardly <em>my</em> fault that you don't feel a thing! You've been a... a <em>stone-cold bitch</em>. Maybe if you let yourself feel a thing, you would've been the one sobbing." He laughs shortly, looking away to listen quietly to Theo and Daphne's conversation.</p><p>My grin falters, and then I clear my throat and glance away.</p><p>We're quiet for a few moments, soaking in the fire and those surrounding us, and then he nudges me, prompting me to turn my head to look at him. When I do, his lips quirk up in a small smile.</p><p>"I think my dorm is empty."</p><p>I lift a brow. "Is that so?"</p><p>"Oh, yes," he nods in a mockingly serious fashion, his eyes drifting to watch his hand while his fingers pick up a curl spilling from my pony tail to twirl it slowly. "Very much empty."</p><p>"<em>Really?</em>"</p><p>"Mhm. All those empty beds, devoid of... teenage boys," Maxon nods gravely, his lips twitching with the struggle to stay solemn, brown eyes flicking between my eyes and my lips while I rest my elbow on his shoulder and lean in closer to his face, smirking softly. "Poor, <em>poor</em> beds. Mine must be missing me desperately right now."</p><p>"Oh, it's a pity it doesn't have you to keep it company," I pout, playing along with his childish charade while lifting a hand to gently tap the tip of his nose, seeing him briefly break character as a grin splits his face. He quickly clears his throat and frowns at me earnestly.</p><p>"Oh, yes, and it's such a beautiful bed too. Silk sheets, an embroidered green duvet—you know what? Words can't do it justice," he clicks his tongue, darkened eyes now settled heavily on my lips, so my smirk broadens as I teasingly stick the tip of my tongue out against the corner of my lips. "I think I'll just have to show you."</p><p>"Oh, <em>my</em>," I stifle a laugh, seeing his lips spread into an easy-going smile. "I don't think that's an offer I could ref—"</p><p>At that moment, the door to the boys' hall, situated at the wall behind Maxon's head, swings open, and out walks a tall, lean, white-haired boy with light bags under his eyes and a grim expression on his face. His silver eyes briefly scan the room, soaking in all the students sitting and talking with their friends, before they find me.</p><p>And then they find Maxon beside me.</p><p>I curse softly, realizing what time it is as I glance down at the simple watch on my wrist. I was supposed to meet Draco in his dorm to work on our task twenty minutes ago.</p><p>"What's wrong?" I vaguely hear Maxon ask, his hand squeezing my arm to get my attention.</p><p>"I..." I trail off, distracted by the way Draco's crystalline grey eyes darken into dangerous thunderstorms, boring holes into the back of Maxon's head.</p><p>His strong jaw clenched tightly, the muscles at his temples twitching, and his pink lips press together slightly. I watch as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, and there they ball into tight fists before relaxing. His eyes then slowly drag up, as if digging deep scars into Maxon's skull, before meeting mine, the intensity in them unwavering. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't come closer, but he stares at me expectantly.</p><p>"Celeste?" Maxon prods, and then he turns his head over his shoulder to see who I'm looking at. His voice turns just slightly bitter as he echoes, "<em>Ah, c'est la petit furet. Pourquoi est ce qu'il nous regarde comme ça </em>[Ah, it's the little ferret. Why's he looking at us like that]?"</p><p>"Oh, I... <em>J'était sencer étudiar avec lui </em>[I was supposed to study with him]," I murmur.</p><p>I'm unable to take my eyes off of Draco's calm yet intense ones, watching as he leans back casually against the wall next to the door, his eyes briefly leaving mine to soak in my proximity with Maxon before returning to permanently sear an imprint into my head.</p><p>"Listen, how about a, uh... rain check? I really do have to go, but—" I get up and off the arm chair, finally looking down at Maxon to see him watching me with a casual but curious expression, "I look forward to seeing your—your bed," I laugh softly, seeing him crack a genial smile.</p><p>"Sure, that's fine. Hey, tell <em>la petit furet</em> that brooding against a wall doesn't make him mysterious, won't you? Have fun fucking him."</p><p>"No, I—"</p><p>Maxon waves me off, already shifting to comfortably occupy the armchair and lean in to join the conversation next to him, leaving me standing there watching him with a blank expression before turning around to look at Draco.</p><p>—</p><p>"Nothing from Borgin and Burkes?" I question as I sink down on one of the armchair in the corner of Draco's room, looking up at him stonily as he sets textbooks down on the coffee table before taking a seat himself.</p><p>"Nothing," he shakes his head, "they haven't found a single spell, ritual, nothing."</p><p>"Fuck," I sigh softly, grabbing the first book on the pile, lugging it onto my lap, and flipping it open.</p><p>"Yeah. But when we went to go see the Cabinet," he says grabbing a book for himself, his voice cold and distant, "it was clear there's a lot of damage to it, wasn't it? Even while we can't find a way to fix the internal magic, we can fix the rest."</p><p>"True," I say simply.</p><p>"You were late, by the way," he says in a low, icy voice, flipping a page promptly.</p><p>I glance up to look at him, but he isn't looking at me. He rests lithely in his chair, elbows propped on adjacent arms, one hand holding his jaw with two fingers and a thumb, the other on his book. His blond hair is neat, but a few locks fall forward over his forehead and nearly skim his eyes. He doesn't bother brushing them away, though.</p><p>I scowl slightly. "My apologies, your highness," I sneer as bitterly as possible. "Next time, I'll be sure to do things promptly and accordingly so I don't make you late for your appointment to get that stick out of your fucking <em>ass</em>."</p><p>Draco turns his head up sharply, a venomous glare in those silver eyes like he wants to bite back, maybe sink his teeth into me the way a snake would. But then his expression falters as he scans my face grimly, inhaling slowly and exhaling loudly while turning his gaze back down to his book.</p><p>"Read," is all he says.</p><p>"No, no, <em>please</em>," I scoff, flipping a page in my book and curling my legs up on the seat to get more comfortable, "tell me <em>all</em> about how late I am. <em>Please</em>. Scold me, berate me for being <em>oh</em> so incompetent. It truly makes my day when you do that."</p><p>"Celeste," he says in a quiet but brisk voice, not lifting his head.</p><p>"Yes, my liege?" I say in a light, sharp voice.</p><p>"<em>Read</em>."</p><p>"As you wish," I exhale utter my breath, my eyes skimming a page on a practical Mending Charm, a scowl painting my face when it comes up entirely useless. "I'd hate to upset my—"</p><p>Draco snaps his book shut, prompting me to look up and see his eyes dark and intense again. He leans forward casually, setting his book down on the coffee table with a slight thud, his hand pushing it towards the center without his gaze ever leaving mine. He clenches his jaw, tilting his head at me ever-so-slightly, and then he's picking another book up to resume reading normally.</p><p>I watch him lean back and flip the book open casual, my pulse slightly faster than before. "Drama queen," I mutter under my breath, looking at him offhandedly.</p><p>"What was that?" his voice is edged like a blade as his foot begins tapping on the floor. It's at a slow pace, but he seems strained.</p><p>"You're just really fucking dramatic, has anyone ever told you that?" I ask with slightly squinted eyes, tilting my head at him with a scrutinizing gaze. "I mean, <em>clearly</em> you have a problem with me being late, and <em>clearly</em> you want to talk about it, so c'mon. Let it out, lash out. I don't want you to hold it in and let it—let it <em>fester</em>," I pout mockingly, seeing his eyes lift slowly to look at me with an unreadably overcast scan, his head still tilted down to his book, "or—or turn into a source of resentment, you know? I would simply <em>hate</em> for—"</p><p>"What is <em>wrong </em>with you?" he finally snaps, his face curdling slightly while he gives me a scathing, cursory glance. "Honestly, witch..."</p><p>"No, what is wrong with <em>you?!</em>" I snap back, my hands slamming the book shut and practically tossing it back onto the coffee table while I lean forward to glare at him venomously. "You think I don't fucking notice how you're acting? Glaring, monosyllabic responses? What the fuck are <em>you</em> mad at <em>me</em> for, huh? Spit it out!"</p><p>"<em>Twenty minutes</em>, Celeste!" he scoffs, sitting up a bit straighter now while looking at me incredulously. "What could be so—so bloody... <em>riveting </em>that you're twenty minutes late to <em>this</em>, to working on the <em>task</em>, the success or failure of which may as bloody well determine whether we live past this fucking <em>year?</em>"</p><p>"Fuck you, you act like twenty minutes is as bad as an hour," I spit.</p><p>"Maybe not relatively, but I'm sure you wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't come out to find you," he says bitterly, grey eyes giving me a blistering, cutting look that feels like it might burn my skin. How is he so frigidly cold yet so devastatingly scalding at the same time?</p><p>"How the hell would you know?" I glare at him.</p><p>"Please..." he mutters, eyes drifting back down to his book.</p><p>"<em>What?</em>"</p><p>"I saw you two when I walked in," he snaps, eyes darting back up to tear into mine, "your bloody hands all—all <em>over </em>each other. So you're dating the French boy now?" a dry laugh lips through his throat, but nothing about the way the daggers in his silver eyes glint is amused. "How <em>lovely</em>. I'm not sure someone like you can afford <em>distractions</em> right now, however—"</p><p>"Someone like me?" I interrupt in a quiet, stony voice, choosing not to remark on his earlier question. "What does that mean, Malfoy?"</p><p>Draco flinches lightly, but then his soft, pretty pink lips part once more to let out scathingly, "Someone like <em>you—</em>someone so flippantly <em>careless</em>, with absolutely <em>no</em> regards for the safety of herself and those around her, no sense of bloody <em>priorities</em>, who finds it more important to fuck around and suck foreign <em>dick</em> than work on this task, who probably couldn't care less that if <em>she</em> fucks this up for <em>me</em>, it's <em>my</em> parents that'll be getting strung up by their necks and paraded around my own manor!"</p><p>During his bitter, spat spiel, Draco got up from his armchair to approach me from around the coffee table with a murderous gleam in his eyes, his footsteps agile, sleek, and long like a predator stalking its prey, and now he's bent and leaning close to me with his hands on the arms of my chair supporting him.</p><p>His face is inches from mine, lips pressed tight, sharp inhales and exhales through his nose, and the snowstorm brewing in his eyes ravenous as it tears right through me.</p><p>I try not to move, to seem intimidated, so my back is rigid with the back of the chair far behind it. My nails dig into the arms of the chair, and I can feel his firmly planted fingers next to my forearms while I stare indignantly back up at him, getting distracted every few seconds by each whiff of subtle, distinctive  cologne, or bittersweet green apple, or his muted, masculine musk.</p><p>With my pulse pounding in my wrists and heart thumping halfway up my throat, my eyes are dragged down by gravity to land on his lips which, I notice, would meet mine if he tilted his head down a few inches and I leaned up to meet him. So soft, so pink, so delicate. The curve of his angel's bow is dramatic, carved from ice with a skillful hand that took its time.</p><p>And then those beautiful, heavenly lips curve into an infernal smirk, and the souls resting in the Elysian fields weep in dismay.</p><p>"You want to fuck me, don't you?"</p><p>I flinch at his words uttered in a raspy, husky, sinful lilt. They're soft and harsh at the same time, wrapping their intoxicating arms around me only to squeeze tight and force all the air out of my lungs.</p><p>I force my eyes away from his mouth when his tongue darts out to wet it. My face feeling warm, I direct my gaze up to his, seeing dark amusement lining the storm clouds in his eyes.</p><p>"You <em>do</em>," he says softly, glancing between my eyes with that cruel smirk twisting wider.</p><p>I open my mouth to argue, to disagree <em>very</em> vehemently, but then his hand is reaching up to my face, knuckles grazing my cheek while slender fingers tuck my hair behind my ear. He effectively renders me speechless, incapable of forming a coherent thought, with the simple movement.</p><p>"I don't think your boyfriend would appreciate that," he whispers, ice hardening in his eyes.</p><p>Then he stands up straight, hands adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. I watch him, mildly dumbfounded as he turns, picks up the book I practically threw onto the coffee table, and lazily tosses it back into my lap without hardly shooting me a glance. He walks back to his chair, swiftly grabbing his own book and dropping into the chair with his legs swung over one arm and his back leaning against the other.</p><p>He's so careless yet <em>purposeful</em> at the same time, nimble fingers flipping a page in the book that rests on his lap.</p><p>A devilish voice rings out, "<em>Read.</em>"</p><p>I find myself receding into the corner of my armchair and finding solace in the mundane book in my lap, figuring it's as good a distraction as any from his sultry lips and searing eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: how are you?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0065"><h2>65. LONELY TIMES CALL FOR LONELY MEASURES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a party!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>September 27th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>"Hey, man, if you hadn't quit for no fucking reason, that would be you right there," Urquhart, one of the new Chasers, leans over to say with a mouth crammed full of chips and dip.</p><p>I turn my head slowly to look at him blankly, taking in his thin, hooded black eyes that look at me innocently and the way his jaw moves up and down like a cow, the smell of chips wafting off of him. I give him a curt scan before looking back to where Carlier, the new Seeker, is grinning and laughing talking to people next to Cassius Warrington, one of our Chasers <em>and</em> our new Captain.</p><p>And then I turn around and walk away from Urquhart as he shovels more chips into his mouth, quickly finding Blaise with Pansy and Verona, each holding a cup of Firewhiskey.</p><p>"Congrats, man," I say, clapping his back so suddenly, he makes a muffled noise and chokes on the sip of Firewhiskey he was drinking. I watch with a small smirk as he coughs violently, glancing up to see Pansy hiding her snickers in Verona's arm. "All good?"</p><p>"Yeah, I—" One last cough, "—good, yeah, good. Thanks," he says with a shrug, straightening back up. "I, uh, honestly didn't think Cassius would really make me the Keeper."</p><p>"Bull," I say, grabbing a bottle of beer from off a nearby table. "I showed up to practice, I saw you. You were a shit ton better than Bletchley was, I'll tell you that."</p><p>Blaise snorts.</p><p>"Why didn't you try out?" Verona asks curiously, scanning me with brown eyes.</p><p>I shrug. <em>Too distracting, it could get in the way of planning to murder our Headmaster</em>. "Honestly, it's not remotely close to anything I'd pursue after Hogwarts, so I figured I'd focus on better things. I'm destined to more than a lifetime of catching little Snitches, you know," I say, popping the cap off my ear and taking a small sip.</p><p>"Aw, theres my favorite arrogant little arsehole," Pansy coos sweetly, scrunching her nose at me and leaning forward to tousle my hair, laughing when I protest and duck out of the way.</p><p>"Fuck you," I say with a scowl as I straighten up, taking another sip.</p><p>My eyes wander the common room, seeing Crabbe and Goyle talking very enthusiastically with Adrian about getting the Beater positions—they were the only two candidates, so I'm not sure why they look so shocked—and Tracey fawning all over Cassius Warrington. It only takes a few more moments for my eyes to find <em>her</em>.</p><p>She's with Carlier now, the two of them in the corner of the common room. She's leaning back against a corner table, hands gripping the edge, her skirt riding up to reveal an extra inch of her soft thighs, and her shirt slightly unbuttoned. Her tie is missing entirely, and her curls are held up with just her wand—my favorite way she ever wears her hair. Beside her—or more like practically on <em>top</em> of her—is the French boy himself, the very one who got <em>my</em> position on the Quidditch team. He leans over her, bending down to whisper something in her ear, and clearly it's the joke of the <em>century</em>, because I see her laugh softly and playfully shove at his shoulder.</p><p>Taking a sip from my beer, I tear my eyes away from them and allow them to wander for a few moments longer before they find Pandora. Her blonde hair has grown slightly, tucked behind her ears as she grins and talks with two other seventh year girls, Kailani and Elvina. Right as I look at her, she turns her head and locks her green eyes with mine.</p><p>Her hand lifts in a short wave and her dark red lips lift up in a small smile.</p><p>With every pulse of the Dark Mark writhing on the inside of my forearm, I'm hit with a wave of fatigue. There's nothing I long for more than to return to my solitary dorm, sink into my bed, and let sleep welcome me, but instead I clear my throat, test out a smirk on my face—hoping that it doesn't look as strained as it feels—and stride over to her casually, seeing her glance aside in mild surprise and straighten up a little.</p><p>"Hey, Draco," Pandora greets softly when I approach her. "Good summer?"</p><p>Suppressing a dry laugh, I instead lift my eyebrows and say, "Yeah, decent, I suppose. Yours? I heard your family went to... was it Tanzania?"</p><p>"Yeah," she brightens slightly. "It was just a brief sojourn, but it was wonderful there. I even brought a Fwooper back from there," she says with a soft laugh, while my eyebrows lift. Fwoopers are these pesky, brightly colored birds that have to be sold with Silencing Charms placed on them, because their constant, high-pitched twittering could drive even a monk insane.</p><p>"<em>Really?</em>"</p><p>"Oh, yes. Got one in a nice bright pink color. She has a habit of shedding her feathers all over me while I'm sleeping, but they make for nice quills."</p><p>I laugh dryly, finding it <em>very</em> difficult to conjure up even a sliver of me that's thoroughly enjoying this conversation, because, in reality, it's about as dull as the droppings covering the floor of the Hogwarts Owlery.</p><p>Pandora sighs softly, glancing away from me and out where the Slytherin Quidditch team is currently gathering together in front of a third year lugging a rather massive camera, the flash nearly blinding even <em>me</em> with every picture taken.</p><p>"Why didn't you try out?" she asks curiously, her head tilting.</p><p>"Oh, I was..." I trail off when I see Carlier leading Celeste towards the small designated dance floor, a grin covering both of their faces as they're connected by their hands. He tugs her into her, and she yelps softly and lands in his chest. "...Didn't feel like it anymore, I guess," I force out, my hand tightening around my bottle as I scan Carlier dubiously.</p><p>"Aw, I'll miss watching you from the stands."</p><p>"Yeah?" I murmur distractedly, watching Celeste loosely rest her forearms on Carlier's shoulders, her skirt swaying at her thighs as they dance freely. His hands wander shamelessly on her, and I forcibly turn my head away from them and towards Pandora when I see one dip down past her tailbone. My eyes scan Pandora, seeing her turn her head away from me right when I turn to look at her. Her cheeks are tinted slightly pink, the way they almost always do when she talks to me. Honestly, I'm pretty sure she knows I'm just here to try to fuck her, but the process is almost always easier when I say shit like, "I'm gonna miss looking for your face in the stands while I'm on my broom, but it might be easier if I just sit with you, right?"</p><p>Her lips part and eyebrows lift while her cheeks burn slightly bright. "Yeah, r—<em>right</em>. Definitely," Pandora's lips twitch up into a smile, and she turns her head away from me. "Yeah, I..."</p><p>Her voice fades into the background while I watch Celeste and Carlier dance almost clumsily to an upbeat song playing by the Wicked Sisters, but they don't seem to care. They're laughing every time one of them steps on the others feet, really just jumping. Carlier can hardly seem to find the beat, but Celeste can't seem to care.</p><p>And then I watch her eyes turn up and land on me, and that grin doesn't fade until a few seconds later when she realizes who she's looking at. I thumb the rim of my bottle before bringing it up to my lips without taking a sip from it, refusing to be the first to look away. Stony eyes pin me to my spot, dragging up and down me—lingering especially on the first few undone buttons on my shirt and the rings on my hands.</p><p>I watch her suck her lower lip between her teeth, gnawing on it lightly while Carlier presses his front to her back, his head dipping into her neck while her arms reach up lazily to his hair. Her dark eyes are heavy, thick lashes fluttering slightly while she watches me take a small sip of my beer. Then her eyes find Pandora next to me, and I see the way they narrow ever so slightly.</p><p>I inhale softly, turning my head to look at the blonde beside me.</p><p>"Do you wanna dance?"</p><p>—</p><p>"I'm gonna get another drink," Celeste exhales softly after nearly an hour of dancing.</p><p>She gives Carlier's shoulder a slight squeeze before darting off towards the drinks, leaving him standing by himself. He's panting softly—the last ten songs have been playing to beats faster than my own heart—and ceases moving, his hands resting lightly on his hips while he watches her stride away before he turns his head and glances at me, lips parted softly. I see his brown eyes scan me, and his lips twitch up into a semi-amused smirk.</p><p>"Having a good evening, <em>petit furet?</em>"</p><p>I'm caught off guard by the nickname, my eyes flickering as I stop moving, though Pandora hardly seems to notice as she continues dancing against me. I open my mouth to retaliate, irritation coursing through my veins, but he's quick to speak up again.</p><p>"That's French for <em>little ferret</em>, by the way," an infuriating light chuckle leaves his lips as he moves to lean against the back of a carved sofa, hands lifting to undo the top few unbuttons of his shirt. "Quite an... <em>enthralling</em> story, I nearly asked Blaise to tell me it twice. Did you <em>really </em>turn into a <em>ferret?</em>"</p><p>I clench my jaw, forcing a stiff smile onto my face. "Did you say it was <em>Blaise</em> who told you?"</p><p>Carlier laughs lighthearted. "Don't go breaking his legs, now, he needs those functioning to be our Keeper. I've made Seeker, you know. I hear that used to be your old position?"</p><p>I tilt my head at him, wondering if he'd still find me such a "little ferret" if I made his nose bleed right here in the common room. "It was, yeah, since second year."</p><p>"Hm. Shame you dropped it."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>"We have to be careful with our belongings, don't we?" he says casually, but his brown eyes stare into mine purposefully, the smile on his face not so genial. "You never know when someone will come around and steal it, <em>oui?</em>"</p><p>I smirk dryly, but I'm hit with a wave of disgust as I tilt my chin up at him. "<em>Oui</em>."</p><p>At this moment, a small, grey, and very fluffy figure leaps out of practically thin air, making me stumble slightly as it slinks between my ankles and curls up against me, making a rumbly, purring noise that vibrates against my calves. Chicken turns his head up to look at me, eerily yellow eyes glowing and burning an imprint into mine while I stare down at it blankly.</p><p>"Oh! That's Celeste's <em>chat, oui?</em> Ah, I can't recall his name," Maxon groans playfully, crouching down while Celeste's Chicken clambers out from between my feet to approach him with his fluffy tail perched up like a quill. "Something with a 'C?' Or perhaps a... an <em>'s' </em>sound? Or a 'ch,' actually, I think... Ch... Chee—<em>Chicken?</em>"</p><p>"His name is Cheeky," I snap simply, glancing down at him from over the bridge of my nose before rolling my eyes and stepping around him.</p><p>"Oh, I—Where are you going?"</p><p>"Elsewhere."</p><p>Feeling Chicken nip lightly at my pants while I pass the two, I straighten my cuffs, scanning the common room until I spot Celeste still where the drinks are stationed, though she's busy talking with Adrian Pucey. He pats her arm lightly and seemingly bids her goodbye, and I see her smile tightly before deflating slightly, my strides slowing slightly.</p><p>Her dark eyes, usually glimmering with amusement or malice or just energy of some sort, look almost dull as they slowly drag down to the floor, staring blankly as though she's lost in her thoughts. She then inhales deeply, rubbing the back of her neck while leaning over to pick out a bottle of Firewhiskey while I approach her.</p><p>"Are you sure you want another one of those?" I ask with a lifted brow, watching her closely from through my lashes and wondering where my own bottle of beer I was holding earlier disappeared to.</p><p>Celeste stiffens when she hears my voice, and then her shoulders drop and lips part with an irritated scoff accompanied by an eye roll. "I'm here to enjoy myself tonight, Malfoy, so if you're about to get on my ass about something yet again, just know I won't be listening," she mutters bitterly, picking out a ginger spiced Firewhiskey.</p><p>"Uhuh," I quirk a brow at her, watching with a slowly growing smirk as she struggles to twist the cap off her bottle. "Need some help with that?"</p><p>"I don't need <em>anything</em> from <em>you</em>."</p><p>"Right," I say dryly, stepping closer to her. She glances at me when the distance between us shortens to just a few inches, and I see the stony expression on her face falter. Her eyelashes flutter while her dark eyes drop down to my exposed chest, and I see her briefly lick her lips before turning her attention back to her bottle.</p><p>"Isn't—Isn't <em>Pandora</em> missing you right now?"</p><p>I snort. "Probably, but she's a big girl. She'll be fine without me. What about your little pet golden retriever? He's probably lost without you holding onto his leash."</p><p>"He's not my <em>pet</em>," she scoffs, still struggling with her bottle. "<em>Fuck</em>, why is it so <em>tight?</em> Merlin... you know, not everyone thinks they can own people, Malfoy, so you can fuck right off."</p><p>My hand tightens into a fist. "I don't think I can <em>own</em> p—"</p><p>"No, that's why you insulted me and edged me until I cried and called myself your toy, right?" she says offhandedly, lethal eyes darting up to dig their daggers into mine and twist while I wince slightly.</p><p>"I've been meaning to talk ab—"</p><p>"Save it, I'd like to—" Celeste falters when my hand reaches up to wrap gently around her wrist, ceasing her honestly sad attempts to twist the cap open. I smirk softly while I see her throat bob with a thick swallow. "...like to... I was <em>saying</em>, I'd like to limit our interactions to strictly—strictly what is necessary, which is <em>only</em> the task, so if you would leave, that would be greatly appreciated."</p><p>I clench my jaw at being interrupted, my pulse thudding. "Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do when I leave? Go running back to our brand new Seeker over there?"</p><p>"You know, you seem <em>awfully</em> concerned about him."</p><p>"Do I? He's new, you know," I sneer, leaning in so my face comes close to hers, not missing the way her eyes linger on my lips and her head tilts up slightly as if to connect hers to mine. "I'm just concerned for how well he's <em>assimilating</em>."</p><p>"Shut up," she whispers, eyes stuck on my lips before she shakes her head and looks back down at her bottle with a blank stare. "Leave me alone, Malfoy."</p><p>"I don't think you should drink that."</p><p>"I don't think your opinion matters."</p><p>"You're gonna regret it tomorrow."</p><p>"Yeah? You're gonna regret not walking away," she mutters bitterly.</p><p>"Am I? What are you gonna do, knock your bottle over my head if I don't? That's <em>one</em> way to get it to open..."</p><p>"Honestly, that option isn't sounding so terrible right now," Celeste snaps, her hands tightening on the Firewhiskey. "Anyway, I've hardly had anything to drink yet."</p><p>"No, perhaps not, but you also haven't had much to <em>eat</em> today, and, if I know you well, which I <em>do</em>, it turns out, you haven't had much <em>sleep</em> this entire..." I laugh dryly, "well, in forever. So you <em>really</em> don't need that drink, <em>cherie</em>."</p><p>"Don't <em>call </em>me that," her voice is strained, almost offended as she moves as if to step away, but then leans back in like a magnet. "And I'm... don't act like you... I don't need you to take care of me, and don't even <em>pretend</em> you know me."</p><p>"I don't need to pretend. Hand it over."</p><p>"No."</p><p>"What are you trying to do? Drink yourself into a coma?" I scoff.</p><p>Celeste swallows thickly, her hand loosening and twisting aimlessly around the cap while she glances away to watch the people talking and dancing in the common, asking almost as though she simply hasn't heard me. My face contorts into a frown, and then I groan slightly.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, Celeste, you're not seriously—?"</p><p>"Come off it, okay?" she snaps without looking at me, her arms wrapping around herself, uncapped bottle still in her hand. "I don't know. I don't know how else to just—to just go to sleep and <em>stay</em> asleep, I'm fucking <em>desperate</em>, alright?"</p><p>"Fine, so you're fucking desperate, but you don't <em>drink</em> yourself into a coma to get some sleep," I snap at her, grabbing her forearm with one hand and wrenching the bottle out of her hand with my other.</p><p>I stiffen when she winces softly and reaches out to clasp my wrist, a mildly pained gleam in her eyes. I frown slightly, and then I glance down and realize I'm holding her left forearm. I let go quickly, pretending not to notice her rubbing her forearm over where her hidden Mark is, feeling mine sear up almost out of sympathy.</p><p>"Don't you..." I sigh slightly, trying to steer both our minds off of the Mark, "don't you have a fucking Draught for this? Go put a few drops in your water and conk the fuck out. <em>That's</em> what you do. You don't do stupid shit like this. Come <em>on</em>, Celeste, don't act like a dumbarse."</p><p>"Shut up," she hisses, her hands curling into fists while she looks hungrily at the bottle now in my hands.</p><p>"When's the last time you slept for more than five hours?"</p><p>"I said, shut <em>up!</em>"</p><p>"Four?"</p><p>"Malf—"</p><p>"Three?</p><p>"<em>Stop it</em>," she huffs insistently, her arms tight around her torso now and she steps closer to me, glancing over her shoulder almost self-consciously.</p><p>"Can you even remember what it's like to sleep through the night?" I frown at her incredulously, my eyes scanning her face while I hold the bottle up and out of her reach, the both of us well aware that she could just grab a different bottle from off the table.</p><p>"I—" Celeste cuts herself off, angry eyes slowly fading into tiredness, locking blankly onto my neck. She then shakes her head, very visibly deflating. "No."</p><p>"Alright," I sigh softly, rustling my hair with one hand and placing the bottle back down on the table with another. "C'mon."</p><p>"Wh—<em>Get your hands off of me!</em>" she hisses sharply when I wrap one arm around her shoulders and grip her arm with my other hand, holding her tightly and steering her towards the girls' dorms.</p><p>"Don't cause a scene, Celeste," I say simply, giving a sharp glare to a fifth year that glances at us weirdly. "Mind your own fucking business." He promptly turns around.</p><p>"How many times do I have to tell you not to touch me?"</p><p>"Shout any louder, and I'll murder you."</p><p>"Oh, my <em>fucking</em> goodness," she laughs without humor, sounding aghast at whats happening while struggling to get out of my grip. "You're such a fucking—"</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. Keep it moving."</p><p>"Don't t—"</p><p>"Oh, for Salazar's fucking sake," I hiss when we reach the door to the girls' hall, grabbing both her shoulders with my hands and whipping her to stand in front of me, shaking her slightly while she gapes up at me with wide eyes and raw lips, "just let me fucking <em>help</em> you, Celeste."</p><p>She bites down harshly on her lip, wide eyes glancing between mine, frequently dipping down to my lips. "I don't—I don't want to sleep in my dorm. With all the other girls."</p><p>"Why?" I frown.</p><p>"That's none of your business."</p><p>I'm tempted to dip into her mind and find out anyway, but I brush the thought away. I shouldn't, I know at least that much, and I've found lately that whenever I do it, it drains my energy.</p><p>"Then where are you going to sleep?"</p><p>"I sleep with Pansy, in her dorm."</p><p>"Alright, so—"</p><p>"But I don't wanna—!"</p><p>"Wanna know how much I care whether you <em>want</em> to sleep or not?" I all but snarl, gripping her arm with one hand and wrenching the door open with my other, ignoring the way she claws at me with sharp nails.</p><p>"Why are you doing th—?"</p><p>"Because," I snap, shoving her into the hallway and letting the door slam shut behind us, momentarily taken aback by how empty and quiet the hallway is, the only sound being the muffled music and cheering form the common room. Celeste eases her arm away from me, rubbing it softly. "Because you're <em>bound</em> to mess this task up somehow if you can't even stand on your own two feet without falling asleep. Keep walking."</p><p>"Honestly, it's a little offensive how lowly you think of me," she huffs, crossing her arms defensively and glaring at me before turning on her heel to stride down the hallway. "Who's to say that it'll be <em>me</em> that messes up and not <em>you</em>, huh? Maybe <em>you're </em>the fuck-up here."</p><p>I laugh dryly. "I doubt that."</p><p>"Can you leave?" she huffs, throwing her head over her shoulder to glare at me while I stride right behind her. "I'm going to bed. You don't need to watch."</p><p>"I'm just making sure you <em>actually</em> sleep and don't destroy your liver in one night with Pansy's secret Firewhiskey stock," I say casually, nearly knocking into her when she stops abruptly at a door.</p><p>I watch her reach into her shirt, my eyebrows rising as she fishes around in her <em>bra</em>, I think, and pulls out her hand holding a key. She promptly sticks it into the doorknob, jiggling it around violently with a sour expression on her face before she notices me staring at her blankly. Celeste turns her head up, glancing between my eyes and squinting slightly as if she can't see me clearly.</p><p>"<em>What?</em>" she sighs.</p><p>"Nothing."</p><p>Rolling her eyes, she manages to get the door unlocked. Celeste swings it open violently, making me jerk back to avoid having my nose shoved into my face, and steps in with an irritated mutter that I can't quite decipher as I grip the top of the door and lean in slightly, watching her stride over to her bedside and pull open the drawer of her nightstand.</p><p>"Quit acting like this bothers you," I scoff when she continues muttering and shooting me death glares. "You can't seriously tell me you're not knackered."</p><p>"Oh, no, I <em>am</em> exhausted, I'm just pissed that <em>you're </em>here, and—what are you doing?" she frowns at me as I walk in, allowing the door to swing shut behind me.</p><p>I ignore her, taking a seat at an armchair in the corner of the room, propping my ankle up on my knee, and exhaling crisply while turning my head to look at her.</p><p>"...Are you gonna watch me sleep..?"</p><p>"No, just gonna make sure you fall asleep before I leave."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Are you really gonna sleep in your uniform?" I ignore her question, my eyes scanning her frame. She reacts almost instantly to my gaze, soft thighs squeezing together, hands smoothing down her grey skirt, back straightening while I soak in her slightly rumpled white shirt.</p><p>"No. Are you gonna watch me <em>change?</em>" she asks sourly, crouching down to her already open trunk, out of which clothes spill haphazardly and make my hands itch with the urge to refold and organize everything.</p><p>"Why? Do you <em>want</em> me to?"</p><p>Celeste scoffs at me while I roll my eyes and turn my attention down to a book onto the coffee table, vaguely aware of her pulling her skirt down in my peripheral vision. My head tilts and my eyebrows knit together as I look at it, and then I lean forward to just grab it, crossing my legs and pulling it up near my face.</p><p><em>Lonely Times Call for Lonely Measures</em><br/>by MBA</p><p>It's not a book title nor an author I recall. What kind of author simply marks his or her work with her initials? How would people know it's <em>theirs?</em></p><p>I frown slightly, skimming my fingers over the cover of the book while glancing up briefly to see Celeste unbuttoning her shirt, quickly diverting my eyes back down. It's a simple, leather-bound book, the title and author's name pressed into the leather with golden, slightly fading stamps. A crumpled ribbon hangs loosely from the top of the binding, a built-in book mark that Celeste—I'm assuming this is hers, as Pansy isn't much of a casual reader—doesn't employ, as I can see, turning the book over, several dog-eared pages.</p><p>I let it fall open in my palms, and then I flip through the slightly worn pages. Unlike <em>The Catcher in the Rye</em>, which currently sits in the drawer of my nightstand, it isn't covered in ink and annotations, but it's clearly old.</p><p>I frown as I skim the pages, seeing not paragraphs of text, but artfully crafted stanzas, or even line lines.</p><p>Poems.</p><p>I stop flipping the pages, landing on a dog-eared page. I gently coax the paper to unfold, straightening the crease out as best as I can with a small wince one my face, before folding it again when I realize it must be folded like that for a reason. And then my eyes skim the words on the page.</p><p>one drop of honey<br/>two shots of rum<br/>i told you that<br/>i only meant fun</p><p>so tell me why<br/>it burns my throat<br/>boy the thought of you<br/>only causes hurt</p><p>to have your cake and eat it too<br/>you break me down, you always do<br/>i knew right then that we were through<br/>when you told me<br/>no one's coming to rescue you</p><p>
  <em>m.b.a.</em>
</p><p>I frown down at the poem. It's handwritten in a scrawling print, and for a moment I wonder if it's Celeste's, but I spent many hours last year trying to decipher her handwriting. This script isn't nearly messy enough to be hers.</p><p>"What are you doing?"</p><p>I look up from the book, my eyebrows lifted and lips slightly parted to see Celeste dressed now in comfortable clothes and with her hair up in a silk scarf, her plump lips frowning while her dark eyes stare at the book in my hands.</p><p>"It was on the ta—"</p><p>"Don't touch that," she huffs, striding over and rip the book out of my hand, close the cover, walk back to her beside, and toss it on top of her nightstand. "Honestly, didn't your mother ever teach you not to touch things that aren't yours? Where did you get your insufferable self-importance from, huh? Your father, I'm assuming."</p><p>My hands curl into fists. "Don't talk about him."</p><p>Celeste pouts at me mockingly, but I see something angry, trembling, and begging to be restrained brimming in her eyes. "Aw, does poor little Malfoy have baggage? Cute. Now, get out."</p><p>I scoff softly, glancing off at the Black Lake. "You're one to talk about baggage..."</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>"Oh, c'mon. Does that really need an explanation?" I spit bitterly, my anger only exacerbated by the indignant and haughty expression on her dark face, seeing the way she turns her chin up at me while I uncross my legs and clench my jaw. "Dead <em>daddy</em>, mommy issues, you died and came back—still haven't told anyone how you did it, have you? Don't worry about <em>my</em> 'baggage' when you have your own shit to think about."</p><p>Celeste's face hardens. "What is your issue?" her voice is quiet, steady, but her hands tremble as they press to her thighs and she lowers herself to lean against the side of her bed. "What is your... <em>obsession </em>with h—<em>trying</em> to hurt me? I'm sorry—I'm <em>really</em> sorry if I've truly done something to offend you, but I have <em>no</em> idea why you're so hostile all the damn time."</p><p>I watch her stiffly for a few moments as she rifles through her nightstand, her face tight and fingers still trembling, and then I deflate, my face falling in my palms. My back aches as I sigh, wondering to myself, why <em>am </em>I so hostile all the time?</p><p>"I'm—" The words get caught in my throat. <em>Damn it</em>. "I'm... <em>sorry</em>."</p><p>I can feel her turn her head to look at me, and a thick silence ensues where neither of us move. Her eyes bore holes into my head, and for a moment, it feels as though <em>she's </em>the Legilimens here.</p><p>"Whatever," she says after a while.</p><p>I lift my head to see her fiddling with a class bottle, twisting the dropper-cap open and lifting it to her open my mouth. I freeze, and then I leap up, striding towards her with my hand out.</p><p>"What the hell are you doing?!"</p><p>"What?" she scowls slightly, her hand lowering.</p><p>"You're not supposed to mix that with alcohol," I see the, easily wrenching the bottle and cap out of her hands, twisting it shut and placing it down on her nightstand while she watches me with exhaustion written all over her face. "Do you know how dangerous that could be?"</p><p>Celeste shrugs. "I've done it before."</p><p>"Oh, my <em>goodness</em>," I groan softly, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Do you <em>want</em> to die?"</p><p>I don't recall slipping into Celeste's mind, at least not intentionally. I don't recall focusing my magic on penetrating the walls of her mind to feel her emotions and hear her thoughts and see her memories, but somehow I've done it anyway. Maybe it's because her mind is so vulnerable, it's practically a door unlocked with a welcome mat before it, and that my Legilimency found it like a wandering vagrant seeking shelter and a bowl of hot soup.</p><p>But somehow, I'm in her mind, and I hear her thought.</p><p><em>As long as it's not your aunt doing it again, death doesn't seem too awful right now</em>.</p><p>"Then what am I supposed to do?" she huffs in irritation, tearing the covers off her side of the bed and sitting down on it with a slight bounce while I'm still blinking the blankness out of my eyes from hearing her thoughts. "I can't sleep without it."</p><p>"What, you need a bedtime story," I scowl slightly, glancing back down at the book she tore from my hands.</p><p>"<em>No</em>," she groans in irritation. "The night—" Celeste shifts uncomfortably, her dark eyes drifting away. "The <em>nightmares</em>," she utters in a quieter voice, swinging her legs into the bed and covers over them. "I can't—I mean—even when I <em>do </em>take the Draught..." Celeste sighs, her eyes closing as she slowly lowers herself until she's laying down. "Never mind."</p><p>I scratch the back of my neck, eyes darting to the side awkwardly. <em>What am I doing here?</em> "The... nightmares, yeah?"</p><p>"I said <em>never mind</em>," she huffs irritably, turning into her side so her back faces me, the candles extinguishing themselves when she does so.</p><p>I don't know why, but I find myself prodding anyway. "They're that bad?"</p><p>"You were the one getting on my ass about baggage, you tell me," her voice is soft and bitter.</p><p>I grimace, and then I glare at the back of her head. "You weren't kidding when you said you're good at holding grudges."</p><p>"No shit," she deadpans, and then she sighs softly. "It's not just the... nightmares themselves," Celeste's voice is quieter as I watch her reach back to adjust the black silk scarf around her hair, her fingers still slightly shaking. "It's waking up from them that... I mean, when I take the Draught, I'll still get nightmares, though slightly subdued, but at least I can wake myself up. With<em>out</em>, however..."</p><p>I frown, scanning the back of her head, and figuring since I already accidentally got into her mind, it couldn't hurt to dip a bit more of my hand into the pond. When I step into her head, I'm hit by a whole influx of sparring, contradictory, and indistinguishable feelings. It's calm and chaotic all at once, pain aching at the back of my head, confusion wrapping around me, anger and hatred and love exploding like fountains from her walls. And fear especially. I can practically smell the fear in her mind.</p><p>I slip out. "You get nightmares even when you're on the Draught?"</p><p>"Never mind that."</p><p>"Fine, well..."</p><p>
  <em>Go back to the party, Draco. You have no business being here. Go back to the party, get piss drunk, fuck a girl or maybe get into a fist-fight, just leave. Go back to your room, maybe. Just leave. There's nothing good for you here.</em>
</p><p>I wince softly. I feel like I'll regret this.</p><p>"I can always wake you up if you're having one."</p><p>Celeste tenses visibly. "You're planning on... staying?"</p><p>I panic slightly, my eyes widening, and then I clear my throat and force my walls back up just a slight bit higher. "I mean—I can get Pansy, or Blaise, or someone else, if you w—"</p><p>"Don't," she says simply, her voice tight. "They're already tripping over their own feet trying to... <em>take care of me</em>. They deserve tonight at least."</p><p>"Alright, well..."</p><p>"Just—go sit over there, that armchair. And... find something to do. I can't fall asleep if I know you're staring at me," her voice is distant and quiet.</p><p>I stand there, mildly stunned. "What?"</p><p>"Oh, for Salazar's s—"</p><p>"Okay, okay—what the hell am I supposed to do?"</p><p>"Read a book. You can..." she hesitates softly, and then continues, "you can read the one I took away, just be careful with it, alright?"</p><p>"When am I not..?" I murmur, glancing at her weirdly, wondering what's come over her if she's actually agreeing to this—wondering as well whats come over <em>me</em> for <em>proposing</em> this, or really doing anything at all that I've done tonight—as I slide the book off the nightstand. "You're the one that defaces books, not me."</p><p>"Quiet. It was my father's favorite."</p><p>"Oh," I echo, lifting my head up to furrow my eyebrows at her back, and then I turn to slowly walk back to the armchairs, sliding my hand over the leather-bound cover. "M.A.B.," I murmur, sinking into a comfortable chair. "Who is that?"</p><p>"A Muggle poet. Father got it from an antiques store in the United States. It's the only copy of their work, hence the handwriting," her voice is soft but distant. "They never produced copies. I guess they didn't write to make money."</p><p>I frown slightly. "Muggle?"</p><p>"I know, they're stupid. But I find their writing fascinating. He did too."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>I thumb the leather cover, suddenly feeling as though it isn't right for me to touch something that, from what I can tell, was a prized possession of her father's. No, it really isn't right. After all, it was my own father's attack that got him killed, my own aunt's spell.</p><p>"Malfoy?" I hear Celeste murmur a few minutes later.</p><p>"Mm?"</p><p>"Goodnight."</p><p>I pause, letting the one word echo around in my head, replaying it, dissecting every little cadence in the two syllables to see if the inflections in them might mean something else. I taste the word on my tongue without letting it out at first, wondering how exactly to say it back, and then I just do.</p><p>"Goodnight, Celeste."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>poetry by beyondethesee on wattpad</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0066"><h2>66. IT'S ALRIGHT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste goes on a trip to hogsmeade</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>CELESTE ZABINI</strong>
  </em>
  <br/>
  <em>
    <strong>October 5th, 1996</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>"What do you mean you're not coming?"</p><p>Draco almost deflates as I frown at him, glaring slightly as I watch him ruffle his hair.</p><p>"It's not that I'm <em>not</em> coming, it's that I <em>can't</em> come to Hogsmeade," he says lowly, glancing out the door to his dorm and down the hallway to see if any of the boys are walking by.</p><p>"Why not?" I press with a scowl, crossing my arms and turning my chin up at him with irritation. "You're joking, right?"</p><p>"I'm not—I <em>really</em> can't. I have detention with McGonagall," he sighs heavily, eyes closing while his hand roughly rubs his face. "You'll have to go without me."</p><p>"Det—<em>Detention?</em> You're fucking with me, right? You're the one that's constantly—get your ass out of my way, Malfoy," I snap, shoving at his shoulder, and though I don't use much power, he stumbles back anyway, holding the door open and sighing tiredly while I stride into his room, feeling my hair blow out of my face. "Close that door."</p><p>"Listen—"</p><p>"No, <em>you</em> listen," I turn swiftly on my heel, my curls slapping on my own face as I see him close the door gently and then lean back against it, his arms crossing under his chest. The sleeves of his thin sweater are pushed up, revealing the way his strong forearms flex, but my mind is more on the hidden Mark on the inside. "<em>You</em> are the one constantly getting on <em>my</em> ass about this fucking task! You're the one giving me shit every other day for—for being ten seconds late to the library, or not remembering which obscurely titled textbook had one obscure, useless piece of information. Alright? You're the one constantly telling me—"</p><p>"I <em>know</em>—"</p><p>"—that I'm not giving enough shits about this, that I'm fucking <em>careless</em> and—"</p><p>He sighs heavily, pushing off the door to approach me. "Celeste—"</p><p>"No, you're the one that's been riding my ass all this time, and now that it's finally... <em>time</em> to..." I laugh dryly, throwing my hands up in the air. "We're finally doing it! We're finally <em>fucking</em> killing him, and you're telling me—"</p><p>I cut myself off with a muffled gasp when he abruptly lunges forward, one hand going to grab the back of my neck and pull me towards him, the other hand practically slapping over my mouth, fingers and thumb gripping my face while he pulls me in close to his chest, glowering down at me with a threatening gleam in his kaleidoscopic eyes.</p><p>"Shut your <em>mouth</em>, Celeste," he hisses darkly, his head tilting down close to mine.</p><p>I stare up at him with wide, shocked eyes, my hands gripping the wrist of his that keeps my mouth shut and muffles my noises of protest.</p><p>"Fuck, yell any louder, I don't think the Ravenclaw tower heard about our plans to kill the <em>Headmaster</em>," he seethes, eyes scanning my face with a hint of disapproval before he abruptly lets go of both the back of my neck and my mouth, making me stumble slightly and gasp for breath. "<em>This</em> is what I mean when I say you're careless."</p><p>I swallow thickly, my fingers reaching up to my mouth where I can feel the fading pressure of his hand, and then I sigh and turn away to face the dark but glowing Black Lake behind the glass wall.</p><p>"I didn't <em>ask</em> for detention, alright? I've just been so busy focusing on the task, I missed homework for Transfiguration twice in a row. McGongall won't let me go to Hogsmeade."</p><p>My shoulders drop, and when my eyes fixate on the darkened glass, I can see Draco's reflection behind mine. He's standing with his hands loosely on his hips, and I can both see and feel his gaze on the back of my head. I cross my arms, feeling wholly naked.</p><p>"So I have to do it myself?" I ask quietly. "Deliver the... necklace?"</p><p>"I... You're not the one delivering it, remember. Cast the curse of Madam Rosmerta, have her do the same with Katie Bell, and then Katie takes over from there. She brings the necklace up to him, and... and then it's done. We're done. We'll have done it. <em>You'll</em> have done it, and you <em>can</em> do it."</p><p>His voice suddenly rises in urgency, and I vaguely register him striding back up to me before his strong hand is in my shoulder, turning me to look at him. I'm caught off guard by the frenzy in his silver eyes, the way his pupils blow wide and then contract into little pinpricks over and over again.</p><p>"You're the one between the two of us that's supposed to be good at the Unforgivable Curses. You'll be fine. You don't need me there," Draco says insistently, eyebrows knitting together and frantic eyes glancing between mine.</p><p>"I've also <em>been</em> under the Imperius Curse," I say quietly.</p><p>My face feeling grim as I reach up with a slightly trembling hand to pull Draco's off of my shoulder, and there a brief span of time, maybe a second or two, where my palm is flush with the back of his, but then I drop his hand and curl mine into a loose fist.</p><p>He looks visibly paler as he swallows tightly, and I can see his face constrict to form a mask of ice to protect it. His eyebrows tighten and then relax, lips press firm and then turn casual, eyes narrow and then simply blink. Draco looks down at me stoically, a few blond strands over his forehead, cheekbones and jawline as carved as ever.</p><p>"I'm aware," is all he says. "What does that change?"</p><p>I blink, finding my eyes unable to leave his as if he's placed me under that curse once more. I can remember it vividly still, being forced to my knees in front of him, feeling his hands tilt my face up, hanging onto his every word as if they were morphine and I was an addict. I remember the complete, devastating loss of control, the voice at the back of my head reminding me of it and, the small part of me conscious enough to know that he could have utterly humiliated me that day.</p><p>It's a horrible feeling, especially when it goes away. That loss of control—it was mortifying, but it truly was morphine, and I really was an addict. The crash after he slipped the control—no, <em>forced</em> it—back into my palms was the worst part.</p><p>"Nothing," I say.</p><p>"Good. Take the necklace with you, and hide it in your jacket. Be careful with it. Last thing we need is the necklace's curse getting to <em>you</em> instead of him," he responds, walking around the room to procure his trunk, opening it and lifting out of it with gentle hands a package wrapped carefully in brown paper. "Here."</p><p>I step towards him and take it, my stomach coiling with anxiety as the weight of the accessory slips into my palms. I glance up at him tentatively to see him already staring at me with firm eyes, and then I carefully slip the small package into a pocket on the inside of my jacket.</p><p>This is it.</p><p>We haven't fixed the Cabinet, of course, so we don't have an immediate exit strategy. However, should it all go well, nobody will realize it's us—at least not immediately. No, there will be chaos following his death, a lack of order and clarity, and though we won't be able to vanish away by stepping into the Cabinet, the distraction will be perfect for either a Death Eater to come fetch us, or the Dark Lord himself to come and finish his business with his full forces while the castle and his students are at their most vulnerable.</p><p>My eyes drift off. They'll know eventually, of course. I wonder what Blaise and Pansy will think.</p><p>It's as I'm walking towards his door to leave, my body brimming with unease, that he speaks up again.</p><p>"Good luck."</p><p>I pause, my hand on the doorknob. And then I lift my chin up, swelling my chest and straightening my back to say with an air of confidence, "I won't need it."</p><p>—</p><p>I was walking with Blaise, Pansy, and the other sixth years down the hill to get to the carriages, but I fell behind when I got lost in my thoughts.</p><p>Perhaps that's better that I've lost them so quickly. I have quite a bit to do today. Well, two things, really. I have to Imperius Madam Rosmerta, and I have to meet with my mother.</p><p>And I have no idea which makes me more nervous.</p><p>I grip my jacket, pulling it tighter around my body as the hill begins to flatten into a plain. There are many ways to Hogwarts, and some choose to walk all the way, but I believe a carriage ride will be quicker and give me more time to do what I have to do. I've been in the carriages twice before—once last year after getting down from the Hogwarts Express for the first time, and then a few months later during a Hogsmeade trip over the winter.</p><p>They're curious things—simple, wooden carriages that drive themselves. I wonder what magic—</p><p>I freeze, nearly slipping in a small patch of mud, with my breath hitching when I see them.</p><p>They're hideous, skeletal creatures. Skeletal <em>horses</em>, to be more specific, with bat-like wings that extend far to their sides, reptilian facial features, and black coats that stick directly to their bones, not an ounce of flesh on them. They have a black mane and a long, lustrous tail, stark compared to the translucency of their coat. Their eyes don't have pupils, milky white like they're blind, but I'd swear on my life that they're all staring at me now, frozen at the foot of the hill just a few meters away from the closest one.</p><p>They're quiet. <em>Eerily</em> quiet.</p><p>And then I notice the rest of the students milling about regularly, talking animatedly with their friends and laughing freely as if they don't notice the deathly creatures huffing just feet away from them.</p><p>My eyebrows twist and mouth drops slowly as I glance around, trying to find <em>anyone </em>else with an expression as aghast as mine.</p><p>"They're just Thestrals," a voice huffs from nearby, and I turn my head to see a girl with curly brown hair thrown up in a mildly messy pony bending down to pick up a large bucket, grunting as she lifts it. "They don't bite. Well, they haven't bit <em>me</em> so far... though I might have jinxed it by saying that..."</p><p>Mildly stunned, I look at her blankly. "'Jinxed it?'" I echo back.</p><p>"It's a Muggle saying."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows, watching as she walks across a stretch of grass to stop at a Thestral connected to a carriage, setting the bucket down and reaching up to lightky caress its face as if it's the most beautiful horse in the world, not a cadaverous brute. I tilt my head at her, squinting to see if I recognize her. Her hair is less curly than mine, lighter too, and her skin is covered in a smatter of freckles and a few little beauty marks. She turns her head to glance at me with bright brown eyes, offering me a smile smile, and then goes back to scratching the Thestral behind its ears.</p><p>"Thestral," I echo, scanning her with scrutinizing eyes. She wears a raincoat despite the clear sky, and underneath it ripped, loose jeans, and a tight tan turtleneck. "Aren't those... the death horses?" I snort dryly. "That makes sense, actually."</p><p>"Mhm," she nods, reaching down to pull something out of the bucket, and my eyebrows lift when in her hand sits a thick slab of raw, red meat. "Not very pretty, are they?" She lifts it up, and the Thestral instantly tears it out of her grip. "First time seeing one?"</p><p>I squint at her—both because my vision has been getting mildly blurry these past few weeks and because I can't tell if she's mocking me or not. "Yes..."</p><p>"Who was it?" she asks simply, her voice low but light, my eyebrows lifting in confusion. And then she tilts her head back to look at me again, and I see a flash of recognition in her brown eyes. And then, surprisingly enough, she <em>snorts</em> out of humor. "Never mind. You're Celeste Zabini, the one from France... or was it America? Japan, perhaps? I've heard all three."</p><p>"I've been here a year," I snap, glancing around to notice that most people have left now, whether to board a carriage or simply carry on walking. "Surely you know more than just my <em>dubious origins.</em>"</p><p>"<em>Right</em>," there's a hint of humor in her voice, "my apologies."</p><p>"You don't sound very apologetic," I say simply, scanning her with a scrutinizing gaze, though I can't find it in me to speak with malice.</p><p>The girl just shrugs. "Cause I'm really not. I'm El—"</p><p>"Elara Jacobs," I realize, eyebrows lifting. "Oh. You're in a few of my classes. Ravenclaw."</p><p>"That's correct. This is our first time speaking, isn't it?"</p><p>"I think it is," I say, though I'm not sure I would remember any previous conversations with her. Jacobs. As far as I know, that isn't a Pureblood name, or even a reputable Half-blood name, and if she goes around spewing Muggle phrases, then she's definitely not part of my typical assemblage. "Thestrals... if I remember correctly, they can only be seen by those who have seen..."</p><p>"Death? Someone die? Oh, yeah," she says in a dry voice, entirely in phased by the conversation as she reaches down to grab another thick slab of meat, her entire hand nearly being bitten off as she brings it up to the creature's mouth. "Lovely, isn't it? It couldn't have been... fucking unicorns, or Abraxan horses. No, no—<em>death stallions</em>."</p><p>I frown. <em>I</em> died. My father died right next to me, but I didn't see either of us. That's when I remember—I watched Sirius Black disappear into the Veil.</p><p>My body shudders at the memory.</p><p>I wonder who she saw.</p><p>"It was my grandmother," Elara responds quietly, her face somewhat serene as she picks the bucket up again and continues down the line of Thestrals to feed the next one, and for some reason, I find myself following slowly (while keeping a safe distance from the horses, of course). "I was young, so I've been seeing them for a while. You get used to it, and they're kinda nice, anyway. See?"</p><p>I blink blankly, watching her shove her wrist into the Thestral's mouth. It holds it limply before spitting it out.</p><p>"Oh," my voice echoes in my head, a frown finding my face as I bury my hands deep into my pockets, watching her feed the next Thestral calmly.</p><p>Do I have to tell her mine now?</p><p>Who am I kidding. She already knows. <em>Everyone</em> knows.</p><p>"Everything alright? Well—that's a stupid question," Elara snorts again, picking the bucket up to move further down the line while I watch her with dubious, mildly offended eyes, my hands curling into fists. "It's just that you totally drifted off there for a second. You need to talk or something? I—"</p><p>I scoff lightly. "<em>Please</em>," the wind picks my voice up and carries it away as I tread lightly on the grass, following after her while staying close to the trees and away from the Thestrals. "Why would I talk to <em>you</em> if I needed to talk to anyone at all?"</p><p>She shrugs, bringing a raw steak up to the next beast. "I'm a good listener." I don't miss the way she eyes me somewhat covertly, scanning me and trying to read me, "and I keep my mouth shut about the shit people say to me—seriously, people trust me with <em>way</em> too much—so I think can call myself trustworthy. If you need—"</p><p>"What, you think I lack people to talk to?" I snap lightly, crossing my arms and stopping to turn to face her, now directly in line with her and the ghastly Thestral. I see her lips twitch, though I can't tell if she wants to laugh or scowl at me. "If you think I <em>need... </em>You're rather self-important if you really think—"</p><p>"<em>I'm </em>self-important?" Elara scoffs right back this time, her face instantly hardening from a casual expression to an irritated one. "You're the one who hardly even recognizes a fellow sixth year. No offense, Zabini, but it'd do you well to get your nose out of your little... snobbish, sheltered world and just take a quick look at everything else around."</p><p>My eyebrows rise as I inhale deeply, nails digging into my palms while I seethe at her, particularly irritated at how she continues rubbing the Thestral's ears without sparing me a glance. And then I pout mockingly. "Aw, is poor little Jacobs upset that I don't give her attention? Forget it," I spit, turning to continue down the field. "Mudbloods like you aren't worth my t—"</p><p>"I'm a <em>Halfblood</em>, actually, not that it should matter," her voice is sharp, and then she sighs softly. "I should've expected you to be like... <em>this</em>. All your friends are, anyway."</p><p>I turn around swiftly when I hear this. "What the <em>hell</em> do <em>you</em> know about <em>my</em> friends?"</p><p>"Oh, plenty," Elara bends down to pick up her bucket, and then she turns to face me, brown eyes on fire but lips spread into a tight smile. "Pansy Parkinson hooked up with my girlfriend in fourth year <em>while</em> we were together, and then when I confronted her, she said I shouldn't have been surprised my girlfriend would cheat on <em>filth like me</em>. Your cousin—"</p><p>"<em>Don't—</em>"</p><p>"—Blaise Zabini, hexed me for bumping into him at Hogsmeade in third year, complained about how wouldn't be able to get the dirt off of his new cashmere coat. Called me a slut, too."</p><p>I turn my chin up at her. "I understand why you don't get it. His coat was probably worth more than anything you've ever touched."</p><p>She smirks tightly. "And Draco Malfoy—"</p><p>"What about him?" I snap, stepping forward suddenly.</p><p>"—hooked up with me for the entire second half of fourth year and the beginning of fifth—"</p><p>Rage, disgust, and a whole barrage of other indecipherable emotions coil up in my gut, and I take another step forward, my crossed arms coming apart and my hand dipping into my jacket to clutch my wand. "He would <em>never</em> fuck a—"</p><p>"—and even called me the best fuck—"</p><p>My face flames up with angry, angry heat, and I pull my wand out, seeing Elara falter briefly, step back, and then stand even firmer.</p><p>"But when I told him my father is a Muggleborn, he kicked me out of his room half-naked," she finishes, sticking her hands into the pockets of her raincoat rather casually, as if completely unaffected by the wand in my hand seconds away from hexing her like my cousin did.</p><p>"I would've done the same if I were them," I spit at her.</p><p>"Exactly," her voice is tight, mildly venomous. She tilts her head at me, squinting and glancing between my eyes. "That's what I don't get. You're Celeste Zabini—<em>your</em> father was the one who died—"</p><p>"Who the <em>fuck</em> are you?" I come closer still, my entire body shaking and the necklace in my jacket feeling so heavy all of a sudden.</p><p>"—in a Ministry attack orchestrated by your own fucking friend, orchestrated by <em>Death Eaters</em> and <em>blood supremacists. </em>You lost him because of <em>them</em>, and you still believe shit like this? I mean, they were trying to kill students <em>our age</em>, fuck blood status. Fuck, do you even know about the revels? The massacres?"</p><p>I pause, unsure whether to react in fury or confusion. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Of course you don't," Elara snorts, rolling her eyes viciously before storming down to the next Thestral, scratching its ears with a fierce scowl and handing it a steak a little aggressively. "It's not in the papers, which makes it easy for selfish, self-absorbed, and <em>sheltered </em>Purebloods like <em>you</em> to ignore everything. You're a piece of shit, Celeste Zabini. I'm sorry about your dad. Don't expect much pity from me, but I'll give you that much."</p><p>I swallow thickly, glancing aside offhandedly. "I don't <em>want </em>your pity points anyway. And keep my friends' names out of your dirty mouth, Jacobs, cause I can do more than hex."</p><p>She turns her head at me and scans me. "Don't you get tired?"</p><p>I sneer at her. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Being so aggressive? Hostile? You're telling me you like this? Being forced to hate anyone who isn't you?"</p><p>I laugh in her face, my arms shaking as I pull my wand away. My face burns under her gaze, and so I turn my head towards the snorting horse next to her, and then I turn in my heel to walk down the line of carriages.</p><p>"I didn't come here for free therapy from a fucking stable girl," I spit over my shoulder, my eyes on the first carriage, suddenly feeling eager to get to Hogsmeade.</p><p>I hear quick-paced footsteps, and then Elara grips my shoulder and forces me to turn around to face her. I stumble slightly as I twist, ripping her hand off my shoulder and backing away a few paces before stopping to glare at her as ferociously as I can manage, seeing my anger reflected right back to me.</p><p>"What the hell do you want from me?"</p><p>"I do <em>not</em> study my arse off every day trying to get to the top of the class, fill every hour of my free time teaching myself half the ruddy material, spend every waking moment reciting textbooks word for word to be treated like <em>this</em>," she says, her hands clenching into fists as her loose pony tail slumps to the side slightly. "Quit acting like a prick. All you Pureblood kids are the same. Pompous, high off of privilege..." Her face then drops, a slight wince covering it. "I feel bad for you guys, though. It's one thing to be a dick and another to be <em>forced</em> to be a dick."</p><p>My face twists in disgust. "Don't act like you know me," I say simply, turning back around to walk away, though she's just a few steps behind me.</p><p>"I mean—oh, shoot, the bucket," I hear her mutter, and then she's scrambling away to grab it. I roll my eyes and shake my head, continuing my quick stride down the plain, but she catches up again right as I reach the first carriage. "Zabini!"</p><p>"Go back to your horses."</p><p>"<em>Obviously</em> I don't know you, and from what little interaction we've had, you don't seem all that pleasant to know anyway—"</p><p>"Two-way street."</p><p>She huffs in irritation. "You can't be all that bad."</p><p>"Weren't you the one reminding me of how <em>pompous </em>and <em>arrogant</em> and <em>selfish</em> I am?"</p><p>"Okay, I never called you arrogant, so that's all you," she says, and then Elara jogs faster to stop and turn in front of me, forcing me to come to a sudden halt. I clench my jaw and throw my hands up in mild frustration, looking up at the tree line and shaking my head.</p><p>"You are... <em>really</em> stubborn, you know that?" I sigh in exasperation, closing my jacket tighter around myself, wondering if I'll ever manage to get to Hogsmeade before sundown.</p><p>Elara's lips flick up into a slight smirk. "Two-way street."</p><p>"Say whatever it is you have to say quickly. I have places to be, you know."</p><p>The Ravenclaw rolls her eyes, and then she inhales deeply and says, "I hate everything you and your stupid, Pureblood, Slytherin friends stand for. Like, seriously. It's disgusting."</p><p>I sneer with half a mind to remind her just how much more disgusting having blood akin to mud is, but she speaks up again before I can open my mouth.</p><p>"But, like... it's not really your fault, right? I mean, you guys still fucking <em>suck</em> for being supremacists and rude and completely full of yourselves, but I'm sure you'd be better people if anyone let you be," she says with a shrug, hands moving as she speaks.</p><p>I scoff, my lips curling into a scowl, wondering why on Earth the world chose <em>today</em> for me to be stopped by an insane Ravenclaw—it's <em>always</em> the Ravenclaws that go crazy—and be preached her <em>everyone-can-be-fixed</em> and <em>let's-all-hold-hands-and-pretend-to-be-equals</em> doctrine.</p><p>"I mean, come on—sleeping with someone in a relationship? Hexing someone for bumping into them? Throwing a girl out half naked?" she scoffs, throwing her hands up in the air. "Forget <em>who</em> is doing it, forget who it's happening to—that's, like, completely fucked up. Nobody is <em>born</em> bitter that way, they're made that way."</p><p>"<em>Thank you</em>," I say dryly, clapping my hands together and walking around her to approach the carriage, ignoring the Thestral reigned to it as I open the door and step up to sit inside. "It truly means <em>so</em> much to me that you think I'm saintly at my core. Goodbye, now," I say in a light voice dripping with hatred.</p><p>"W—"</p><p>I close the door shut, and, as if on cue, the Thestral starts off down the path.</p><p>—</p><p>Madam Rosmerta is a fierce woman, I'll give her that much.</p><p>Relatively tall, hair that's still more brown than grey despite her age, a pretty face, and she keeps up. Everything about her is quick, from the way she is on her feet, to her mind, to her mouth. People at the bar can shout orders to her quicker than I can hear, and she'll have their drinks in their hands before they're done speaking.</p><p>She's fierce, yes, and strong too, but she succumbed to my Imperius Curse with ease.</p><p>I caught her in her backroom while she was getting more Firewhiskey. I was standing near a barrel, waiting for her, and when she walked in, she didn't notice me at first. When she did, her hands went to her hips, her posture straightened, and she opened her mouth as if to berate me for being where I shouldn't be, but I was quick.</p><p>It took a simple flick of my wand and a murmured "<em>Imperio</em>," and I could see the effects almost instantly right there on her face.</p><p>Her eyes, a dark shade of hazel, glazed over visibly. It was like they adopted a thin, grey sheen, much like the effects of Sleeping Draught. Her posture dropped slightly, and she just stood there silently in front of me, lips slightly pouted, her torso leaning in every so slightly as if to hang onto every word uttered from my mouth.</p><p>After ensuring the curse was foolproof, I gave her strict directions to do the same with Katie, and then I passed the necklace off to her.</p><p>And now I sit in Mighty Tea Leaf, a tea shop in a rather secluded part of Hogsmeade, sitting in a booth near a window across from my mother. It's cold in here, too cold for me to take my jacket off, and despite the fact that the necklace is far from me now, I can still feel the weight of it in my pocket. I ignore the feeling, however, choosing to keep my eyes on my cup of tea, my hands on ether side of the china cup trying to soak up all its warmth.</p><p>I've always preferred coffee over tea, but this is where Mother wanted to meet, so I take the occasional sip from my darjeeling tea while she drinks from her white tea.</p><p>All I can think about is that memory from before I began my magical schooling. All I can think about is my mother and father on the morning of my twelfth birthday talking about my locket, talking about how it'll protect me from anything—including myself.</p><p>"It's been a while," her voice is quiet when she finally speaks up for the first time since we both sat down.</p><p>"Two months," I clarify flatly, refusing to look up from my tea.</p><p>All of a sudden, the world just feels like <em>winter</em>. I feel like when I look out the window, the cobblestone roads of this quaint little town should be blanketed with snow, and the streets shouldn't be as lively and full of laughter as they are now. They should be silent, absent of life, and everything should be grey. Cold, so, so cold, and even the steaming cup in my hands can't warm anything up.</p><p>"I know," her voice is still and simple, distant the way it always is. I can feel her dark eyes boring holes into my face, and so I turn my chin up defiantly without looking up at her. "I missed you. It's a shame I couldn't see you sooner."</p><p>"I'm sure you could have," I respond, lifting the cup up to my lips, ignoring the way the tea practically burns my tongue as I take a sip, exhale crisply, and set the cup back down, "you just <em>didn't</em>."</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"Never mind."</p><p>"No," she says firmly, prompting me to look up at her. I jolt slightly when I do. She looks so... <em>tired</em> and haggard. Her dark eyes are as fierce as ever, but they look like they just want to close so she may descend into deep sleep. Her skin has formed more stress lines than the last time I saw her, congregating especially around her eyes. "This is the first time we're seeing each other in two months, and it won't start like <em>this</em>. I'll let you speak, ask whatever you want, but I want to speak first. Can you handle that?"</p><p>There's a vibrating energy traveling my body that wants me to lash out and say <em>no</em>, but I just clench my jaw, glance away, and nod before slumping back against my seat.</p><p>She doesn't respond for a little while, choosing instead to take another sip of her tea and pick at her blackberry compote scone. Her face grows older right before my eyes, a small lock of hair falling out of her elaborate pinup, but she doesn't bother brushing it out of the way.</p><p>"I regret everything that happened," she then concedes after a minute, her eyes looking at my cup of tea while her fingers play absentmindedly with the collar of her shirt. "Everything this summer. You know if there was anything I could do, I would have done it." She smiles wryly, a bitter gleam in her eyes. "I'd use one of the Ministry's Time-Turners if they weren't all destroyed in the... the attack."</p><p>I glance away, my eyes wandering around the tea shop. It's mostly empty, spare for a few elderly customers in the corner sipping on tea and reading their own respective newspapers.</p><p>"I missed you," the words sound unfamiliar and strange in her voice, "and I miss him. I regret not checking up on you while you were still home, but I had to..."</p><p>Mother's voice trails off while I slowly turn my head to look at her, my eyebrows twisted in anger, and it takes everything in me not to jump up and shout at her for bringing him up, for saying all this <em>now</em>. Her eyes lift to look at me, and I'm taken off guard when they look at me imploringly. I tighten my hands on my hot cup, waiting.</p><p>"When you came back," she says slowly, as if choosing her words very carefully, "I knew you'd be in danger. We both knew, of course, when we decided to connect your locket with us," her eyes drop to the locket hanging in front of my shirt, and one of my hands instantly flies up to clasp it, my thumb rubbing the ring next to it. "It's good you're still wearing it. When you came back, I was... relieved, of course, that at least <em>you</em> were safe, but I knew it would only last so long with the Dark Lord around. He'd learn of what you'd done soon enough. I couldn't be around because I had to deal with th—"</p><p>"So your solution, the way you made sure he didn't <em>kill</em> me for coming back to life, was to have me do his dirty business?" I interrupt in a low hiss, leaning forward with a ferocious glare in my eyes, making sure to keep my voice as quiet as hers so as to not attract any attention from the others in this quiet tea shop. "<em>Wonderful</em>, Mother, thank you."</p><p>"Celeste," her voice is firm, and her eyes harden to that stern look I've grown so used to. "Don't be ridiculous. You can't actually think this—" She cuts herself off, glancing to the side to see if she's garnered any stranger's attention, and then she lowers her voice. "You can't actually think the task was <em>my</em> idea."</p><p>I stare at her firmly for a few moments, and then I deflate and glance out the window offhandedly, watching a couple walk by, their arms around each other. "No," I say bitterly, "I don't."</p><p>"I'm sorry—" I sharply turn my head to look at her when I hear those words for the first time in possibly forever, "—this has happened to you, but it <em>has</em>. I've done all I can to... ensure your safety, but the rest is up to you. How was training at the manor?"</p><p>I furrow my eyebrows at her, trying to scan her face and read her, maybe see what's going on in her mind. Her dark eyes are firm as ever, eyebrows slightly tense as she looks at me curiously, waiting for an answer, and then it strikes me that she has <em>no</em> idea of anything that happened at the manor. I deflate slightly at this realization, fiddling with my locket with both hands now. One hand holds into the gorgon skull pendant, the other drags my father's ring up and down the chain, and my skin tingles where the runes are and aches where the Mark is.</p><p>"It was fine," I say quietly, and I see her exhale softly in what might be considered relief.</p><p>"And the task?"</p><p>"Might be done quite soon. Hopefully."</p><p>She swallows thickly, her eyes scanning me. "You had questions for me."</p><p>I watch her carefully for a few moments, and then I pull my wand out of my pocket. I can feel her eyes watching my every move as I push both my sleeves up as far as they'll go, point the tip of my wand at the back of my right hand, right at the base knuckle of my forefinger. I mutter the Revealing Charm, and with almost a flutter, the Nauthiz rune appears on my skin. I set my wand down, reaching my hand across the table for her to take in hers, and when she inhales sharply at the sight of it, I turn my gaze back out the window.</p><p>"When did this happen?" her voice is grave.</p><p>"Over the summer."</p><p>"What was happening? When you got it?"</p><p>I wince slightly, but I already had an answer to this planned out prior to meeting with her. "I got into an... argument with Draco. He was saying some things, I got... <em>frustrated</em>, and then it suddenly appeared on my skin."</p><p>I can feel her eyes on my face now while her cold fingertips skim over the rune. "You know what it is?"</p><p>"Nauthiz."</p><p>"And you know what it means?"</p><p>"I don't care what it means," I snap, pulling my hand back to myself and shoving my sleeves back down while I watch her face harden into stone, feeling my own do the same. "I <em>don't</em> care. What did you say about the one on my chest. <em>The end of my father's journey marks the beginning of mine?</em> I don't care. I don't <em>care</em>. I don't want to know what they <em>mean</em>, I want to know <em>why</em> they're appearing on my body, and I want to know how to get rid of them. Now, please, and don't tell me you don't know how to get rid of them, because you clearly know what's going on."</p><p>Mother watches me with hard, unflinching eyes, her hands clasped together and her lips firm. I think for a moment that she's about to scold me for lashing out, but then she opens her mouth and states, "There isn't any way to get rid of them."</p><p>Everything freezes, and I'm convinced that it <em>is</em> winter. A bitter frost has arrived, and it has frozen everything in its place, including my heart in what now feels like an empty chest cavity.</p><p>"What do you mean?" my voice is breathless, and I don't recognize it at first.</p><p>"I mean... they're permanent."</p><p>"How do you—How <em>do</em> you know?" I pause, my trembling lips pursing and tense brows twisting even tighter together. "Do... <em>you</em> have them too?"</p><p>She hesitates, and my body tenses in anticipation. "No," she releases with a gentle shake of her head, and I deflate slightly.</p><p>"Then—"</p><p>"My aunt did."</p><p>I freeze, my eyes glancing between hers, trying to read her, figure out what she means. We're not very connected to our extended family. I've never met anyone on my father's side of the family, but I have met a few on my mother's side—her <em>father's</em> side, to be specific, and to be even <em>more</em> specific, I've only ever met my grandfather's brother.</p><p>"You don't have an aunt," my voice is hollow and a ghost of what it typically sounds like.</p><p>"I had one."</p><p>—</p><p>After out conversation, Mother Apparates away, though not without warning me that she'll be traveling for the next few months, that she might not even be home for the holidays.</p><p>I trudge back to the bustling center of Hogsmeade by myself, the aftertaste of darjeeling bitter on my tongue. Part of me wants to replay our conversation over and over again in my head, pick apart all the little details, try to decipher what she won't tell me—which was more or less everything, of course. I've left that tea shop knowing little more than I already did. All I know now that whatever is happening to me, these runes appearing all over my body, it won't stop, it can't be reversed, and it's happened before.</p><p>I'm hit by this sudden urge to return back to my dorm as quickly as possible, dig out that personal Pensieve I bought, pick a memory, and spend my night living a moment of my father's life. I haven't done it since the night Bellatrix caught me out in the garden, because since then, I couldn't bring myself to even <em>look</em> at those bottles hosting his memories.</p><p>I want nothing more now.</p><p>My body is jittery, twitchy as I enter the clambering center of the town, recognizing familiar faces of students as they grin alongside each other. Linked arms, laughing voices, and a general sense of pure, sweet release.</p><p>I didn't think that conversation could be so unnerving, so relieving yet terrible at the same time, but at least <em>this</em> is over. This task. Should everything go right...</p><p>I turn my head, seeing Honeydukes at the corner of the street.</p><p>It's as I'm walking out of the store, a small bag tucked into the pocket of my jacket, that I hear the sharp, strangled, and blood-curdling scream. With the hairs on the back of my neck rising, I whip my head this way and that, trying to determine from where the noise is coming. Everyone out on the street pauses as well, and then people are walking tentatively in its direction.</p><p>My heart thuds loudly, and I'm sure in that moment that it has <em>everything</em> to do with me.</p><p>When I turn the corner, I see Katie Bell's body levitating six feet above the ground, a small brown parcel on cobblestone below her, and then she comes crashing down to the ground while writhing and screaming torturously.</p><p>—</p><p><em>He's going to yell at me</em>.</p><p>He'll find out soon enough. He'll probably find out by the end of the night, even if it isn't <em>me</em> who tells him. They just brought Katie Bell up to the Hospital Wing, and news travels fast in a school like this. He's going to find out, one way or another.</p><p>I stand in front of his door. He should be out of detention by now, and in about one hour, all the students will be returning from Hogsmeade—at least the ones who didn't already return after getting psyched out by the cursed girl.</p><p>I can feel myself shaking so violently, it's hardly noticeable. My vision is blurring again, not from tears, but just for the sake of being blurry. I lean against the wall opposite his door, and I can see everything almost perfectly, but when I concentrate, the outline of his door is a bit... <em>fuzzy</em>.</p><p>That doesn't matter.</p><p>I press my hands to my thighs, the rune covered once more. My locket feels so, so heavy against my chest, weighing me down like it wants to drag me all the way down to the soil packaged heavily beneath the dungeons, bury me alive. Maybe that'll be better than being stored alive in a morgue.</p><p><em>He's going to </em>kill<em> me.</em></p><p>I swallow thickly, knowing fully well I need to tell him, that even if he'll find out anyway, it's better he finds out from me, but the idea of pushing off this wall, approaching his door, and knocking on it makes me want to throw up. My throat closes up at the simple movement of pressing my hands to the wall to propel me off, so I shove them into my pockets and wait for that swelling feeling to disappear.</p><p>I <em>failed</em>. <em>I</em> failed, after weeks and <em>months</em> of hearing shit from him, of him warning me that I'll mess things up with my attitude, my carelessness, my inattentiveness. He's gonna kill me.</p><p>I finally manage to push myself off the wall and take just one step towards the door when it swings open. Draco isn't looking at me when he grips the side of the doorframe, ducking his head over his shoulder to look at something behind him. My hand, raised into a fist, falters when I see him. My pulse picks up, beating twice as fast as it should, while my hand loosens as if it doesn't have the energy or the willpower to stay furled up into a fist for any longer.</p><p>When he turns his head to look at me, we both freeze.</p><p>Icy eyes dart up and down to scan, drinking me in from the untamed baby hairs at the top of my head to the sandals I wear on my feet, not missing a single inch of me from the way their intense gaze soaks up everything in a ten mile radius. My fingers shake, and so I clench them into tight fists, shoving those into my pockets while staring right back up at him with my mouth open to speak, but nothing coming out.</p><p>His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows thickly.</p><p>"What's wrong?" his voice is unnervingly quiet, and I see him take a step back into his room, one hand still gripping the side of the doorframe, the other hand gripping the top of his door.</p><p>I gape much like a fish, mouth opening and closing, and then a great pressure swells up in my chest and makes the walls of my throat close in on themselves. His eyebrows twist together in confusion, and then he's reaching out to gently grip my shoulder, pulling me in towards him. I think for a moment that he's gonna pull me into his chest, but he steps back and urges me into his room, closing the door behind the two of us.</p><p>"Celeste," he says insistently, both hands now on my shoulders.</p><p>"I'm sorry," I manage to choke out, seeing his face twist even further, and then it's like realization dawns upon him. "I'm—I didn't—"</p><p>His hands tighten, and I see his face turn grim. "Was it your fault?"</p><p>I bring my hands up to my face, pushing my hair away and breathing heavily. "What?" I ask hoarsely.</p><p>"What went wrong?"</p><p>"I was—it was—"</p><p>"Okay," Draco sighs softly, guiding me over to his bed. My steps are rigid compared to his, and I nearly stumble and trip as my knees lock. He helps me sit on the edge of it, and then he sits beside me a decent distance apart. "Tell me."</p><p>"She was—she <em>dropped</em> it, she dropped the—the necklace, and then when she went to pick it up—" I choke slightly on my words, feeling my eyes start to sting while my body continues shaking violently. My arms curl around myself, and when he moves to touch me, I flinch slightly. He doesn't stop, though, his hand moving to my back to pat it lightly before sliding up to grasp my shoulder and give it a firm squeeze. "The—<em>tore</em>, the parcel <em>tore</em>, and she touched—"</p><p>"Fine," he says simply, his voice firm but strained while his arm wraps around my shoulders and pulls me into his side with a force that makes me simply fall towards him. I don't resist it, though, burying half my face into his chest.</p><p>"I'm <em>sorry</em>, I'm so—I swear, I'll concen—concentrate better, please don't—I'll show up on time and res—research—"</p><p>"It's <em>fine</em>, Celeste," his voice is slightly weak.</p><p>"—every d—What?" I sniff slightly, humiliation, shame, fear, anger, all of them smothering me with their dark, shadowy presences while I tilt my head up to look at his angular, icy face. His kaleidoscopic pierce mine with ease, angelic pink lips set firmly.</p><p>"Stop... <em>crying</em>," he says, his voice slightly strained, and then he sighs and deflates slightly, his hand rubbing my arm and giving it tight squeezes. "It wasn't your fault, alright?"</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"No, there aren't any 'but's," his voice is harsh as he gives me a sharp tug, forcing my head back down against his chest. "It was a stupid plan, anyway. Even if she hadn't dropped the parcel, something would have gone wrong. Don't get yourself worked up about it." His voice goes soft, hand sliding to my back once more to slip underneath both my jacket and my shirt, making me shiver slightly as I feel his palm press against my back, warm as his fingers gently work the knots between my shoulders. "It's alright."</p><p>I curl my hand into fists, clasping the side of his shirt, and a great dagger of hatred carves through my body at how <em>pathetic</em> I am. "I'm—"</p><p>"If you're about to apologize, <em>don't</em>," his voice is strict, hand kneading my shoulder blade. I hear him sigh, and he says, "You have nothing to apologize for, <em>chérie</em>. What's this?"</p><p>His hand is on the bag spilling from my pocket, and I laugh dryly while sniffling softly. "Dragon claws, from Honeydukes. I thought we'd—I thought we could celebrate."</p><p>Draco is silent for a moment, and then I feel him pull the back out of my pocket. There's some soft rustling while I pull away from his chest to rest my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my palms, wondering how much shit he'll give me for this tomorrow morning. He still doesn't say anything as half a minute passes, and then I feel his hand gently brush my thigh.</p><p>I glance down, and I see him holding out a green apple flavored dragon claw for me to take.</p><p>"That's your—That's your favorite flavor, isn't it?"</p><p>I smile bitterly, plucking it from his fingertips.</p><p>"It is."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: if you ever wrote and published a book what would it be about</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0067"><h2>67. ASK ME AGAIN TOMORROW</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>DRACO MALFOY</em> </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong> <em>October 11th, 1996</em> </strong>
</p><p><em>Please don't yell at me, please don't yell at me</em>.</p><p>I gaze up at Celeste with a slight twist of my brows, my head still tilted down to the book in my lap while she reads the one in hers in an unbothered fashion.</p><p>Those aren't the thoughts <em>currently</em> running through her head, of course. I haven't dipped into her mind since she came back to Hogsmeade panicking about Katie Bell touching the necklace, panicking about my reaction. She wasn't making any sense, her eyes were frantic and unfocused, and I was sure she'd completely and even physically fall apart if I didn't force her to sit down. Even then, even when she was sitting and speaking, she was still mildly <em>hysterical</em>. I couldn't help it—I needed to know what she was trying to say, but when I used my Legilimency to get into her head, it was just—</p><p><em>Please don't yell at me</em>.</p><p>So she's <em>scared</em> of me, then.</p><p>"I was thinking—"</p><p>I quickly duck my head back down before she can pick hers up, eyes finding where I left off about ten minutes ago while I slouch down—my back pressed against a heavy box—and hand flipping the page even though I realize I haven't even started it.</p><p>"—you know," she continues, "about how you had detention that day when I went to Hogsmeade."</p><p>I glance up with lifted eyebrows, seeing her watching me intently, her knees slowly folding up and trapping the book she reads between her lab and her torso.</p><p>"What about it?"</p><p>"Well," Celeste sighs softly, eyes glancing away to look at some odd object or other—the Come-And-Go Room, or Room of Requirements as the file we read says, is filled to the brim with arcane, likely cursed objects—and hand reaching up to scratch the back of her neck, "you got detention for missing homework, didn't you?"</p><p>My neck burns slightly, but I don't look away from her. In all my years at Hogwarts, I have <em>never</em> missed an assignment. I've hardly ever even considered doing it even to get an extra hour of sleep—the possibility of repercussions from home were always enough for me to go find myself an extra cup of coffee and stay up however late it took.</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"And you missed your homework—twice in a row—" she adds with a slight wave of her hand while I exhale sharply and pinch the bridge of my nose, "because the task was taking up too much of your time, wasn't it?"</p><p>I clench my jaw lightly, scanning her face. Her dark skin glows even in the horrid lighting of this room. "Right."</p><p>She exhales softly, her hand lowering to fiddle with her gorgon skull locket. "I've been missing some assignments too," she admits almost begrudgingly, glancing away for a moment and pursing her lips. "I've been pretty smart about it, set up a system. Can you believe that? A <em>system</em>. A <em>schedule.</em> Not to get everything done, no, but to miss assignments for each class in a particular way to get in the least possible amount of trouble."</p><p>"Where is this going?" I ask, uncrossing my legs to extend them out in front of me, though I fold one knee and plant my foot firm on the ground.</p><p>Celeste glowers at me for my impatience. "Don't make me change my mind," she huffs lowly, and before I can ask about <em>what</em>, she says, "Since we're already spending so much time together, and clearly there isn't much I can do about it despite how horrible your presence truly is to have as a constant—"</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"—it can't hurt <em>that</em> bad if we also study and do our homework together, right? I mean, we're in all the same classes still—except I take Alchemy—and it worked, like..." Celeste sighs harshly, eyes closing as if this is incredibly difficult for her to say, "...we worked pretty well together last year."</p><p>I stare at her, mildly stunned while I watch her slowly peel her eyes open and look at me expectantly, awaiting my response. "You want us to... study together," I clarify in a slow voice, my head nodding slightly while I then furrow my eyebrows to get a better look at her. "With me."</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>I squint slightly, a little unsure if this is happening. There's a small inkling of a thought at the back of my head that <em>maybe</em> this is a dream, but this would be an odd dream to have, and the ones I've been having lately include far more dead bodies. So then I ponder the prospect of Celeste being under some sort of influence, whether that's alcohol or Alihotsy, but other than the pink tinge in her eyes from sleepless nights, she shows no telltale signs of being anything but sober—other than her trembling hands, of course, but that's probably because of the two cups of coffee I've seen her down since 5 o'clock (it's currently 10:28) and the third sitting right next to her.</p><p>She looks at me firmly if not a little impatiently as I stare at her with a silent, scrutinizing expression on her face. Celeste's stony eyes are unflinching as they stare me down, waiting for a response, but I see something churning behind them, and then I find myself incapable of resisting the urge to...</p><p>Her mind is always so inviting.</p><p>I'm a little thrown off guard when it's flooded with images of <em>me—</em>which is especially jarring, because while my eyes are still looking at Celeste, it's like having two entire minds in one head. I can't place her emotions. They themselves are conflicting, comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time, unnerved and relaxed all the same, tired yet so, so awake. It's strange.</p><p>I see her replaying moments from last year—mostly of us studying together. There's an image of me sitting at a table in the library writing, and I'm not looking at her, but from the angle I'm viewing myself, it looks like she's sitting on the ground. I almost laugh dryly—she never sits normally. Then there's us on the common room floor, and while I attempt to read from a textbook, she seems to be throwing tiny, crumpled pieces of parchment on me. And then the next one confuses me at first. I don't see myself, but I see her preparing two cups of coffee, packing up books—<em>my</em> books, actually—walking over to the boys' hall, and—</p><p>I swallow thickly when I see myself an obvious wreck. I always look the same after an anxiety attack. Red eyes, messed up hair, clothes tugged and messed up, and I realize very quickly where this is going.</p><p>She skips right over me begging and goes straight to when I took her in the shower.</p><p>Quickly, I slip out of her mind, glance aside, and clear my throat quietly, lifting my hips up to adjust my position slightly. When I look back at Celeste, her eyes have drifted off, glazed over as if lost in thought, and her plump lips are slightly parted. Her hand continues playing with her locket, and I find myself smirking slowly as she bites down on her lip absentmindedly.</p><p>"You can't stay away from me, can you?"</p><p>Her eyebrows dart up, and then they come down dangerously low while she shifts her gaze to glare at me. "Don't kid yourself," her voice is bitter.</p><p>"You're really looking for any excuse to get closer, huh?"</p><p>Celeste's eyes widen, and her grip on her book tightness. I see her face flash with mild panic, and then she quickly slips that stone mask back onto her face, morphing it into an expression of irritation.</p><p>"<em>I'm </em>the one that warned you not to talk to me unless you have to."</p><p>"And here you are, scheming for ways to get into my pants," I say with a faux look of modesty, shrugging and turning my attention back down to my book while struggling to contain my smirk.</p><p>"Fuck you," she snaps, and there isn't a hint of amusement in her voice.</p><p>My heart thumping, I turn my attention back up to her, seeing her swallow thickly. One of her hands rubs her exposed leg—we're both wearing our school uniforms, and she's in a skirt with knee-high sock. Her eyes direct a harsh glare at me, and then she looks away rather pointedly.</p><p>"Well, yes, I gathered those are your intentions."</p><p>"No, I—" Celeste groans in frustration, slamming her book shut and extending her legs out in front of her. "I <em>don't</em> want to fuck you, Malfoy! That's <em>disgusting</em>."</p><p>"You quite liked it last year."</p><p>She makes another frustrated noise, her legs bending and foot stomping down on the ground dangerously close to my hand. "Even speaking your <em>name</em> disgusts me," her voice is a low tremble, dripping with rage, frustration, defensiveness.</p><p>My lips twitch.</p><p>"There are other things you can call me."</p><p>This stuns her for a moment. She gapes at me in a surprised silence, eyebrows lifted and lips parting as if to retort, but nothing comes past them except for a breathy exhale. And then she shifts, hips wiggling as she adjusts her position slightly.</p><p>"You're fucking disgusting," she then snaps while picking her book back up, and while I think she's going to resume reading, she instead whacks it down on my leg.</p><p>"Ow!" I shout, bringing my knees up to my chest to avoid her when she lifts her hand up to hit me again.</p><p>"Shut up, and concentrate!"</p><p>A lopsided grin finds my face as I shift so I'm kneeling now, moving my book out of the way. "<em>I'm </em>not having any trouble concentrating, Celeste," I say in a low, amused voice, watching a tight expression find her face while she tightly wraps her arms around her stomach. "You're the one that's hung up on <em>fucking</em> m—"</p><p>"Draco!" she shouts with a horrified expression on her face, her hand swinging to knock the book against me again, though I narrowly avoided it and swiftly shift over so I'm sitting at her right.</p><p>We both falter at the one word that leaves her lips, eyes stuck on each other's. The playful grin on my face quickly disappears, and the scowl on her face trembles with the desire to hold, but it quickly crumbles away into a solemn expression while she glances between my eyes. We both look away from each other at the same time, my back slumping harshly against the old sofa we both sit against. I bring my knee up, propping my forearm on it while my other hand rests loosely on my thigh. I can't remember the last time she used my first name.</p><p>A sharp pain darts up my arm from my forearm and down my spine from my head, connecting somewhere near my heart. It's electrifying in the worst way, a hint of the Dark Lord inside me, plaguing my dreams.</p><p>"You're <em>exhausting</em>," she says in a quiet but firm voice, her hand, which rests limply on the floor and dangerously close to my thigh, twitching slightly. "When I said you give me whiplash, I meant it."</p><p>"I—"</p><p>"You're an <em>idiot</em> if you think you can—if you think you can <em>joke around </em>with me or act the way we did a year go, not after everything you've done," Celeste spits, turning her head to glare at me viciously and tilting her chin up indignantly while I watch her tiredly. "It doesn't matter if I want to fuck you—I <em>don't</em>, by the way—because it will never happen again. You ruined <em>everything</em>, and now that's all that's in my head when you're around. So..." She swallows thickly, scanning my face.</p><p>Her dark eyes linger on mine before she inhales sharply and looks away, and then I find myself speaking without realizing.</p><p>"So forgive me," I say.</p><p>Celeste's head snaps back to look at me, and her hand brushes against my leg before quickly pulling away. She frowns, eyebrows knitting together while dark eyes scan my face.</p><p>"Forgive you?"</p><p>"Forgive me," I echo, pulse thudding next to my throat.</p><p>"It's not that easy."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"You haven't done anything worth my forgiveness," her voice is sharp, stony eyes boring dangerously deep into mine.</p><p>"I've tried apologizing, you know. Many times. You just won't let me."</p><p>"Ever thought that maybe you aren't trying hard enough?"</p><p>"No, I think you just don't want to hear it."</p><p>"Fair. It doesn't matter. I don't think there's <em>anything </em>you can do to earn my forgiveness," her voice is low, wobbling slightly while her eyes imprint their force on my lips.</p><p>I pause for a moment, glancing intently between her eyes, and then I lean in to whisper, "So forgive me anyway."</p><p>Celeste shifts, her eyes darting back down to my lips that are mere inches away from hers. I pick up on how her chest lifts a little faster and a little fuller, how she swallows thickly, but her face is impenetrable. She just tilts her chin up even further in defiance, but it only brings her lips closer to mine, which she realizes with a soft flinch.</p><p>"Why should I?" her voice is silky, eyes peering at me through lowered lashes, brows lifted.</p><p>I shift slightly, angled towards her, and I can't help but notice how her knees curl towards me as well. My elbow props up on the old sofa behind us, and I smirk at her lazily before letting my right hand slide onto her knee. Her leg jerks up while my fingers slide up to the middle of her thigh, our gazes never shifting from each other's.</p><p>"<em>Malfoy</em>..." her voice is laced with a warning undertone when my thumb brushes against the hem of her skirt.</p><p>"Because," I say, my other hand pushing the hair out of the side of her face to lean in a little closer, "you want to. Don't you?"</p><p>Celeste gulps softly, briefly glancing down when my hand slides up, fingers underneath her skirt. "You don't know me," her voice is admirably still.</p><p>My left hand moves to the side of her face, and she freezes when my fingers stroke her cheek and my thumb comes up under her lip. "I know you a lot better than you think," I respond dryly, slipping my hand further up her thigh and slipping my fingers to brush against the soft inside. She shifts her hips in response, legs pressing together lightly.</p><p>"What are you doing?" she murmurs, the muscles in her thigh tensing under my hand.</p><p>"Forgive me," I coax, leaning in closer until my lips brush just outside the corner of her mouth, hearing her breath hitch.</p><p>"<em>No</em>," she exhales, her hands fisting at her skirt.</p><p>"Hating me is ruining everything for you. You said it yourself. Forgive me, Celeste, and I'll make everything feel..." my hand slides all the way under her skirt to grab at her inner thigh, and with a gasp, her hand flies to tightly grip my wrist, "...<em>so</em> much better."</p><p>My thumb brushes lightly against her lower lip while her thighs squeeze tightly around my hand.</p><p>"Isn't it exhausting? Hating me? I know it must be hard on you, wanting so badly someone you're supposed to hate," I murmur mockingly near her ear, nipping lightly in her earlobe while she she inhales shakily. "Constantly reminding yourself you can't smile at me, talk to me... touch me... How guilty do you feel? When you get the urge to touch yourself to the thought of me?"</p><p>Celeste gasps softly at my words, and then she seethes, "I don't <em>want</em> you, Draco Malfoy. Get over yourself. There are <em>plenty</em> places for me to find pleasure better than <em>you</em> could give."</p><p>"Right," I chuckle dryly, dragging her lower lip down with my thumb while pulling my face away from hers to see hers. Her eyes are heavy, threatening to close, and her eyebrows are slightly tense. "<em>Plenty</em> places. You say that as if <em>you</em> weren't the one who told me that you can't fuck anyone else the same while you were riding me in the library. Or did you forget? We can always do something to jog your memory."</p><p>She licks her lips, and her tongue brushes against my thumb.</p><p>"<em>Plenty</em> places. Who are you gonna go running to, little girl, hm?" I hum softly, gently tilting her head up with my left hand to get a better look at her hazy, dark brown eyes, the intertwined lust and anger unmistakable in them. "Your little <em>pet?</em> You really think he'll make you feel good like I can?"</p><p>"You sound jealous, Malfoy," her voice is breathless as she closes her eyes and lets her head fall back onto the sofa, her thighs loosening and allowing me to slide my hand up until my fingers brush lightly over her knickers.</p><p>"Jealous? Never. I'm just concerned you're not getting the pleasure you need, <em>chérie</em>."</p><p>Celeste hums softly when I skim my fingers over the material of her underwear, and then her hand is sliding up my chest before suddenly wrapping around my tie and yanking in it abruptly, catching me off guard. I grip her thigh tightly steady myself, watching as she opens her eyes to look lazily up at me, our lips hardly an inch apart.</p><p>"You're <em>concerned?</em>" she mocks lowly, a brow lifted and her hand pulling my tie tighter. And then she smirks, chuckling dryly, "Don't be. My little <em>pet</em> is more than capable of giving me more pleasure."</p><p>I clench my jaw.</p><p>"He knows me—my <em>body—</em>a lot better than you think," she whispers, pulling me in closer before abruptly letting go of my tie and plucking my hand out of her skirt.</p><p>I watch as she quickly composes herself, straightening up, fixing her skirt, pushing her hair out of her face. And then she's grabbing her back from the top of the sofa, swinging it into the floor and shoving all her books back into it, hair falling right back into her face.</p><p>"Really? Better than me?"</p><p>"<em>Please</em>," her voice is bitter as she closes her bag up and stands up, her knees a little shaky. Celeste tilts her head down at me, a stiff smirk on her face. "Tomorrow, same time? Bring your Charms homework."</p><p>—</p><p>I drop onto my bed as soon as I'm in my room, giving my wand a quick flick to slam my door shut and lock it.</p><p>My eyes close and a sigh parts my lips as I sink into the inviting duvet, my back aching with the stress of a thousand sleepless nights and a million hours spent pouring over books, all in futile effort.</p><p><em>Nothing</em> is going right. Our first attempt at the task has gone to shit. Potter has been going on and on to anyone who will listen, telling them that it was me. With the way every pathetic resident of this school hangs onto his saintly words like they're extracts of the Elixir of Life, I'm sure they'd all have me expelled and thrown right into Azkaban if I hadn't spent my evening in McGonagall's office writing lines until my hand was cramping up.</p><p>I can't remember the last time I had a <em>real</em> conversation with either Blaise or Pansy.</p><p>And Celeste. There is nothing clear about Celeste other than the fact that everything about her and everything that has to do with her confuses me. I hate her, but my head is filled with images of her. I want her to just forgive me, to forget everything that happened this summer, but I find myself just <em>itching</em> to make her angry, itching to say all the wrong things and <em>do</em> all the wrong things just to have her explode on me. I have half a thought that I can owe it to whatever splinter of hisself the Dark Lord left behind when he violated my mind the way he did.</p><p>My body shudders instinctually at the memory of that night, so I push it away quickly.</p><p>I have homework to finish, but I already know that trying to get my mind to focus on it will be useless. It won't shift from <em>her</em>, from her soft, dark skin, or her tight, snaking curls, or her stony brown eyes.</p><p>My hand drifts down to my belt.</p><p>I close my eyes, trying to put any other image in my head. I hooked up with Pandora the other day. She's gotten much better at kissing over the summer. My eyes squeeze shut a little tighter while I try to recall what she looked like when she got down on her knees for me, promptly after I'd eaten her out. Her blonde hair was up in a messy ponytail, and she was wearing this low-cut shirt.</p><p>I exhale softly, my hand swiftly unbuckling my belt while my other hand comes up to tiredly rub my face.</p><p>She'd unbuttoned and unzipped my pants slowly, flashing me a small smile while doing so. I do the same quickly, my other hand rising to my hair and tugging at it, as if that might quell the pounding headache I've had for over a month. Bending my hand, I drag the heel of my palm down against my semi-erection, mouth tipping open to let out a breathy exhale when I do so.</p><p>There was a different girl who'd caught me a classroom about a week ago. A different seventh-year, Elvina. She's an admittedly pretty girl, with long, fine hair that's raven-black, a slight smatter of freckles over her nose, and plain green eyes. I continue rubbing my hand over myself, my breath rate picking up as I do so. She'd leant over a desk, propped herself up on her arms, and lifted her hips up for me to take her from behind.</p><p>The image in my head flickers, and for a moment, her skin isn't pink and pale, but dark and deep. Her hair isn't long and straight, but short and curly. The memory of the feeling turns softer, more supple, yet stronger and more powerful. The hips I remember holding aren't narrow and weak, but they're wide and command me even when they're below mine.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>, I mutter in my head, and then both my hands leave their stations to quickly pull my jumper up over my body and toss it aside. I clamber up the bed until my back is slumped against the pillows, and then I'm pulling myself out of my briefs.</p><p>It's the same thing almost every night. I start off trying to think of anyone else, <em>anyone</em> else, and then I end up touching myself thinking about <em>her</em>. I can't help it—her body consumes my mind. I groan lowly, one of my legs bending and my hand fisting at the duvet, while images of me standing her and kneeling in front of my flash through my head. I tighten my hand around myself, cursing softly while pumping myself up and down.</p><p>Her hands tied behind her back, her perfect body wearing those knee-high socks and nothing else, and my hand in her hair holding it tightly while she wraps her plump lips around me and bobs her head up and down. I lift my hips up slightly, momentarily fucking right up into my hand. Blood rushes through my veins at a <em>loud</em>, inhumane speed, warming my body right up.</p><p>I make a muffled moan, imagining her on top of me right now, her legs bent on either side of my hips while she sinks low until I'm fully buried inside her. I flick my thumb over my tip and release a soft hiss, envisioning her hands in my hair, tugging to release her frustration. Her mouth at my ear so I don't miss a single one of her noise. Every whimper from fucking up into her too hard, every whine from when I don't let her come, every moan from when I grab and massage her body, every single curse word when my teeth split the skin on her shoulder. I have her noises memorized, permanently tattooed into my head.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," I gasp out, my eyes screwing tightly shut.</p><p>I could have her on my thigh again, except this time <em>I'd</em> be in control and not her. I can already imagine her whining softly in my ear, begging for me to touch her while I force her to pleasure herself right on my leg. I can imagine all her gasps and squeaks when I give my leg a sudden bounce.</p><p>My hand speeds up, desperate to get that release.</p><p>Maybe her soft, thick thighs on either side of my face, spread open for me to taste her. She'd writhe, try to lift her hips up, but I'd grab onto her thighs and force her to stay down on my mouth. <em>Fuck</em>, if I could get the chance to make her cry from pure pleasure.</p><p>Soon, I'm zipped back up, panting softly while I stare up at my ceiling.</p><p>The dim glow from the Black Lake casts a slight green light on the otherwise white surface, and I find myself getting lost just staring at it. Every muscle in my body is limp, but not because they're finally relaxed, not because they're finally taking a break, but because I've lost all energy to move or do <em>anything</em>. It's entirely replaced by this immense feeling, the one feeling I'm <em>not</em> supposed to have, not as a Malfoy, not as an Occlumens, not as a Pureblood.</p><p>Guilt.</p><p>It's just as much a significant part of me as my blood is, coursing through all my arteries, pumping out of my heart, giving life to the aching in my arm and throbbing in my head. It grows the more I ignore it, grows the more I embrace it, just grows like an expanding, festering wound centered right at my heart and slowly consuming all of me.</p><p>My throat slowly grows tighter and tighter until suddenly, there's no air getting in or out of my body. I reach a trembling hand up to my neck, closing my eyes when I feel them starting to sting, and squeeze it lightly, massage it, try to coax my throat into opening back up, but it just swells tighter. And then my other hand is coming up to my hair, tugging it harshly, maybe pulling a few strands out.</p><p>And then I just feel so <em>dirty</em>. Every inch of me, as if it's covered in mud and pure filth, and there's nothing I want more than to scrub it all off. Before I can even register what I'm doing, I'm practically jumping out of bed and leaping towards the bathroom. My vision is hardly functioning. It's all fuzzy and a mix of smeared blurs, like someone took a hand to a perfectly pristine painting and ran it around until it became just a blend of useless colors.</p><p>The bathroom is unbearably white, from the marble counters to the tile floor to the glaring light reflecting off of them, and I nearly trip on my way to the sink. Everything, <em>everything</em> needs to be scrubbed, everything needs to be cleaned, everything needs to be replaced.</p><p>It's disgusting—<em>I'm</em> disgusting.</p><p>I shouldn't get to think about her that way, much less <em>touch</em> her like that. I don't deserve it, not after everything I've done.</p><p>My hands find the faucet, and they quickly turn the hot water on. I can't feel it at first even as I plunge my palms under the steady stream of water, staring blankly at clear water cascading over my skin. I'm desperate, suddenly, to see the water burn off all the skin on my hands, burn through until it reaches tissue, let new skin grow back. These hands, these hands—they're the ones that gripped my windowsill until they nearly bled while I watched her be tortured. I just <em>watched</em> her, I stood there and simply <em>watched</em>. And they're the same hands that held her in all the wrong ways just days later and refused to hold her in all the right ways—same hands pinning her down, same hands that didn't wipe her tears. And they're the same hands that cast that stupid curse.</p><p>There's steam rolling right off my skin, but it hardly does more than create a warm buzz. The edge of the counter is cold and harsh against my stomach, but I ignore it and lean in, delving my arms up to my elbows under the hot water, watching my skin turn pink under the heat.</p><p>When did my Concealment Charm fade?</p><p>The Dark Mark is angry, angry at <em>me</em> perhaps. Sometimes I wonder just what kind of magic the Dark Lord puts into these horrific, permanent etchings. Sometimes I wonder if it is just something that connects his pawns to him, or if it's a <em>part</em> of him permanently ingrained into my body. I wonder if I cut my forearm open down the bone, if my flesh will be as blackened as the coiling, twisting, writhing snake worming its way out of the skull's mouth.</p><p>A strangled noise forces its way out of my throat, slamming the swollen walls apart. I inhale shakily, staring at my reddening wrists, but my body feels <em>cold</em>.</p><p>I turn the faucet off, hardly bothering to take the rest of my clothes off before stepping into my glass shower, turning the water on as hot as it'll get.</p><p>—</p><p>Running a hand through my wet hair, I adjust the sleeves of my sweater—pulling them up quickly to make sure the new Concealment Charm is holding—and swing my door open to step out into the hallway.</p><p>As soon as I do, the door to the sixth-year boys' dorm opens as well, and I instantly glance at it to see if it's Blaise or Theo walking out.</p><p>Instead, however, I hear soft laughing.</p><p>I pause at the sound of it, slowly shutting my door behind me and furrowing my eyebrows. And then two people step out of the dorm, close the door, and one of them is instantly pinning the other to the door.</p><p>My mouth parts in surprise when Carlier's hands grab Celeste's hips and pin her to the door. Neither of them notice me, both laughing and whispering things I can't hear. Her hands are up in his hair, pulling on it lightly. When Carlier speaks, I can just barely pick up on his words.</p><p>"<em>Ça fait longtemps que l'ont as pas fait ça</em> [It's been a long time since we've done that]."</p><p>"<em>Un peu trop longtemps </em>[A little <em>too</em> long]."</p><p>"<em>Est-ce que je vais devoir attendre un autre deux ans pour que ça se reproduise</em> [Will I have to wait two years ago for the next time]?"</p><p>"Mm..." Celeste laughs in her low, sultry voice, pulling Carlier's head out of her neck, "<em>demande moi encore demain</em> [ask me again tomorrow]."</p><p>"Oh—"</p><p>"Having a nice night, are we?" I interrupt casually, ignoring the way my blood roars in my ears while I lean back against my door and cross my arms loosely. I give them a smirk tight as they both practically jump apart from each other.</p><p>Carlier's face drops when he sees me, but he quickly adopts a charming smile—the kind that makes me certain that Slytherin truly <em>is</em> the perfect house for him. He wraps his arm around Celeste's shoulders loosely, though I don't miss the way he squeezes her arm.</p><p>"Yeah, alright, I suppose," he says with his light accent, running a hand through his hair. "We were just about to go out to the common room, you coming?"</p><p>I clench my jaw lightly, scanning his tan face. His smile has morphed into a half-smirk, and there's an odd glint in his eyes I don't like. I glance over my shoulder and back at my door somewhat hesitantly. I was going to go out to the common room, maybe have an actual conversation with Blaise or Pansy for the first time in a week, but I don't think I want to see Carlier with his hands all over Celeste.</p><p>"No, I was actually just returning to my room," I say simply, eyes flickering over to Celeste.</p><p>Her expression is unreadable. She steps back slightly, her arms wrapping around herself rather than moving to wrap around Carlier the way his do around her. She scans me up and down before looking away and clearing her throat.</p><p>"C'mon, Maxon," she says in a purposeful voice, taking his hand in hers to lead her down the hallway.</p><p>"Hm? Oh, give me one second, <em>mon bijou</em>," he says with a sweet smile, letting go of Celeste's hand while she stops in her step to glance at him inquisitively. I, meanwhile, throw all my willpower into <em>not</em> throwing up at the nickname. "I think I've left something in my dorm."</p><p>"Okay," she says simply, giving him a short nod and turning her head back forward. She makes a point out of not looking at me as she walks past with a confident stride, her short curls blowing back slightly.</p><p>Carlier and I watch her disappear behind the door before I turn back to my door, feeling sick to my stomach.</p><p>"Malfoy," his voice says in its light, harmless cadence.</p><p>I pause, my hand on the doorknob, and sigh heavily. "What?" I snap simply, turning my head over my shoulder to see <em>him</em> leaning against <em>his</em> door, smirking at me.</p><p>"Are you surprised?"</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>"Are you surprised?" he repeats, tilting his head at me. "That she came to me? No, no, I hear you're <em>intelligent</em>. A top student in the class. You aren't surprised, are you?"</p><p>My hands tighten into fists, chest swelling with pressure. "What do you want, Carlier?"</p><p>"Nothing," he shrugs, lips pressed into that infuriatingly calm smile while he slips his hands into his pockets and begins strolling down the hallway casually, "just asking if you're surprised. I'm guessing you're not—I mean, you <em>know</em>, don't you?"</p><p>"Know <em>what?</em>" I seethe, moments away from bashing his head into the door if he doesn't get to his fucking point.</p><p>Carlier stops briefly when he gets to my door, his eyes darkening as they flash over me. "She'll <em>always</em> come to me."</p><p>My gut twists when I scan him, and my fist fucking <em>aches</em> to connect with his face, but I just <em>know</em> a pussy like him would go crying to Snape or fucking <em>Dumbledore</em>, and I can't get another detention right now. Besides, his cheekbones would shatter too easily. I don't like things if they don't pose a challenge.</p><p>"Wonderful," I drawl sourly, turning back to my door. I fiddle with the knob until it unlocks, muttering as I swing the door open, "You have fun with th—"</p><p>"I'm her first <em>everything</em>, Malfoy. I practically <em>taught</em> her everything she knows. Forget about it. She'll always come to me."</p><p>I pause right there in my doorway, one hand tightly gripping the door frame, the other hand gripping my door, and I'm there frozen for at least a minute replaying his words in my head, deciphering them, trying my hardest not to come to the true conclusion of what they mean. By the time I've turned around ready to absolutely murder him, he's gone, leaving me with the bitter aftertaste of his words.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what would be your last meal on earth? it can have as many courses as u want</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0068"><h2>68. I'M SUCH A FUCKING IDIOT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste and draco have DADA class.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>October 16th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>"Mmph... <em>fuck</em>..."</p><p>Maxon's arms wrap around my thighs, forcing them to stay apart but firmly set over his shoulders while I claw wildly at his long brown hair, pulling and tugging harshly.</p><p>He momentarily opens his warm brown eyes, and I see the amused smile in them from the way they twinkle mischievously while he tilts his head and continues lapping his tongue against my core. One hand leaves his hair to grip the edge of the desk I'm balanced on, my heels digging into his back and pulling him closer to me.</p><p>We found an abandoned office near the end of our free period, so, after magicking away the thin sheen of dust that covered every surface in the small room, we quickly got started on our old habits.</p><p>He's gotten better.</p><p>"Shit... Maxon," I moan, letting my eyes fall shut and lowering myself until my back is flat against the office desk. He moves with me, shifting so my legs are higher up, his mouth unrelenting on me. "<em>More</em>."</p><p>His tongue glides up until it reaches my clit, flicking against it so unexpectedly that I gasp and instantly lift my hips up to both squirm against me and press closer to his face. His arms around my thighs tighten, pulling me towards his mouth, and then his hands force my hips back down to the surface of the desk. He then eases my left leg off his back and from over his shoulder, helping me bend it at the knee until my foot is planted on the edge of the desk.</p><p>Stifling a groan, I use a shaking hand to pull the hem of my skirt up so it doesn't block my view, cursing softly at the sight of his eyebrows twisted with a look of sheer focus while he continues eating me out like a man starving. His hands rub firmly up and down my thighs, massaging my hips, and then he wraps his lips around my clit to suck gently.</p><p>With a gasp, my other leg bends as well, and then I'm reaching down to wrap my hand twice around his green tie and pull him up towards me. He gets the hint quickly, unwrapping his arms from around my thighs and coming up so that his lips press full against me. Maxon's warm hands pin my hips down to the desk once more while he forces his tongue into my mouth, the taste of my arousal making me moan softly.</p><p>One of his hands slides up my body, teasing over my still buttoned shirt, squeezing one of my breasts, tugging lightly on my tie. The other finds its place between my thighs, and, while propping a knee up on the desk next to my hips, Maxon quickly takes over where his mouth was with his hand. I tighten my grip on his hair, pulling his head closer to mine and moaning lewdly against his mouth while his fingers rub haphazardly over my clit.</p><p>Maxon's hand wraps loosely around my neck while his lips meander over to my ear. "You like that?" he laughs breathily, flicking a finger over my clit to make me jolt lightly. "Feels good, <em>mon bijou?</em>"</p><p>I moan, my back arching and my head tilting back while my eyes flutter shut. "You—You've... lost your t-touch," I exhale between groans, my legs trembling while two of his fingers slip into me and begin curling upwards, stroking against that perfect spot inside of me. I whimper out a soft curse, one hand leaving Maxon's hair to squeeze my breasts from over my clothes.</p><p>"Now, Celeste," he tuts softly, his voice adopting a humorously scolding tone while his fingers begin thrusting into me harder. My legs writhe, bend, and kick in response, but he holds my hips down with his weight. "<em>Ne soit pas bête. Tu ne veut pas me rendre heureuse</em> [Don't be rude. Don't you want to make me happy]?"</p><p>I let out a shuddery laugh, my back arching and dropping as a way to relieve some of my frustration. I feel him press a kiss to the back of my hand while I continue massaging my breasts, and then I pull him back up so my mouth brushes against his while I open my eyes just slightly and whisper, "<em>Je pense que tu aime ça quand je suis bête envers toi</em> [I think you like it when I'm rude to you]."</p><p>Maxon's hand squeezes around my neck, making my breath hitch. My thighs wrap tightly around his hips, trapping his arm to his side and tugging his hand in closer to me. He chuckles softly when I grind my hips down against his fingers, desperately to feel some stimulation against my clit again. He complies quickly, his thumb rubbing against the most sensitive part of my body while I gasp and feel his fingers tighten on either side of my throat.</p><p>"<em>Tu est une si bonne fille, gémir si doucement pour moi... Gémis mon nom, Céleste</em> [You're such a good girl, moaning so sweetly for me... Moan my name, Celeste]."</p><p>"Maxon," I moan instantly, feeling his hand slide up from my neck to tangle with my hair, gripping it at its roots and pulling my head back. "M-<em>Maxon</em>... <em>ahh</em>..."</p><p>"Are you close, <em>mon bijou?</em>"</p><p>"<em>Yes—</em>mmph..."</p><p>"You want to come all over my hand, don't you?" he whispers in my neck, hand in my hair pulling tighter while he overwhelms with his scent of amber and smoke. "Do it, Celeste. Come on my fingers, moan as loudly as you want. Come for me."</p><p>With a last thrust of his fingers and brush of his thumb, my back lifts off the table and jaw drops open with a loud gasp. My eyes practically roll to the back of my head while I twitch and writhe, feeling him curl his fingers inside of me to help me ride out my orgasm. I hardly make a noise except for a few whimpers and gasps, and then it's over.</p><p>Panting, I sit up and grip the edge of the desk while letting my legs loosen and slump uselessly. Maxon pulls his hand away from between my thighs and holds it up between the two of us, his other hand tilting my chin up when my head drops in exhaustion. I open my eyes to see an amused gleam in his warm eyes, a small smirk on his face, and then he's popping two of his fingers into his mouth and licking them clean.</p><p>—</p><p>After a couple Cleaning Charms and sliding my panties back on, Maxon and I stroll casually towards the DADA classroom. Perhaps last year I would have been walking with a faster stride and more urgency, but I can't seem to find it in me to care about classes anymore. Anyway, when we arrive, we're right on time.</p><p>"Assigned seats today," Snape says in his nasally tone, peering down at us from over his hooked nose while I resist the urge to glare at him. While the rest of my Slytherin comrades adore our Head of House, he gave me a detention last year for showing up late, and for that, I will never quit holding a grudge. "You're up front with Miss Jacobs, Mr. Carlier."</p><p>My head snaps to the front row, and sure enough, I see Elara Jacobs sitting in a chair close to the window rifling through her bag. She glances up when she hears her name, first peering inquisitively at Professor Snape, then glancing at Maxon and giving him a short smile, then finding me. She doesn't react at first, and then I see an amused smirk find her face before she looks back down at her bag. Maxon gives my arm a tight squeeze and walks over to sit beside her while I wonder how I've never noticed that I have this class with the Ravenclaw.</p><p>"Your seat is in the back, Miss Zabini, right next to Mr. Malfoy. Now, class," Snape turns away from me to address everyone while my eyes widen and head snaps to look at him, unsure if I've heard him right, "we've been working on our Nonverbal skills for the past few classes. I've assigned you pairs based on your skill level, which, for most of you, happens to be zero to none. Today—can I <em>help</em> you, Miss Zabini?" he says sharply, pausing and addressing me without looking at me.</p><p>"No, thank you," I say coldly, turning on my heel to walk all the way down to the back row while he continues talking about today's classwork.</p><p>Draco lounges casually on a chair close to the windows, leaning back on it with one heel on the floor keeping him from toppling over and the other foot balanced on his knee. I resist the urge to kick the chair leg out from under him and see his skull crack on the classroom floor, instead pulling out the chair next to him, bringing it as close to the opposite side of our table as possible, and sitting down with a soft huff, letting my backpack fall to the floor.</p><p>I sense him glance at me when I sit, but neither of us say a word.</p><p>"...only be using <em>Disarming</em> Charms on each other. If you are up to it, perhaps a Shield Charm too. I doubt any of you will manage to cast a nonverbal spell today, but if you do, I will <em>not</em> be escorting students with enlarged heads and cracked bones out of this classroom. Are we clear?"</p><p>Snape seems to take the silence as a collective yes, and then he draws his wand from his pocket.</p><p>"Stand up, all of you, and move your bags and belongings to the sides of the room. <em>Quickly</em>, now, the Dark Arts doesn't wait for seventeen year olds too heavy for their own feet. I said <em>quickly</em>, Mr. Corner, quickly!"</p><p>I snort lightly as Michael Corner trips over his own feet scrambling to place his bag near the windows while I walk in an unbothered fashion to place my own down. It's as I'm straightening up, making a pointed effort not to notice Draco standing a few feet to the side of me, that I see a few Ravenclaws staring at me. I squint at them, partially because I have a hard time recalling their names and partially because my vision is starting to go to shit, recognizing them as Lisa Turpin and Padma Patil.</p><p>Padma startles when she notices me staring at them right back, hurriedly patting Lisa's arm to get her attention. Then they're both watching at me, their whispers momentarily subsiding before Lisa leans in to say something in the long-haired girl's ear. They don't giggle, laugh, anything, but their eyes go wide and they nod in a solemn fashion. I cross my arms, letting my gaze darken a few shades into a glare, and then they quickly look away.</p><p>"Face your partners, and leave at least six feet between you."</p><p>Before any of us can move, Snape gives his wand a flick, and without uttering a word, all the tables and chairs vanish instantly. A Ravenclaw shrieks in surprise, cuing some murmuring and muttering and mumbling as students whisper excitedly to each other, and I manage to catch a few whispered words—</p><p>
  <em>"Nonverbal! Have you managed to cast one yet?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"No, not yet. I mean, I think I made my parchment move the other day, but I can't be sure."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I heard Malfoy's mastered it already."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Yeah? Same with the Zabini girl."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Makes sense why they're partnered, then, Slytherin snobs."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Yeah. Partners in crime, huh?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Hah. First they take down Katie, who's next?"</em>
</p><p>I snap my head in the direction of the murmuring, but Snape is quick to silence everyone with a harshly worded shout at us to all quiet down and face our partners. Slowly, I walk until I'm six feet away from Draco, lifting my head to look at his pale face while gripping my wand with a tight fist and resisting the urge to nonverbally <em>Stupefy</em> the fuck out of the two Ravenclaws blabbering about us.</p><p>From the way he's clenching his jaw and glaring not in my direction but just over my shoulder, I can tell Draco's heard them too.</p><p>The class passes by surprisingly quickly after that. While the students around us struggle to shoot the wands out of their partner's hands without uttering a word—many of them adopting looks as though struggling on the toilet or about to throw up—Draco and I go back and forth casting Shielding Charms against the other's <em>Expelliarmus</em>, not a single word passed between us.</p><p><em>Truly</em> not a single word, not in the form of a spell nor in conversation. The classroom is loud with the sound of aggravated sighs and shouts, but Draco and I hardly make much more noise than our soft breaths. His eyes don't leave mine for a second, nor do mine leave his, and it's a bit unnerving having silver piercing through me while he slashes his wand casually and I flick mine right back in response.</p><p>I'm getting bored.</p><p>So as Draco rears his hand back to throw another Disarming Charm at me, a glazed look in his eyes telling me he's honestly just going through the motions, his mind elsewhere, I decide to make things more interesting. Quickly after casting my Shielding Charm, I let out a nonverbal <em>Expelliarmus</em>, and sure enough, his wand goes flying right out of his hand and into mine.</p><p>Draco looks stunned, his hand still up as if holding an invisible wand. He then glowers slowly, storming over to me while I smirk and don't falter in my stance, holding his wand up and waving it in the air teasingly.</p><p>"Unprepared, Malfoy?" I pout mockingly, the first two words spoken between us this entire class.</p><p>"<em>Hardly</em>," he snaps, ripping his wand back out of my hand without touching my skin. He then turns around to saunter back to his spot. "This is pointless. It's nothing we don't know..."</p><p>"Fine, then," I shrug, pocketing my wand and watching as he turns around and leans back against the windowsill, his sharp eyes scanning me and making me feel more exposed than when Maxon was coming in my mouth or had me laid out on a desk with his mouth attached to my core. I squirm lightly at the thought before shaking my head and walking towards Draco, seeing his eyebrow quirk in confusion. "Let's work on that essay on Shield Charms, then."</p><p>"Together?" I sense hesitancy in his voice.</p><p>"Did we not agree it would be best to study and do homework together?" I ask dryly, giving him a scoff while I stop in front of him, watching as he pushes off the windowsill to stand up straight.</p><p>This simple movement brings him closer to me, almost uncomfortably close, but I refuse to be the one to step away as I stare up into biting eyes with defiance, keeping a mask of amused nonchalance on my face as I let my lip quirk up into a smirk. I can smell him from here, and he clearly washed his hair this morning, because that muted green apple smell is the first to reach me. Next is his subtle but masculine cologne, and then there's his musk, making me want to lean in slightly.</p><p>"There wasn't an agreement there," he says simple, voice cold and distant as he peers down at me from over a slender nose with an air of... <em>superiority</em>, making my smirk twist into a scowl. "You made demands and assumptions. I don't recall much of a conversation."</p><p>"Yes, well, you were too busy accusing me of being desperate to suck your <em>cock</em>, and then you preoccupied yourself with trying to fuck me, so I suppose there wasn't much time for a conversation," I say casually, but my pulse picks up in anger as I glare into icy, impenetrable eyes.</p><p>His eyes flash with what might be rage, but they go back to their unbothered state in half a second. He doesn't say anything, jaw lightly clenching while he continues scanning my face.</p><p>"Anyway—"</p><p>"If I was <em>actually</em> trying, you'd know," he says coolly, a hand running through his white-blond locks, messing them up slightly as he guides them off his forehead.</p><p>I pause, mid-sentence, to look up at him with an incredulous quirk in my brows. "Oh, <em>really?</em>" I test with a scoff, rolling my eyes. "How would I know?"</p><p>"I'd have fucked you. Are you planning on standing here all day?"</p><p>I clench my jaw, my mind reeling as I try to decide what to respond to first. "Remember that book Blaise got us both last Christmas about superiority complexes? You ought to read yours. Now, move out of my way, I need my bag. It's fine by me if you truly don't want to ease your work-load by sharing it with me, but—" I pause, glancing over my shoulder, and though we haven't caught anyone's attention, I lower my voice and lean up towards his ear anyway. "Next time we need to work on our task," I whisper sharply, my lips almost grazing his ear, "<em>don't</em> get a detention, or I'll give you hell." I wobble slightly, uneven on my toes, and grab his shoulder to steady myself.</p><p>Draco instantly sides steps and slaps my hand off of him, hissing as if I've given him a severe burn. I step back in surprise myself, lifting my eyebrows and holding my hands up in surrender while glancing over him, seeing him straighten up and dust off his clothes.</p><p>"Don't touch me," is all he says, and then he's bending down to move his back out of the way and sit down against the wall.</p><p>"Oh, that's ironic," I huff, giving him a harsh and dirty look before doing the same, leaving at least three feet between us as I unzip my bag to pull out parchment, ink, a quill, and my textbook.</p><p>Draco grabs <em>my</em> textbook and moves it to the space between us wordlessly, flipping it open to the section about Shield Charms. I wince when he nearly rips a page, instantly shooting my hand out to stop him. He retracts his hand as soon as my finger brushes against his wrist, and I pause, looking up at him to see him briefly fiddling with the rings on his fingers before stacking his parchment onto his writing board.</p><p>"<em>My</em>, aren't we jumpy today?" I drawl sarcastically, rolling my eyes before looking back down to the textbook, carefully flipping to the correct page. "Don't worry yourself, I won't ask your aunt to torture you and leave you out on the cobblestone, nor am I planning on fucking the self esteem out of you, and I'm not a fan of casting Imperius Curses when I don't need to."</p><p>"That smart mouth of yours? Not cute," he says dryly, placing his hand on the textbook to shift it a few inches closer to him.</p><p>"Yeah?" I scoff cockily, shifting the book back towards myself. "You're not that hot either, sweetheart."</p><p>"<em>Please</em>," he mutters under his breath, pulling the textbook back towards him rather aggressively.</p><p>"Stop <em>doing</em> that!" I huff, tugging it back.</p><p>"I need to be able to see, stupid," he spits, pulling the textbook onto his lab and shooting me a death glare. "Merlin..."</p><p>"It's <em>my</em> book, asshole! Use your own if you need to see that badly."</p><p>"I thought we were working <em>together</em>."</p><p>"<em>Mine</em>," I practically snarl, leaning over to grab the textbook off his lap—not missing the way his arms dart above his head to avoid touching me and muscular thighs tense up in surprise—and pull it back to the space between us. "Where's yours, anyway?"</p><p>"Accidentally grabbed my Transfiguration textbook this morning. That's not even the middle," he scoffs, his hand adjusting the textbook. "At least put it in the <em>middle</em>."</p><p>"Oh, you little—"</p><p>"Your boyfriend's staring."</p><p>"My—What?" I tilt my head in confusion.</p><p>Draco nods towards something behind me and then silently turns his attention back down to the text book, a long, nimble finger lithely tracing a line in the text. I give him a small frown before turning my head over my shoulder, leaning forward slightly to look past the students still attempting at nonverbal to see Maxon and Elara. They seem to be taking a short break, during which Elara is busy flipping through the DADA textbook with a scowl on her face and Maxon is—Maxon is looking at <em>me</em>.</p><p>"He's not my—He's not my boyfriend," I murmur absentmindedly, seeing him flash a warm smile when he notices me looking back at him.</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>Maxon the nods at Draco behind me with an inquisitive look, and I just roll my eyes and shrug before turning back to look at the blond.</p><p>"He's <em>not</em>."</p><p>"I said, 'sure,'" he shrugs simply, turning a page in the textbook while scratching his quill against the parchment.</p><p>"You don't believe me."</p><p>"So what if I don't? Why do you care?"</p><p>"No, why do <em>you</em> care?"</p><p>"I don't."</p><p>"Fine."</p><p>"Fine," he echoes back with a small scoff, rolling his glass mosaic eyes.</p><p>"He's <em>not</em>."</p><p>"<em>Okay</em>, he's <em>not</em>."</p><p>I huff softly, giving him a long look. He doesn't look up from his parchment, though, a look of concentration taking over his face as he drags his long fingers over my textbook, scratching his quill with that neat handwriting of his. Sighing softly, I turn to begin on my own essay.</p><p>—</p><p>"Hey."</p><p>I glance up from packing my back to see Maxon standing before me, his bag slung over his shoulder, a small smile on his face, and his long, tousled waves tucked behind one ear. He holds his hand out to help me out, and I slip on a tight smile and accept it gratefully, feeling him pull me up.</p><p>"<em>J'ai remarqué que vous avez arrêté de vous pratiquer tôt. Vous avez déjà appris les sort non verbaux</em> [I saw you two stopped practicing early. You've already picked up nonverbal spells]?"</p><p>I glance over my shoulder at Draco, seeing him packing his own things up without glancing at us, and assume he can't hear us. "Yeah," I say, my eyes lingering on the way his fine hairs fall over his forehead before I turn my head back to see Maxon looking at me intently, his soft lips twitching into a lopsided quirk, "some sort of innate ability, I guess. <em>Comment était les cours avec Elara</em> [How was class with Elara]?" I ask curiously, my eyes darting to see the Ravenclaw talking intently with a male friend of his sporting geeky spectacles, her messy curls spilling out of a bun.</p><p>"<em>Ah, bien. C'est une fille très intélligente. Bien sûre, il n'y as pas une sorcière dans l'école qui pourrais te battre mais elle fait un effort admirable</em> [Oh, good. She's a very smart girl. Of course, there isn't a witch in this school that could beat you, but she makes an admirable effort]."</p><p>I roll my eyes, giving his chest a playful whack. "<em>Combien de fois dois-je te le dire? Tout se flirtage ne fonctionne pas avec moi de la même façon qu'avec toutes les filles avec qui tu baise</em> [How many times do I have to tell you? Sweet-talking doesn't work on me the way it works with all the other girls you're fucking]."</p><p>"<em>Hey, je n'essaye pas de t'avoir d'aller entre t'es jambes, je suis juste honnête</em> [Hey, I'm not trying to get between your legs, I'm just being honest]," he laughs lightly, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and gently ruffling my hair with his other hand, chuckling when I yelp in protest and immediately pat my curls back down. "<em>Parlant de ça, j'ai eu un bonne idée de ce qu'il y avais entre t'es jambes se matin pour être rassasié le reste de la journée</em> [Besides, I got enough of a taste of what's between your legs before class to keep me satiated for the rest of the day]."</p><p>I hear a loud noise, and I turn my head over my shoulder to see that a textbook has fallen out of Draco's hands. I frown at him with both confusion and disgust, though he doesn't look at me as he casually leans down to pick it up and shoves it into his bag.</p><p>"<em>Très drôle</em> [Very funny]," I say, making sure to lower my voice slightly. Maybe I should tell Maxon that Draco knows French too.</p><p>"<em>Est-ce qu'il t'as donné du trouble</em> [Did he give you any trouble]?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"Malfoy. <em>Est-ce qu'il te donnait de la merde</em> [Was he giving you shit]?"</p><p>"<em>Oh-non c'était plus dans l'autre sens. Bon, allons-y. Je meurs de faim</em> [Oh, no, it was more the other way around. C'mon, let's go. I'm <em>starving</em> for lunch]."</p><p>"<em>Quoi? Ma queue n'était pas assez? C'est bon, on va trouver une classe vide</em> [What? My cock wasn't enough? Fine, we'll find an empty classroom]..."</p><p>I gasp softly, my face heating up slightly, and then I laugh lightly while giving his chest another light slap. "You're so annoying!"</p><p>"Yeah? Come, I'm starving too."</p><p>"Miss Zabini," Snape's nasally voice stops me again as Maxon and I near the door.</p><p>I turn around, slipping my hand out of Maxon's. "Yes, sir?"</p><p>"Stay behind, I want to talk to you. You too, Mr. Malfoy," he says, looking away from me to sort through a thick pile of papers on his desk.</p><p>I frown lightly, glancing over my shoulder to see Draco slowly making his way down from the back row, though he doesn't look at me. His face is blank, devoid of any real expression other than fatigue, as he comes down and stops at the front row, leaning against a table—the tables and chairs were magicked back when class ended—and rubbing his face.</p><p>I scan him quickly before turning to Maxon who is looking at me inquisitively. "You go ahead. Save me a seat in the Great Hall if you can, but I might not make it to lunch."</p><p>"Sure," he says with a casual smile as the last few students finish packing up and begin filtering out of the classroom. "I'll see you later, <em>ma chérie</em>."</p><p>I freeze very visibly at those words, my eyes practically seeing through Maxon to watch the students leave the classroom<em>.</em> He frowns lightly at my reaction, waving a hand in front of my face.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>"Hm?" I shake my head, snapping out of that brief stupor. I quickly become incredibly aware of the icy gaze burning holes into the back of my head, and I adjust my grip on my bag.</p><p>"You spaced out."</p><p>"Forget it. See you, then."</p><p>"No, tell me," he says, reaching out to grab my wrist before I can turn around and walk towards Snape's desk. "Was it something I said?" he implores, warm brown eyes searching mine insistently while his tan face adopts a look of concern.</p><p>I ease my wrist out of his grip, the back of my neck now heating up from Draco's gaze, though I can't even see the stupid boy. "No, you're fine," I roll my eyes, letting my hand fall to rest on his chest and my fingers pluck a small bit of lint off his shoulder. "I just—the nickname—"</p><p>"You don't like it?"</p><p>I hesitate softly, lips parting and my eyes darting to the side. "Sure. Yeah," I say lightly, choosing to take his offered excuse.</p><p>It's easier than explaining the truth.</p><p>"Alright," he smiles easily, the concern breaking way, and then he leans in to press a kiss to my cheek that makes me startle and nearly drop my bag. "I'll keep that in mind."</p><p>"Oh," I cough out, wincing slightly while my hand raises to my cheek and my eyes watch him turn around and walk out the door, the last two remaining students following closely behind him.</p><p>I stay standing like that, unwilling to turn around and meet Draco's harsh gaze, until the last student is gone and Snape clears his throat. Feeling my entire body burning for a whole myriad of reasons, I grip the strap of my bag tightly and turn to approach the desk, Draco stepping up right beside me. His arm nearly brushes against mine, and it seems like he notices this, because he shifts an inch or two away.</p><p>"You wanted to talk to us, Professor?" he asks in a cold, still voice, sounding eons away despite being right next to me.</p><p>"Yes..." Snape says, scribbling something on a bit of parchment before dropping his quill to look up at us, black eyes completely unfeeling, "how intuitive, Mr. Malfoy. Tell me, when you two fools bought that necklace and planned how to use it, did you <em>want</em> to get caught?"</p><p>Neither Draco nor I respond, but we both freeze in shock.</p><p>"Because, <em>surely</em>, nobody would plan something like that without the intentions of being caught and held accountable!"</p><p>"Sir—"</p><p>Snape holds up a hand, interrupting Draco. He then stands up and fixes his cuffs rather dramatically, sneering down at us over the length of his nose. "You will <em>never</em> succeed in your task at this rate, if all your plans were like <em>that</em>. The <em>foolery</em>..."</p><p>"How do you know about—?"</p><p>"Your mothers contacted me," he says simply, this time interrupting <em>me</em>. "Asked for my <em>help</em>, asked me to provide assistance, protect you two <em>fools</em>, and after the events earlier this month, it is quite clear that you two <em>desperately</em> require my assistance."</p><p>My breath hitches. Is this what Mother meant when she said she's done all she could to help me? I clench my hands into fists. I don't <em>want</em> her help, which means I don't want <em>his</em>.</p><p>"With all due respect, <em>sir</em>," I say, feeling particularly rigid as I straighten up and feel my chest tighten with my inhale, "your assistance isn't required here. Malfoy and I have this under control." I pause for a moment, pursing my lips before adding, "<em>Thank you</em>, but no, thank you."</p><p>Snape glares lightly at me. "This isn't just about <em>you two</em>. This task—"</p><p>"Is more than in good hands with Celeste and I," Draco says coolly, his arms crossing loosely. "It <em>will</em> be a success, and Celeste and I will be the ones to reap the benefits of it. Not <em>you</em>. Sir."</p><p>"Katie Bell is in St. Mungo's, as she will be for at least half the year. You call that success?"</p><p>"A minor bump in our road, but it will all be smooth travels from here," Draco says coldly, and to my surprise, his hand wraps around my arm, holding it tightly and lightly pulling me away from Snape's desk. I shoot him a brief, dirty look, quickly prying my arm out of his grip, but he ignores me. "You don't need to worry yourself over us."</p><p>—</p><p>Draco is close behind me as we step out of Snape's classroom, the door swinging shut behind him. I'm busy rifling through my bag making sure that all my parchment hasn't folded or become crumpled under the pressure of all my textbooks while also being very much aware of how close his body is to mine.</p><p>It was just <em>odd</em>, that's all, how insistent he was that I not touch him—<em>especially</em> when it's typically the other way around—only to grab my arm like that. I shake my head, choosing not to think about it too hard. If there's one thing I'll never understand, it's Draco Malfoy. He's constantly flipping sides, one moment a complete idiot playing all his cards and trying to make me angry, the next asking for my forgiveness or coaxing me into bed when I've had too much to drink.</p><p>"Celes—"</p><p>"Can I ask you something?" I interrupt sharply, whipping around to face him so quickly, he has to wince and lean back to avoid being slapped by my curls. Draco then opens his mouth to response, but I, feeling an overwhelming surge of fury take over me, am quick to interrupt again. "You know what? Never mind. I'll ask anyway."</p><p>Draco quirks an eyebrow at me, his heavy, hooded eyes scanning me in a way that makes me have to resist the urge to shiver. "Go on, then," his voice is light on his tongue, but the pressure of his words is thick on my chest.</p><p>I turn my chin up at him, sniffing softly while my eyes scan his full, tall, and muscular figure. He leans back against Snape's door, giving me an unnervingly patient look while crossing his arms.</p><p>"Why do you want my forgiveness?" I then ask, unable to speak without malice.</p><p>His lips twitch as if they want to smirk. This only makes my rage sear hotter, and I clench my jaw lightly.</p><p>"Well?"</p><p>"Why does it matter why I want your forgiveness? I want it, simple as that," he says casually.</p><p>"No, it's <em>not</em> simple as that," I huff, sneering at him from over my nose. "The reason <em>why</em> you want my forgiveness determines whether you even deserve it in the first place—which you <em>don't</em>, by the way. So why do you want it?"</p><p>Draco, the insufferable little <em>brat</em> that he is, just shrugs, amusement shining through his silver eyes.</p><p>"<em>Do </em>you even actually want it? Do you truly want my forgiveness, or are you just looking for me to move on from this cause you're tired of hearing about it?"</p><p>His eyes flicker for a moment, and I see the ghost of the smirk on his face drop. "When I say I <em>want</em> something, Zabini," his voice is oddly cold, gaze piercing straight through mine, "I mean it."</p><p>I glower lightly. "<em>Oh</em>. So <em>that's</em> why you're so insistent on getting my forgiveness. You're used to getting everything in the world, aren't you? You're used to having everything placed in your palm, even if you don't <em>want</em> it, even if you didn't <em>ask</em> for it. You just want my forgiveness because you're <em>upset</em> that your <em>Daddy</em> isn't here to pay for it, and you want <em>everything</em> handed to you, don't you?"</p><p>Draco's jaw clench, and I can see the rage written all over his face even with the mask of ice he wears. "Are you trying to make me angry? Yell at you? Provoke me to insult you so that you can go on angry at me, go on without forgiving me, use it as an excuse not to listen to me? It won't work. I know being angry at me makes you feel safe—something consistent, right?—but you can go ahead and find safety somewhere else, Celeste."</p><p>I take a small step back, my face twitching as I resist the urge to frown deeply at him and his words. He doesn't flinch, move, twitch a single muscle, just continues staring at me with a slightly tilted head.</p><p>"What is it, then?" my voice echos lightly as I tightly ball my hands into fists. "You wanna clear your guilty conscience, is that it? You don't care what you've done, you just hate feeling bad about yourself. Trying to convince yourself that you can do no wrong, that's it, isn't it?"</p><p><em>This</em> seems to get him. He pushes off the door so he's no longer leaning on it, swallowing thickly and furrowing his eyebrows. I think for a moment that his hands—very oddly pink, as if he's just gotten out of a hot shower—are trembling, but he presses them into the pockets of his unbuttoned robes so quickly that I can't be sure.</p><p>"I don't—I don't feel <em>guilty</em>," he spits, glancing down at me feet before back up at me with his head tilted down ever so slightly.</p><p>"No? If you don't feel guilty, why were you <em>groveling</em> for forgiveness the other day?"</p><p>"I wasn't <em>groveling</em>, I don't <em>grovel</em>."</p><p>"No, you're right, but maybe I'll consider forgiving you if you <em>do</em> grovel," I snap, my lips curling lightly in disgust while my eyes watch him stonily. "Get on your knees and beg like a bitch, maybe I'll consider it."</p><p>He watches me carefully for a few moments, his face grave. "Fine," he says, tilting his head up and straightening out his clothes, "so maybe I feel a little guilty. So what? Why do you have to make that sound like a bad thing? Would you prefer I <em>didn't?</em>"</p><p>I suck my cheeks in lightly, my gaze unflinching. <em>Yes</em>, I realize, feeling my shoulders drop, <em>I would prefer if you didn't. It would make hating you so much easier</em>.</p><p>"So you <em>do</em> just want to clear your conscience," I say lowly. "<em>Selfish</em>."</p><p>He tilts his head at me, his face slowly growing tighter and more grim. "Whatever else would a person ask for forgiveness other than to clear their conscience? What reason could a person have that is <em>selfless?</em>"</p><p>I shift uncomfortably. "You're not getting my forgiveness," I say clearly, and to my surprise, his face doesn't even twitch at my words. "As far as I can tell, as soon as I give it to you, you'll snap it right in half. You said it yourself, Malfoy, trust is my biggest weakness. I want it so badly that it comes right around to bite me in the ass. Why should I give it to you? You've got sharper fangs than a snake."</p><p>Draco doesn't say anything, his hands slipping out of his pockets so that he can fiddle with his silver and black rings.</p><p>"I just don't understand..."</p><p>"What?" he asks simply, not a hint of an emotion in the inflection of his voice.</p><p>"Why you want—"</p><p>"I <em>told</em> you," he snaps impatiently.</p><p>"No," I say coldly, my voice raising as I take a step closer to him, the distance between us just over a foot, "why <em>you</em> want it. <em>You</em>, the Occlusion genius, the one between the two of us who made the executive decision that whatever meager friendship we <em>had</em> was over. <em>You</em>. You're the one who's supposed to be blocking out his feelings like a fucking <em>expert</em>, so why are you so guilty, huh? And why the hell do you care that you've done anything to hurt <em>me</em>, huh?"</p><p>Draco's lips tilt down slightly, and then a look of anger crosses his face. His brows twist, lips part with a cruel smirk, and his voice is dripping with rage as he steps closer to me, our chests nearly touching, and responds, "Since when don't you like being called <em>chérie</em>, hm?"</p><p>I falter, my eyes widening a fraction. I'm forced to tilt my head way up to maintain eye contact, and suddenly I don't feel very tall at 5'7 when he's towering more than half a foot above me.</p><p>"Excuse me?" I manage to scoff out, trying hard not to inhale his scent.</p><p>"You heard me."</p><p>"How is that relevant?"</p><p>"Your little Papillon called you '<em>ma chérie</em>,' did he not?" he shifts closer still, and I manage to swallow down my gasp when his hand reaches out to hold my chin, making me tilt my head up further. My skin flames where he touches me, and the heat spreads out from there in waves.</p><p>"That wasn't your conversation to listen in on," I say simply, my throat bobbing as I swallow. I refuse to look away from his sharp gaze, but it's withering, and I find my knees weakening the longer it bores into my eyes.</p><p>Draco lets out a dry exhale of a laugh, his fingers tightening on my chin before moving to grasp my jaw, and this time, I can't contain my gasp. His dark smirk tightens as he pulls my head up to him, making me nearly fall and forcing me to steady myself by placing my hands on his chest. I quickly pull them away, though I have no choice but to lift myself slightly onto my toes. He cranes his own neck down, lips hardly inches from mine, and I find myself wondering when the last time we kissed was.</p><p>"Please," he mutters, his pupils blowing wide while they glance over my lips, "with how loudly he spoke, I had no choice. Answer me. Didn't he call you '<em>ma chérie</em>?'"</p><p>"Yes," I exhale, my eyes feeling so heavy when his head dips, and for a moment I think he'll press his lips to mine.</p><p>"And you said you don't like that nickname."</p><p>"No, <em>he</em> said—"</p><p>"He assumed you don't like it, and you agreed. Why?" his voice drops to a dangerous whisper, and I nearly whimper when he moves so his lips are only an inch from mine, finding myself desperate to taste them.</p><p>"Why are you asking?" I whisper, my eyes nearly closing.</p><p>"You asked me why I care that I've ever hurt you," Draco's voice is oddly gentle, but it carries that threatening edge to it while he tilts his head and scans my face, "so I'm asking you why you told Carlier you don't like being called <em>chérie</em>. Why you lied to him."</p><p>I gulp lightly, frantically scanning his face. "What happened to no touching?" I ask in a low, firm voice. "You nearly had a <em>breakdown</em> when I accidentally grazed your hand, Malfoy, so what are you doing right now?"</p><p>His eyes still, and then suddenly, he's letting go of my jaw and stepping back. I stumble a few steps back, my hands going up to rub my jaw and my temples while I blink blankly. My vision blurs for a moment, but when it clears, I see Draco straightening his tie. He gives me a once-over, hesitates like he might say anything, and then he turns to walk down the hall without a word.</p><p>"Idiot," I whisper, my eyes falling after him and my feet slowly walking back until my shoulders hit the wall. "<em>Idiot</em>," I repeat in a sharper hiss, leaning back against the stone and burying my head in my hands.</p><p>"I'm such a fucking <em>idiot</em>."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what scenes from the books, especially the half blood prince, do you wish were in the movie?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0069"><h2>69. TO SPILL ICHOR</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>draco has a dream!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>October 26th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>I sigh softly, tilting my head back until it knocks against the Vanishing Cabinet right behind me.</p><p>I'm not sure what time it is. It could be 9:00 P.M. or just as easily midnight. Either way, my body feels like it's been up for forty-eight hours and desperately needs to rest for at least a week. The muscles in my shoulders and back ache loudly, and my hands are starting to cramp up with every page flip and word scrawled on my parchment of notes.</p><p>My head lolls lazily on its axis to turn to see Celeste. She's a couple feet away stretched out across the ratty, old sofa, her legs dangling off the end and her curls tossed over the arm. I can't see her face with the way the massive, ancient textbook she reads from is propped on her chest.</p><p>My eyes droop slightly as I watch her quietly, and then I realize that these last thirty minutes have been <em>two</em> peaceful. No sound of Celeste constantly shifting her position, nor her aggravated and passive aggressive sighs, nor her tired groans every ten minutes when she gives up on reading only to pick the book back up thirty seconds later.</p><p>I squint at her, moving down to rest my weight on a forearm to peek behind her book and look at her face, and that's when I see her eyes shut, a peaceful expression over her face. There's a pillow right behind the book on which her hands rest, and I exhale shortly when I realize she must have placed it there so I wouldn't realize that she's fallen asleep.</p><p>For a moment, I consider waking her up. We still have much work to do—we haven't even fixed <em>half</em> the problems with the stupid cabinet—and the Room of Requirements is no place to fall asleep, anyway.</p><p>But she looks more at peace than she has since August.</p><p>I let my eyes wander for a while, observing all the objects covered in light sheens of dust in this cluttered room. There's a tall harp right near her head, looking like it was once golden and lustrous. Now, I wonder what curse must have been placed on it. There's globes scattered all around the room, some the size of my fist and sitting upon tables, others with the diameter of ceiling fans and floating by themselves a couple feet off the ground, all in colors of grey and bronze in this muted room. I see large hourglasses in one corner, looking too heavy to lift without help. Some are filled with sand, others with little bits of metal, and one with a thick, dark liquid that looks a touch too close to blood. The entire, massive room reminds me of Borgin and Burkes, but without the warning labels on all these cursed objects.</p><p>My eyes find their way back to her.</p><p>Just looking at her, the fatigue that already plagues me grows heavier with my eyes. I contemplate just letting myself fall onto the floor and enter a deep slumber, but with a soft groan, I force myself up to my feet. Dusting off my clothes, I glance back up at Celeste before carefully and quietly walking over to her.</p><p>She doesn't rouse or even move as I stop at the sofa. Careful to avoid her hands, I pry the heavy book out of her grip. She exhales softly at this, a small sound somewhere between a sigh and a tired moan, and tugs the pillow on her lap up to hug around her torso. I watch as she turns on her side, facing the back of the sofa, with her hair falling in her face.</p><p>Gnawing lightly on my lip, I carefully pick up all the textbooks scattered on the floor and stack them at the foot of the sofa. When I straighten back up, Celeste is still soundly asleep.</p><p>I can't help myself when I brush her hair out of her face with a gentle hand. She flinched lightly at my touch when my fingers brush her cheek, and instantly I retract my hand, but she doesn't rouse. Tentatively, I let my fingertips back down, smoothing the few curls off her cheeks. Her plump lips part once more to release a soft sigh.</p><p>I should really wake her up.</p><p>But instead I pick her discarded robe from off the ground, drape it over her now tightly curled form, and take my own former spot on the ground by the Vanishing Cabinet.</p><p>The floor is hard and dusty, but I choose to ignore it as I take off my own robes to make some sort of makeshift pillow, lowering my head down to it with a soft wince. My belt jams into my hip, my shoes are tight at my toes, and my tie feels like it might strangle me, but my eyes are already drooping with imminent sleep.</p><p>By the time I realize that Celeste hasn't taken her draught, it's too late—I'm already slipping away.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Shit, I just need more time, I almost have it, I almost have it—</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>I can feel her magic right against mine, intertwined in the worst way possible. Our magics don't twirl around each other, compliment each other, but they swarm and contend with each other. They battle, try to overwhelm the other.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her thoughts are just as loud in my head as my own are, her emotions and thoughts blaring in the forefront of my mind. I'm not even </em>
  <b>
    <em>trying</em>
  </b>
  <em> to listen in and intrude on her head. The Unforgivable Curses are where my magic lacks the most, and in the effort it takes to extend it to use an Imperius Curse on Celeste, my Legilimency almost naturally leaks into her head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The room is pitch black. In fact, just thinking about it, I'm not sure we're even </em>
  <b>
    <em>in</em>
  </b>
  <em> a room. I can't feel the floor beneath my feet. For all I know, we're simply in a vast emptiness, Celeste kneeling at my feet trying her hardest not to obey my orders, the Dark Lord standing hardly feet away watching us without his reptilian red eyes and constant urging.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Make her do it, Draco..." his hoarse, high voice rasps, sending a chill down my spine. "Make her tell you..."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her walls are weak. I don't need to be in her head to know, because I can feel it simply from how tenuously her magic thrums against mine. The stones that lay the foundations of her walls are loose, threatening tos end the entire structure crumbling at any given moment.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bellatrix's commands circle my head—</em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>"Humiliate her, Draco.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>"Show him who between the two of you is superior.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>"Prove who will fulfill his task.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>"Put her on her knees, and make her wish she could beg for your mercy.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>"Show him how weak she is; show him how strong you are."</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>Despite how the Unforgivable Curses are truly my weakest point, I can feel my magic growing stronger. Slowly, but surely, it encroaches on hers, wraps its tendrils on her loose stones to pull them down. With every passing second, mine grows stronger than hers can, and I know I'll win this mental and magical battle the Dark Lord and my own aunt conjured up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don't think I ever want to see her on her knees again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There's nothing empowering about forcing her to kneel in front of me, nothing making me feel superior knowing she has no choice but to heed my every whim, nothing satisfying about it at all. It's sickening, and the urge to throw up grows with every encouraging taunt from the snake-like entity watching us the remnant of my crazed aunt's words blasting in my ears.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her skin is paler than I've ever seen, paler than even when she came back from the dead. Her hair, so typically tight with coils like that of a snake, trembles with her resistance, with each small, frantic shake of her body. Her hands are pressed on her lap, and I see each twitch of her finger, each movement to dig her nails into her skin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her eyes never falter from mine. They hardly blink, so dark but so empty, glued onto my gaze as if I'm the only thing that exists—as if I am her entire world. I am her shelter, food, and water just as much as I am her famine, war, and despair.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm going to win. I can feel it, I know it. Her Occlumency simply isn't strong enough.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I have to win.</em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I almost have it, please—please—</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>Her thoughts are almost a clarion call in my head. I can feel the walls of my own Occlumency breaking down as time wears on, each second an unyielding eon.</em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Just a second more—</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>She only needs a second more to build her Occlumency up enough to resist me.</em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I'm almost there... I just need...</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>I need only a fraction of that time to fully overpower her.</em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Just a second more, a second more—</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>When our closely embracing magic twitched, faltering in its blinding glow, I'm momentarily confused. I'm holding my breath, just like I lightly holding her face. That falter—it's coming from me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's small, something that can be recovered from. It lasts less than a second, and if I am vigilant and precise, I can make up for it quickly. I can pick my magic right back up and smother her with it. I can win.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the moment I falter, all the willpower and intent I managed to conjure up to cast this curse—which wasn't much to begin with—goes crumbling, and she wins.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Celeste crumples over onto the floor of whatever emptiness we are in, and rather than pressing against it to catch her breath, it's like it's swallows her up. I watch in a panic as darkness wraps it's arms around her, pulling her into its embrace until the spot where she was only moments ago is now empty.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When I lift my head to look at the Dark Lord, the scenery changes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We're in the cellar, and I know instantly what is about to happen. The wand that was just in my hand has now vanished. It's dark in here, but I can see clearly the pale-skinned man standing just a couple feet in front of me, dressed in sleek black robes and holding his wand by his side in a casual manner. My heart thumps loudly in my chest and my pulse beats violently in my wrists. Everything in me yells at me to run, escape, to get out of here as quickly as possible, but my feet are practically glued to the floor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Do you know what the mark of a strong man is?" his cold, eerie voice echoes off the walls and crawls up my skin like a several-legged creature.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I shake my head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Willpower."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He doesn't cast the spell verbally, but I feel it instantly. A pained, tortured groan rips out my throat as I drop to my knees, a dull ache rocketing up my legs from the impact on the hard ground. It's nothing compared to the sheer torment in my head. If I thought Bellatrix's Legilimency was painful, then there aren't sufficient words to describe the Dark Lord's. Where she carelessly claws her nails through the matters of my mind, it's like he casts a purposeful torture spell on each individual brain cell, coercing them to give up the information he seeks.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe it's the fact that it's him that makes it hurt so much worse. Maybe it's that his Dark magic is so much stronger, so much crueler, and so much more potent than any other witch or wizard has ever possessed in the history of magic. With every painful and precise sweep of his hand through the book of my mind, he leaves his lingering presence in me. It's permeating, festering, and ever-growing, wrapping its tendrils around my heart, my head, and my magical core itself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The pain isn't just in my head, in my mind. No, it's spread to my entire body. It pounds it's hateful fists against my heart, trying to get it to stop beating. It grabs at my magic with its greedy hands, tearing it apart and leaving it in utter disarray. It leaves remnants of its essence in every cell in my body, in every inch of my skin, so that though invisible, it'll be a more permanent reminder to me of what it is capable of than even the Dark Mark on my skin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don't realize just how loudly I'm screaming and shouting</em>
  
  <em>in agony until my eardrums begin aching in complaint.</em>
  
  <em>And then there's a dull ache on the side of my head from</em>
  
  <em>how I fall over weakly and hit it on the ground. Maybe I'm</em>
  
  <em>bleeding—I can hardly tell.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Somehow I know that when the memories flash before my eyes, it isn't because he has handpicked them and chosen them to present to me. Somehow, I know that he is looking through everything in my head all at once, and when those memories play in my mind, it's not his deliberate actions that causes it, but the very nature of his Dark magic that hungers to cause as much pain to me, whether of physical or emotional nature.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then memories turn into fears.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My father's above me bludgeoning me to death. Or perhaps stabbing. Every time I blink, the object in his hand changes from a gleaming, sharpened silver knife, to a heavy paper weight, to his walking stick, the snake's head making its mark in the form of bleeding bruises on my chest, my head, my face, my arms.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I beg for the pain to cease.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But it doesn't. The pain doesn't cease. My lungs flutter and struggle to inhale and exhale, how my throat closes in on itself as my loud shouts wear the muscles sore and turn into hoarse noises. My hands and legs spasm almost uncontrollably, arms bent over my face and knees curled in towards my center.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>An invisible force seems to grab hold of my arms, pulling them away from my face. My eyes snap open, and what they see would make me heave if my body wasn't so busy writhing in pain from the intrusion in my head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Two bodies hang from the ceiling, thick ropes wrapped taut around their necks, heads hanging limply on their shoulders. I reel internally at the sight, cursing the extensive studies I've taken in virtually every subject of knowledge, including human anatomy, because the vision of my parents hanging from nooses is too realistic, too detailed. Their necks are extended, perhaps broken, and where there bodies away slightly and uselessly, their hands are curled into fists.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can see claw marks on their necks, futile attempts to free themselves, and their swollen tongues jut out their mouths, clamped around and nearly severed by their tightened jaws. Thick foam covers their mouths, and their eyes—their eyes are red, the small, broken blood vessels giving them the same eerie and still gaze of the man torturing me. I can see the glint of my mother's ring on her left hand, a matching one on my father's.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I want to get off the floor, extend a hand towards them, free them of their ropes, or at the very least shut their eyes, but the most I can do is writhe and let out a hoarse shout as the Dark Lord plunges his corrupt hands deeper into my mind, greedily saturating my magic, my head, my soul with a deluge of his depravity.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>At this point, I can't tell if he's using his Legilimency on me or the Cruciatus Curse. It's all just pain. Mind-numbing pain, the kind that feels like it's tearing all my blood vessels apart slowly, searing my organs with acid, repairing all my cells to destroy them again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Look what you've done."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don't know how long she's been there, but Celeste is curled up on the floor a few feet away from me. My breath hitches, and then it's wrangled out of my throat with a shout.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She's in the same position she was when she broke free of my Legilimency. Her legs are curled, forearms pressed to the floor, and she pants softly with her curls messed and all over the place. What's most jarring, however, is the way her eyes look. They're entirely pitch black, as if her irises have spread to take over the whites of them. Plump lips are slightly bloodstained and parted.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My vision flashes white with another wave of pain, and somehow I manage to turn and writhe onto my back. My nails dig into the wood floor, and I can feel my nails starting to bleed with how harshly I grate and drag them against the surface. When my vision clears, I can't take my eyes off of her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She's crying. No, she's </em>
  <b>
    <em>bleeding</em>
  </b>
  <em>. Where salty tears should be dripping down her cheeks, blood oozes down form only black eyes, leaving its red stain down her dark skin and dripping off her sharp jawline to make its presence on the floor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The bodies swing hauntingly behind her, and with every second that passes, the torment intensified.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Look what you've done," this time I see her lips move with the whisper. It's a soft whisper, and my ears are flooded with the sound of my rushing blood, the coursing magic, and my own shouts, but I hear her voice like it's right in my head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I try to say her name, but I just make a choked noise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The pain then stops. It's quick, and I can feel the Dark magic's grasps slithering out of my mind, leaving trace remnants of it behind to spoil my body.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It comes back three times worse.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My back arches right off the floor with my head, and I roll back onto my stomach, tucking my knees under myself and assuming a position like I'm worshipping at someone's feet. My forehead is heavy on the floor, one hand with its nails dug permanently into the wood despite how it makes my fingers bleed, the other undecided between ripping my hair out and pounding the side of its fist until the skin breaks.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My head hurts again, but this time it's because of the white hot torment of having knives breaking at my skin, a thousand knives for each square inch, greedy in how they dig their tips in and pull away just to slice their sharp edges down me. My hands tremble and shake, adopting a tremor and contorting in ways that would hurt even without the curse. My fingers practically snap as my body comes both loose and tight, leaving me uselessly wound on the floor with just the perfect view of Celeste.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She's crawling towards me, covered in blood.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It pours form her eyes in torrents, drips from her nose thickly, and trickles out the corners of her lips at a taunting pace. It streaks down her neck, staining her skin all the way to the neckline of her simple gown, and painting the white fabric in smeared pink handprints.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Look," she insists, her voice so clam yet heartbreaking, and then she's inches away from me, moving my uncontrollably writhing body onto its back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her blood-stained hand gently cups the side of my face, and her thumb swipes over my cheek as if to relax my tightly clenched jaw. I can't relax it thought. My teeth grit together harshly instinctually, the way my parents' jaws are locked around their tongues. Still, she presses my tense, trembling jaw with her fingers, massaging blood into my skin while her purely black eyes stare at me. They're unblinking, blood constantly pouring out of them and down her cheeks.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then her nails dig into my skin sharply, blunt pain compared to that which makes my body thrash like it's having a seizure. It probably draws blood form my own skin, mixing it with hers until it doesn't matter from whom the red came—it's all simply red.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the pain catches me off guard, and somehow I have enough control over my own body to wrap my hand around her wrist, holding it with a grip so tight it should crush her bones.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It's your fault," her voice is softer, her other hand on my shoulder, jostling me lightly while her nails sink deeper into my skin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I tighten my grip on her wrist, and that's when I notice it—the absence of her pulse.</em>
</p><p>When I blink and open my eyes, the pain is still there. It still wreaks its greedy, Dark havoc all throughout my body, still makes it thrash and writhe about in its reclined position, still makes every cell pulse with pain. When I blink and open my eyes, Celeste's hand is still on the side of my face—though her nails aren't digging in anymore—and her other still grips my shoulder tightly. She's still hovering over me, wild, snake-like curls falling like a curtain even at their shorter length, tired eyes slightly narrowed, thick brows furrowed, and lips pouting. Blood doesn't drip from her eyes, nostrils, or mouth, doesn't cover her body. Her eyes aren't pitch black, but back to their typical dark state.</p><p>My skin sears where her hand touches me, and so with a strangled gasp, I surprise myself by showing the ability to control my body when I slap her hand away from me and scramble away from <em>her</em>, nearly knocking my head on a carved coffee table while getting to my feet.</p><p>She remains crouched on the floor for a few seconds, looking disheveled and ready to drop back into sleep, and then straightens up warily while I slowly back away. My hands are out in front of me to create some sort of barrier between us, and I notice the way they tremble.</p><p>The dead girl takes a tentative step closer, her face still taut with both tire and a hint of a concern. Her parted lips press together as she swallows thickly.</p><p>I'm not sure where we are. Where has the cellar gone? Where has <em>he</em> gone? Where are the bodies? <em>Fuck</em>, the bodies, did I do that? Did he take them with him? I won't even be able to bury them, will I? And her... I don't know where the blood has gone, why her eyes look so unnervingly real, why if she doesn't have a pulse, her chest rises and falls nearly as rapidly as mine does. I simply continue backing away from a third body I've killed.</p><p>"How?" I choke, nearly tripping over backwards.</p><p>Her face contorts in confusion. "<em>What?</em>"</p><p>"How are you—How did you—How are you <em>back?</em> You died, you were dead, I saw you and the b-blood. How did you come—come back?"</p><p>Celeste's face grows grave. "I thought I made it clear I don't want to talk about that."</p><p>"I didn't—" I cut myself off, voice hoarse, staring at her with wide eyes still while my hand goes to my throat. The pain still ravaging its way through my vessels and pathways reminds me of the torture and I shudder. "I didn't <em>mean</em> t-to..."</p><p>"What?" her voice is a ghost of a whisper. Her hand comes up, and I instinctually flinch backwards another step, but all she does is loosen her tie.</p><p>"I... I—" A choked sob interrupts me, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it's come from me.</p><p>My hands go up to my face, and I drag the heels of my palm over it to feel that it's damp under my eyes. My eyebrows furrow greatly, and while my body still trembles with the aftershock of torture, I drop my hands and turn my eyes back up to Celeste. The way she gazes at me so intensely makes me waver, makes my already weak knees give in. I grab onto a heavy object in this very, very cluttered room, keeping from falling into the ground, but I can't find the energy to back away again when she takes another few tentative steps closer to me.</p><p>I didn't think she'd choose to come back as a ghost, or maybe she's something even more otherworldly. Could someone like her become an angel? Or is she a Fury, here to torture the guilty?</p><p>I thought Furies were crones, with snakes for hair, bat wings, blood-shot eyes. I thought they carried weapons, though I don't think there's anything more lethal than her mouth. They're supposed to be hideous, wicked creatures, but maybe she's decided the best way to exact her vengeance on me would be in the form I recognize.</p><p>Tired but ethereal. Dark, deathly brown eyes, with pupils that blow wide and contract to reptilian pinpricks. Serpentine curls wrapped around her head, coiling outwards and ending with flicks of their tongues. The lighting in this room is horrible, washing everything out but her. Her dark skin glows as though right under its surface runs not the blood I saw her covered in moments ago, but pure, golden ichor.</p><p>She's no angel, nor a Fury, but a deity. A daemon. A timeless entity, one I'm at the mercy of, should she grant it.</p><p><em>Yes</em>, I decide,<em> it must be ichor</em>.</p><p>I vaguely recall a conversation at the beginning of fifth year where she'd made a ill remark about Pureblood bloodlines. I'd told her sharply that silver runs in our veins, something we ought to be proud of, and she'd answered that she preferred gold.</p><p>Fitting.</p><p>When did I drop to my knees?</p><p>"I didn't m-<em>mean</em> to—" I gasp out, my hands at my throat, and just as her blood poured from her eyes and practically flooded her throat, I can taste salt slipping past my lips.</p><p>"Malfoy," her voice is odd as she approaches me, but she doesn't crouch down in front of me.</p><p>"I'm sor—" I inhale shakily, my hands sliding down my torso, down my thighs, my head bending down to stare at her grey socks, rolled down to her ankles. My vision blurs with salt, and I choke, "—<em>sorry</em>. Forgive me, pl—<em>mmh</em>," I cut myself off with a groan, my hands rubbing at my face and nails digging at my scalp with the wave of torture tracking its way down my body.</p><p>This time, however, I can tell it's not the product of a curse. Not directly, no—it's a product of the Dark magic lingering inside of me, reminding me it's presence.</p><p>"You had a <em>nightmare</em>."</p><p>"<em>No</em>," I spit, tearing my face out of my hands but refusing to look any higher than her knees, "let me—I didn't <em>mean</em> to! I didn't <em>want</em> t-to..."</p><p>"Didn't mean to <em>what</em>, Malfoy?"</p><p>"<em>Kill</em> you," I snap, heaving for breath and looking around, trying to gauge where I am. "What—What happened?"</p><p>She's oddly quiet. It makes me want to tilt my head up to look at her, but I force my gaze down. My already rapidly beating heart pumps faster and faster with each second of silence, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins urges for me to get up and bolt.</p><p>When her hand touches my shoulder, I'm quick to pull away and stand up.</p><p>"It was a dream," her voice is quiet and firm.</p><p>"<em>What—?</em>"</p><p>"<em>Look at me."</em></p><p>Her voice is harsh, demanding, and as though she's placed an Imperius Curse on me, I have no choice but to rip my gaze away from the plethora of odd items surrounding us to her ebony gaze, faltering slightly at how she flowers at me intensely.</p><p>"You were <em>dreaming</em>. Quite loudly, too, woke me up with your fucking screams."</p><p>My face contorted into a rough frown as I swallow thickly, hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. "I was—" I'm quit to cut myself off when my voice shakes, and then finding myself leaning against a heavy table, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. It does nothing to calm my pulse, but it steadies my voice. "I don't—that wasn't a dr—"</p><p>"No, a nightm—"</p><p>"But it felt so <em>real</em>."</p><p>"Yes, well, I'm still alive, aren't I?" her voice is sharp and cutting as she steps closer to me once more, the space between us perhaps two or three feet.</p><p>Her dark eyes are wild, manic, and I wonder for a moment whom between the two of us is going crazy. Surely, one of us must be.</p><p>"You've have many things to apologize for, but <em>killing</em> me isn't one of them," Celeste bites into the air, dragging her gaze up and down my form.</p><p>My body only trembles more violently as I grip the edge of the table, pang after pang of miserable, tormenting pain rippling from where Dark magic stains my magical core. My eyes slip back shut, squeezing tighter as I will myself to stop shaking, to stop thinking about <em>blood</em> and hanging <em>bodies</em> and curses, and just <em>think</em> rationally and clearly, but the harder I try, the more my arms tremble.</p><p>"No," I gasp out quietly, eyes squeezing tighter still while I shake my head and dig my nails into the wood, "you were—you were <em>dead</em>. Your heart wasn't b-beating, and it was—"</p><p>When Celeste's fingertips, so absurdly cold and gentle, graze against my exposed forearm from my rolled up sleeves, I jolt and retract my hand from the table. She doesn't let me flinch away this time, though, her hand only gripping my arm tighter and forcing it back to the table.</p><p>"I <em>was</em> dead, Malfoy," her voice adopts an eerily gentle veneer. When my hand is firmly planted back in the table, her fingertips trail up my arm until they're gripping my shoulder. "But that was in June. I came back."</p><p>I shudder when her hand squeezes my shoulder. Unlike the dull, throbbing pain cascading over my skin, where she touches me even over the fabric of my shirt sends a buzzing, pleasant feeling down my arm.</p><p>"Look at me, Malfoy."</p><p>I want to tug away from her <em>so</em> badly, but the urge to melt into the one hand now massaging my shoulder is much stronger. Still, I can't seem to pry my eyes open, not even when her hand slips closer to my neck. My body shudders violently, and where the pain had subsided has been replaced with an abundance of guilt, torment, confusion.</p><p>It was a <em>dream?</em></p><p>"I'm not going to repeat myself," her voice is firm.</p><p>I think in any other instance, I would've scoffed and scorned her for her bold assertiveness, but hearing her voice call out so still, feeling her fingers secure near the back of my neck, having her unshakeable in her demands, it grounds me.</p><p>My eyes open begrudgingly, vision blurry still with the deluge of tears that have accumulated, and when I blink, exactly three go dripping down my cheeks one by one. I can feel my face burning instantly in embarrassment, so I'm quick to avert my eyes from hers and raise a shaky hand up to wipe them away. When I glance back at her, she's looking at me with a slight furrow in her eyebrows and stony eyes, as if she hasn't noticed the way my face is practically soaking.</p><p>Celeste then inhales, and she says, "You didn't..." Her face slowly drops while her words dwindle away, and she looks at me in confusion, worry, her hand curling at my neck. "It was a <em>dream</em>."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"Feel my pulse," she says, instantly grabbing my hand.</p><p>I jerk it away, but she grabs it with a tighter grip and gives me an irritated, indignant look before forcing my hand back towards her. My fingers tremor in her loose grip, but she manages to fold all of them except for my forefinger and middle finger, and then she gently pulls them to press against the inside of her left wrist. We both suck in a harsh breath when we see that her Concealment Charm has faded, revealing the very tip of the Mark peeking out behind her sleeve. It nearly throws me headfirst into a panic attack, my heart beat rising, but then I feel Celeste's pulse thumping against my fingertips.</p><p>It's a little fast, but not as fast as mine. It's strong and steady, showing no sign of fading away, and even when Celeste lets go of my hand, I keep my fingers pressed to her wrist, eyes fixated on her dark skin.</p><p>It <em>was</em> a dream. A nightmare. My parents aren't currently hanging from the ceiling of the cellar, my father isn't beating me to death, Celeste isn't a risen corpse, slain by my own hand, and—</p><p>Everything else <em>did</em> happen, of course.</p><p>Slowly, my own pulse slows until it's just a touch faster than hers.</p><p>"How much do you have to hate me to dream about killing me?" she muses out loud in a quiet voice.</p><p>My head snaps up so I can look at her, but her own eyes are settled tiredly on where my fingertips press against her skin. Her lips are pressed together tightly. She looks like she might collapse at any given moment. I swallow thickly, my own eyebrows knitting together while my gaze turns back to where I feel every pulse of the ichor in her veins. When I open my mouth to respond to her, she's already speaking again.</p><p>"It's late," her voice is soft but bitter, her hand dropping to her side and her gaze set firmly on my shoulder. "We should return to the dungeons."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what do you think parties at each house would be like?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0070"><h2>70. STAND BY ME</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste watches another one of her father's memories.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>October 30th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>I groan lowly into Maxon's mouth, my back arching lightly to push my chest up against his. He responds with his own groan, the hand on my neck tightening on either side my throat. It sends a delicious tingle down my skin, one that makes my back curve a touch higher before dropping back down onto his mattress.</p><p>He grinds his hips down on me, erection rubbing against my thigh. The sounds he makes, the grunts and moan, are so low and hungry, almost <em>feral</em>, making my panties dampen with every passing second. I spread my bent legs further apart, moaning softly as his erection grinds down on my inner thigh, so close to my core.</p><p>"Maxon," my voice is breathy as my eyes roll to the back of my head and my head pushes down against the pillows behind it. "M-<em>Max</em>..."</p><p>"Tell me what you want," he whispers in my ear, squeezing my neck tighter still.</p><p>"<em>Touch me</em>," I all but demand, my hips bucking up to get some friction between my legs, but he tuts softly and purposefully shifts his hips to the side so I can't reach what I need.</p><p>"I <em>am</em> touching you, <em>mon ange</em> [my angel]."</p><p>His voice is teasing and amused. Maxon's free hand carefully slides up the back of my head to tangle his fingers with my curls at their very roots, gripping and tugging at them without breaking them. The sharp sensation shoots all the way down to my toes, making me curl them, and my mouth drops open with breathy pants. He twists and pulls my hair again, this time eliciting a weak moan from me.</p><p>"<em>Tu sais ce que je veut </em>[You <em>know</em> what I want]," my voice is strangled as one of my hands moves to my breasts, squeezing and massaging them with a tight grip.</p><p>"Mm... <em>Je ne suis pas sûr de savoir, Céleste</em>[I'm not sure I do, Celeste]," his voice drops to a low rasp, salacious against the shell of my ear. "<em>Je pense que j'ai besoin que tu me le dise </em>[I think I need you to tell me]."</p><p>"<em>Maxon</em>," I gasp out a complaint, my voice choking when his fingers tighten to the point where it creates a pleasant buzz at the back of my head.</p><p>"<em>Celeste</em>," he mocks me, chuckling softly while his soft, warm lips meander down my jaw and to my neck. To my dismay, he lets go of it, but his hand slides down to move mine off my chest and take over massaging my breasts.</p><p>I gasp when he sucks harshly right over a pulse point, teeth grazing against skin, tongue soothing the ache, lips placing immaculate pressure. His adept fingers find my pert nipple through the material of my bra and my shirt, pinching it and roll it while I squirm beneath him.</p><p>"Lower," I exhale, a leg hooking over his hip.</p><p>His hand slides down my torso until it's flat against my stomach. "Here?"</p><p>"<em>Lower</em>," I insist with gritted teeth, moaning when his palm glides to the junction of my hip and thigh. "<em>Fuck</em>. To the—the side."</p><p>Maxon laughs softly, his hand indeed gliding sideways, but rather than dipping in words towards my damp panties, they go the opposite way, grabbing a handful of my ass and giving it a tight squeeze. I gasp softly in response, groaning when he massages the heel of his palm  against the muscle.</p><p>"<em>Max</em>," I sigh in frustration, easing my eyes open to see his tan face pulling out of my neck and smirking at me.</p><p>"You have to be more clear," he whispers tauntingly, leaning in until his forehead is flush with mine. His hand in my hair gives it a sharp tug, making my mouth tilt open with a stretched moan, allowing him to slip his tongue in while pressing his lips to mine.</p><p>"Touch me," I repeat in a low whisper, my voice dangerously close to a whine.</p><p>"<em>Ou, mon bijou </em>[Where, my jewel]?"</p><p>"My..." I huff indignantly as Maxon presses his lips under my jaw, sucking a bruise onto my skin. My face contorting in irritation, I exhale, "My <em>cunt</em>. By Circe, I hate that wor—<em>oh.</em>"</p><p>He makes quick work of dipping his hand between my thighs, tugging my soaking panties off to the side, and sliding his fingers along my dripping folds. I inhale shakily, grasping at the bedsheets and nearly tearing them with my nails while he skillful shifts my loosened tie aside with his mouth to have better access to my throat. A moan rips past my lips when he begins sucking harsh bruises along the base of my neck, his fingers slipping inside of me with ease and his thumb finding my clit to rest against, only giving it the most gentle, teasing rubs.</p><p>Right when I'm about to moan for more, he harshly presses his thumb down on the sensitive organ, making me cry out and reach for his long brown waves. He hums appreciatively when I pull on them, his thumb easing up to place the perfect amount of pressure in the circles it makes on me.</p><p>"You're always so wet for me," he chuckles softly, leaning up to nip at my lips. I open them to try to kiss him back, but I'm too busy moaning and gasping to move my tongue. "I'm glad that hasn't changed in these years... Do you remember all the things I did to you, Celeste?"</p><p>I hum, my voice abnormally high as my feet drag against the bed in some futile attempt to relieve my pent up frustration. He seems to notice that, though, his fingers digging deeper inside of me and harshening their thrusts, punctuating perfectly against that spot near my front wall. I'm not even sure anymore if we're alone in his dorm room, but it doesn't matter—the curtains of his four-poster are drawn tightly shut, and we've placed privacy and silencing spells from both our wands. Even if someone <em>does</em> rip the curtains open, I don't think I'd care right now.</p><p>"Remember what we did in Maxime's office?"</p><p>My face warms at the thought, and I can't help but laughs breathily while squirming beneath him and dragging my hands in his hair. "V-Vividly..."</p><p>"How many times did I make you come? [Was it five]?" his voice is husky, laced with a thick air of lust as he mouths at my neck and slowly grinds his erection back down in my inner thigh.</p><p>"[Six]," I moan lewdly, my hips jerking when his fingers slide out of me and, now completely slick with my arousal, flick over my clit.</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"<em>CELESTE!</em>"</p><p>We both go still, Maxon's hand still between my thighs. My heavy eyes go wide, stuck on his own widened brown pair while we silently question each other, and then the sound of thudding, fast-approaching footsteps has us both moving.</p><p>"Open these curtains!" the same voice booms when I'm sitting up, underwear fixed and hair patted down.</p><p>I frown slightly. "Pansy?" I question, glancing over my shoulder at Maxon who just shrugs, popping his fingers into his mouth.</p><p>At least it's not Blaise.</p><p>"<em>Open—!</em>"</p><p>Im quick to interrupt her, standing up and tearing the curtains with my wand in hand to wordlessly take down the charms. Upon parting the emery and green fabric, it's revealed to me Pansy standing on the other side, her brown, mono-lidded eyes spread wide open in a look of completely and utter befuddlement, pink lips parted, and the tip of her nose slightly red. She looks at me like this for a few moments, worrying me slightly, and then she grabs me by my arms and shakes me lightly.</p><p>"<em>What</em>, Pan—?"</p><p>"She asked me to be her girlfriend!"</p><p>—</p><p>Ever since my conversation with Mother at that tea shop in Hogsmeade, I've been hounding through these memories greedily, eager to get more information, maybe a hint, anything that'll make what she told me at the shop any clearer.</p><p>Anything that will tell me I'm <em>not</em> dying.</p><p>I'm not sure what else she expected me to get out of that conversation.</p><p>
  <em>"I had one."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I freeze, watching her closely. She looks like she wants to avert her gaze, glance away and maybe busy herself with her tea and snacks, but she presses her lips together and keeps her eyes strictly on mine.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You... had one..." I say slowly, my head bobbing lightly as I end up being the one to break our gaze.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Yes. My mother's sister. She was only a few years older than me," her voice, typically sharp like a haggard stone, is slightly soft, almost wistful. "My mother had me very late in her life, at least late by Pureblood standards. She was thirty-three, my aunt was ten."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I look up at her in shock, but she looks nonchalant as she lifts her tea up to her lips and takes a small sip.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"A twenty-three year difference?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Oh, yes. Most wizarding families don't tend to produce children so... far apart, but they are certainly capable of doing so. Unlike Muggles, our bodies remain capable for years."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I wince. "Mother..."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Never mind that. Obviously, she wasn't intentional," Mother continues, her eyes now downcast, focusing on the way her teabag drags in the cup as her lithe fingers pluck the tail of it. "She wasn't planned. In fact, she was exactly what my grandparents didn't want. But she existed, and getting rid of her... wasn't an option."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Abortion?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Very much frowned upon in Pureblood communities, but you know that. Unlike Muggles, of course, it isn't a matter of controlling women, but salvaging as much pure, unadulterated blood as possible. She wasn't part of the plan, but the plan would simply have to be changed for her."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You never told me about her," I say quietly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mother doesn't say anything, though I hear her nails tap against the china.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hesitate softly, and then I ask, while straightening my posture, "She had runes too?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Yes," Mother replies quickly, her eyes lifting to linger on my exposed locket followed by the rune on my hand followed by my face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And she died."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mother glanced away, but with a resolute expression overcoming her face, she sits up straighter and turns a firm gaze back towards me. "In a way."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My shoulders fall. "What does that even mean?" I ask, my eyes drifting off to that white bakery. My father responded the same way when I asked if I was dead.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It means... you don't have to be cremated and in an urn or buried several feet under the ground to be dead, Celeste," Mother's voice is delicate and purposeful, each word chosen carefully.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Because of them? Because of the runes?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She hesitates. "No. Not because of them."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Then why?"</em>
</p><p>I stare blankly at the little glass vial in my hand, in it shimmering the blue strand of my father's memory. Written on the label is not a word, not a description, but a date.</p><p>
  <em>05/17/74</em>
</p><p>That would be my parents' seventh year at Hogwarts, and near the end of it too.</p><p>With a soft exhale, I pour the contents of the vial into my personal Pensieve that sits atop the bathroom counter, glance up to look warily into my reflection, and I allow myself to be sucked into the memory with a whirl.</p><p>I'm a little caught of guard when I find myself in the hallways of Hogswarts, but I remember once again the date on the vial. Dressed in my uniform, I frown when I realize I'm <em>alone</em> in the hallway.</p><p>A student turns the corner and begins walking down, and I'm caught off guard by her uniform. The hem of her skirt reached a little lower, and the sleeves of her white shirt are short and puffy. Her tie is short too, ending inches above where her shirt tucks into her high-waist skirt.</p><p>She almost walks through me, striding down the hall, and for a moment I worry that I'm in the wrong person's memory, until I hear the running and laughing.</p><p>Two figures come barreling down the hallway, and I'm quick to press myself against the stone wall so that they don't run straight through me. It's a boy and a girl, neither of whom seem to be in uniform. The boy—his hair curly and several inches long, sideburns nearing his jaw, skin dark and clear, dressed in a pair of burnt orange corduroys with a high waist, a chunky leather belt, and a tight, long sleeved shirt with small black and white checks and the top few buttons undone—leads the way. His hand tugs the girl along, pulling her closer behind him and making her shriek softly in laughter.</p><p>She looks right out of a vintage magazine. Her hair is short, relaxed, and done up with a little bump and a cheeky wave to the ends. She wears a chunky pearl headband, one that makes me snort humorously, and matching earrings. Her shift dress nears her knees, black and white with no sleeves and a mock neck. She's clutching the boy's hand for dear life, stumbling behind him with a grin as she struggles to keep up with his pace.</p><p>"Alaric!" her delighted yelp echoes off the stone walls. "Slow <em>down!</em> Where are you taking me?"</p><p>"Patience, Cori," his deeper voice rumbles with a laugh, but he slows down anyway as they near the end of the hall with me watching them with a gaping mouth. "I'm taking you to our spot. Why, have you got somewhere better to be?" he teases her, giving her hand a sudden tug so that she gasps and stumbles into his chest.</p><p>To my surprise, my mother <em>giggles</em>.</p><p>"I <em>could</em> be studying for our NEWTs," she huffs softly, letting go of his hand to lazily perch her forearms on his shoulders and shift her balance to her toes. "We only have so many weekends to study, you know," she says solemnly, her hand twirling around my father's hair.</p><p>He grins slowly. "Oh? Were you planning on studying for your NEWTs in your new gogo boots? I didn't realize the library had such standards for dress code."</p><p>She huffs softly, giving him a gentle slap on his chest. "Don't tease me, or I <em>will</em> go study for my NEWTs."</p><p>"Oh, now, c'mon," Father smiles easily, taking her hand back in his and turning to continue walking down the hall, "don't make me spend my weekend without my girl."</p><p>"Excuse you," she fails to stifle her giggle while I, still so incredibly stunned, manage to push away from the wall and walk after them in a dazed state, "I am my <em>own</em> person, not <em>your girl</em>."</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>," he groans playfully, free hand clutching his heart, "you <em>wound</em> me, Corinne."</p><p>"Oh, don't be ridiculous. It's a good thing. It means I choose to spend the weekend with you because I <em>want </em>to, not out of obligation," she responds, the smile on her face evident through her voice. "Are we going to dilly dally all day? Take me to our spot, then, if that's how you wish to squander precious, study-worthy time."</p><p>"Don't act like I'm interfering with your study time! You were going to Hogsmeade with the girls, weren't you?"</p><p>"Maybe..." she says slyly, her hand wrapping around his arm, "though I prefer this."</p><p>"I <em>hope</em> so."</p><p>I watch from a distance, my pace slightly slower than theirs, as my mother leans up to press a soft kiss to his jaw, and in turn he turns his head to brush the tip of his nose against her temple. Mother has never been one to slouch, but there's a certain spring in her step that's foreign to me. She walks with the same confidence, but it's more carefree rather than purposeful.</p><p>When they stop at a familiar corridor, my breath hitches.</p><p>I watch as they hold hands, Father's eyes shutting as he thinks for a few seconds, and moments later, a simple door materialized in the stone wall.</p><p>He opens his eyes and smiles faintly, grabbing the doorknob and pulling it open, gesturing for Mother to go in first. She rolls her eyes playfully and steps in, and I quickly walk down the corridor to enter before the door closes behind Father. I wince when he passes through me. It's not physically jarring and chilling like when the ghosts of Hogwarts do it, but I always expect of feel his arm brushing against mine, smell his familiar scent. Instead, there's nothing.</p><p>The door nearly closes through me, but I step into the Room of Requirements.</p><p>It's familiar in its shape, with large arches and pillars, windows through which dusty white sunlight pours through. Unlike the room Draco and I have been working in, this room isn't cluttered. It has a few objects lining its walls, but it otherwise looks like a more comfortable version of the Slytherin common room. There are ornate sofas, cushions, seats, detailed carpets and tapestries, and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.</p><p>There's several bookshelves scattered about the room, but I'm caught off guard when I see one that isn't stuffed with books—no, it's filled with thin little spines, and I see a few out laying on the tops. Squinting, I walk a few feet closer when I realize what they are.</p><p>Records, dozens and dozens of records. I wonder what my parents were listening to in the 70s—Madame Bletchley? I nearly snort at the thought.</p><p>Frowning lightly, I glance around the room to see Mother seated at the edge of an ornate sofa next to which is a little table, upon which sits two fresh cups of coffee and a gramophone with a massive horn, it's diameter at least four or five feet across. In comparison, it's diaphragm is comically small.</p><p>"Another new Muggle song?" Mother quips, taking a sip of the piping coffee and instantly making a muffled, pained noise.</p><p><em>Muggle</em> songs?</p><p>"New? No," Father says with a faint smile, his thinking hazel eyes darting up to gaze fondly at my mother who blows lightly on the coffee. "It's some of King's old ones, though I got it recently. Why do you say it like <em>that?</em> As if you didn't ask me to replay that Etta James song ten times last time we were here," he teases, holding a record jacket in one hand while carefully placing the record down with the other.</p><p>"Well," Mother says defensively, sniffing lightly and sitting up straighter, "she has a <em>lovely</em> voice. How do you get your hands on all these?"</p><p>"I have my ways. Stand up, my dear."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"So that I may woo you, of course," his voice is teasing, hazel eyes twinkling, and lips quirked up into a light grin, but he bows slightly and holds a hand out for her to take.</p><p>"<em>Woo</em> me?" my mother laughs incredulously, her eyebrows rising as she scans him with a mildly dubious look. "I'm already your <em>girlfriend</em>, what more—"</p><p>"Oh, just <em>dance </em>with me, Corinne," my father groans in a playful display of tiredness, flashing her a charming grin when she laughs before reaching down to steal her coffee, place it on the table, and yank her up to her feet.</p><p>She gasps softly, her hands flying up to steady herself on Father's shoulders. Mother gives him a stern look that's responded to with a bright smile, and she opens her mouth as if to chide him, but the music begins playing at just the right time, saving him. His hands drop to her hips, picking her a few inches off the ground and spinning her in a small circle while he steps away from the sofa and onto the carpet, the air filling with the sound of a playful song.</p><p>"You're crazy," Mother murmurs, her head turning to rest her cheek on his shoulder while her lips twitch up in a fond smile.</p><p>"Love does that to you, doesn't it?" he hums back in a quiet lilt, one of his hands finding Mother's while his arm wraps around her waist.</p><p>"<em>Alaric</em>," she laughs when he sways her slowly.</p><p>"Hmm?"</p><p>"We can't slow-dance to a song like this!" she says, and she's right—the beat is much faster than how slowly my father sways the two of them, his smile growing larger.</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"That's—the rhythm—"</p><p>"We can do anything we want, Corinne," he says softly, pulling away from her as there's a slight lull in the music before a new song begins, "it's just us."</p><p>Mother smiles slowly, peering up at him through her eyelashes. "And if I want to dance faster?"</p><p>He sighs playfully. "Then I <em>suppose</em> we can dance faster."</p><p>"And if I want to dance to another song?"</p><p>"You'll ruin Etta for me with how often you want to listen to her," he shakes his head, stepping back to give another a small spin that makes the hem of her dress lap against her thigh, "but if that's what you want..."</p><p>"And if I want to dance with another boy?" her cheeks are round with the intensity of her grin as Father pulls her back flush against his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around her while he sways the two of them.</p><p>"You don't," he says simply, burying his face in her neck, and I have to look away for a few seconds when he peppers kissed against her skin.</p><p>"Oh? And you know this how?"</p><p>"Because I know <em>you</em>. Ah, here's a slower song. Happy, my love?"</p><p>"With you? Always."</p><p>Father exhales softly at this, burying his face in her neck from behind while her hands rub slowly up and down his arms. She closes her eyes and lets her head fall back to his shoulder while he rocks them back and forth, swaying in a small circle. He then pulls away to turn her back around to face him, hands holding her hips while her arms link around his neck.</p><p>I find myself sinking into an armchair while watching them, mildly dumbfounded.</p><p>Something about seeing my own parents only a year older than me, missing all their scars and stress lines, dressed so comically in clothes like <em>these</em>, dancing to Muggles songs by someone named King, looking just completely happy being in each other's arms...</p><p>I wonder if it's possible to feel nostalgic for something that's never happened to me, something I didn't know about until just now.</p><p>And so I watch as several songs pass, both slow and fast, and my parents never once let go of each other. Whether my mother is wrapped up in my father's arms, or if he's spinning her on her axis, or if she's playing with his hair, they don't stop dancing.</p><p>I've never doubted that my parents loved each other.</p><p>Purebloods more often than not have arranged marriages. They're more business deals and financial contracts than they are the romantic, lifelong commitments that apply to other witches and wizards, to Muggles. They're about maintaining bloodlines and strengthening ties, they're about duty to something larger rather than happiness.</p><p>But occasionally, very occasionally, two Purebloods might genuinely love each other.</p><p>And should they both come from good breeding, good background, should their families get along, should their parents approve of the other, they truly are lucky enough to both fulfill their duty <em>and </em>get happiness.</p><p>So I've never doubted that they loved each other. Not really, I suppose. Even before watching these memories, I knew that at least when they married, Father loved Mother and Mother loved Father.</p><p>But sometimes, when I grew up, I had to wonder if Mother loved anyone at all anymore.</p><p>There's no wondering that here, not with the way they touch each other and look at each other. Father's hands slide up and down her back, giving her waist and hips squeezes, fixing hairs out of place on the back of her head, gently trailing his fingertips down her sleek arms. He gazes down at the top of her head even when her cheek rests on his shoulder and her eyes are shut. He looks down at her like she's everything, hazel eyes peering at the answer to every question in the universe, his elixir of life.</p><p>And when Father's head is tilted back, eyes shut and mouth humming along with the music, Mother's eyes, as dark as mine are, open to admire him. They trace his features, strong yet warm, with awe, lingering on the bridge of his nose and shadow under his jaw. Her lips tilt into soft smiles, her chest deflated with peaceful sighs, and her hands grip the back of his shirt like it's her lifeline. She brushes the tip of her nose against his neck and tangles her fingers with his curls.</p><p>It strikes me so suddenly how similar she looks in this memory to how I look now.</p><p>If her hair wasn't straight, she'd be a perfect mirror image of me, maybe me in a Halloween costume. A sudden burst of warmth rips through me as I let my cheek rest on my hand, my foot tapping with the song playing, and then my eyes that were previously glued to my father don't seem to lift from my mother.</p><p>There's a Halloween party tomorrow this weekend. I wasn't planning on going—and even if I did, I wouldn't bother dressing up just to have a couple drinks and leave.</p><p>Maybe I can transfigure a dress to look like hers.</p><p>"Corinne," Father whispers when the song changes to something slow and sweet.</p><p>"Mm?" she murmurs almost tiredly, her fingers playing absentmindedly with his curls at the nape of his neck.</p><p>He hesitates softly, and then he says, "This song makes me think of you."</p><p>There's a small pause, and then she picks her head off his shoulder to look at him with a faint smile on her lips. He leans in, and the two press their foreheads together, lips teasingly close but never touching.</p><p>
  <em>When the night has come</em>
  <br/>
  <em>And the land is dark</em>
</p><p>Father's hands glide up and down her sides, his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallows thickly.</p><p>
  <em>And the moon is the only light we'll see</em>
</p><p>"He's no Etta James," Mother says with her eyes fluttering shut and the corners of her lips tilting, "but I like this 'King' of yours."</p><p>
  <em>No I won't be afraid</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Oh, I won't be afraid</em>
</p><p>He exhales a short laugh.</p><p>
  <em>Just as long as you stand, stand by me</em>
</p><p>"I love you," she then whispers without opening her eyes. Her hands wrap tightly around his hair before relaxing, sliding down to massage lightly against the space between his shoulder blades.</p><p>
  <em>So darling, darling</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Stand by me, oh stand by me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Oh stand, stand by me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Stand by me</em>
</p><p>"I love you too."</p><p>
  <em>If the sky that we look upon</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Should tumble and fall</em>
</p><p>"Corinne..." Father hesitates softly.</p><p>
  <em>Or the mountain should crumble to the sea</em>
</p><p>"Hm?" she hums softly.</p><p>
  <em>I won't cry, I won't cry</em>
  <br/>
  <em>No, I won't shed a tear</em>
</p><p>His eyes squeeze shut. He inhaled deeply, chest infesting and posture straightening as if preparing himself for something.</p><p>
  <em>Just as long as you stand, stand by me</em>
</p><p>"Marry me."</p><p>There's a pause, and then Mother quickly pulls away, her hands lingering tentatively on his shoulders while his arms loosen to let her step back. Black eyes rove over his dark face, eyebrows rising before knitting together tightly, lips falling open into a soft gape.</p><p>
  <em>And darling, darling</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Stand, by me</em>
</p><p>"Please say y—"</p><p>"I can't," she exhales, her hands dropping to her side when she steps back and glances frantically between his eyes with tears starting to well in her own. "I... I can't."</p><p>
  <em>Oh, stand by me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Oh, stand now</em>
</p><p>His face drops while I stiffen, my hand digging into the arms of my chair. My face goes cold as all the blood leaves, though my heart is pumping twice as fast as it should.</p><p>She... <em>can't?</em></p><p>
  <em>Stand by me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Stand by me.</em>
</p><p>Father tries for a soft, weak laugh, his hand reaching up to touch her arm, but she takes a small step back. The hurt in his face is practically tangible, and though I can't feel the chair under me, can't feel the temperature of the air, can't feel him when he passes through me, I can feel <em>that</em>. What he feels.</p><p>"What do you mean you can't?" his voice is a ghost.</p><p>Mother glanced away, her lips trembling. A tear drops into her cheek, but she's quick to wipe it away.</p><p>"I've told you before, Ric," her voice shakes slightly, but she straightens her spine, clears her throat, and speaks again in a firmer voice. "I've told you... that's not what I want. It's... It's not for me."</p><p>"What, marriage?" his voice is incredulous, desperate as he takes another step towards her just for her to shake her head and step back, arms wrapped tight around herself. "<em>Marriage</em> isn't for you?"</p><p>"Marriage," she sniffs softly, "kids, the whole <em>life</em>, everything you want for your future, I... I can't do it. I'm sorry."</p><p>"Well, I don't—"</p><p>"<em>Please</em>," she whispers, fisting at her dress, "I've told you why..."</p><p>Father's face twitches slightly. "We don't have to have kids."</p><p>"Al—"</p><p>"We can just get married. Why can't we just get married? We don't have to do anything else. Cor..." he sighs when she looks away, sniffling softly. "Is there... someone else?"</p><p>"No!" she says quickly, head snapping back to look at him, an expression of offense on her face. "Are you accusing me of cheating?"</p><p>"No—"</p><p>"There's <em>nobody</em> else!" she spits indignantly, falling into a sofa and burying her face in her hands. "How could there be anyone better?" her voice is meeker, shoulders shaking slightly.</p><p>
  <em>Darling, darling</em>
</p><p>Father sighs heavily and moves to sit beside her, giving her space though his gaze is trained right into the side of her head. "So then <em>why?</em> I don't mean to rush, we don't have to get married <em>now</em>. I know you want a stable job, I want that to. We can <em>wait—"</em></p><p>
  <em>Stand by me, oh stand by me</em>
</p><p>"No, Alaric, I don't want to get married <em>ever!</em>"</p><p>"But you—being a Pureblood had always mattered to you, don't you want to—?"</p><p>
  <em>Oh stand now, stand by me</em>
</p><p>"I don't want to have kids! And you... you <em>do</em>," she picks her face out of her hands and leans back until she's pressed to the back of the sofa, her hands tangling in her hair while her face twitches with the effort not to sob. "You <em>do</em>. You wouldn't be happy with me... You deserve someone who wants the same things."</p><p>
  <em>Stand by me</em>
</p><p>"I just want <em>you</em>."</p><p>Mother shakes her head. "You'll want more than me in a few years."</p><p>
  <em>Whenever you're in trouble won't you stand by me</em>
</p><p>"You're enough, you'll always <em>be</em> enough," he says insistently, one hand resting on her thigh and the other gently holding her chin to make her look at him, his hazel eyes ready. "We don't have to have them if we get married. It can be just us."</p><p>
  <em>Oh stand by me</em>
</p><p>"You don't understand," she whispers, tears falling down her cheeks faster than my father's fingers can catch them, "if I do marry, and especially <em>you</em>... I <em>will</em> want them eventually. But I can't. You know I can't."</p><p>"But..."</p><p>
  <em>Oh won't you stand now, stand</em>
</p><p>"It would break your heart," her voice breaks on her words, and then she gets up quickly, straightening herself out while my father watches helplessly.</p><p>"I thought, when you told me, I could change your mind."</p><p>
  <em>Stand by me...</em>
</p><p>"I'm sorry... I knew what you needed and what I needed... I shouldn't have lead you on to think that maybe I'd change my mind."</p><p>"Wait," he gasps desperately, jumping to his feet when Mother begins making her way across the Room of Requirement, a fresh wave of tears cascading down her face while she sobs silently into the hand clasped over her mouth. "Don't—Don't go! We'll—Corinne, don't walk away, please."</p><p>Her eyes squeeze shut while she hastens her pace to the door, head shaking. "I'm <em>sorry</em>," a sob escapes her as she grabs onto the door and pulls it open, hesitating as if she might glance over her shoulder, and then disappearing with the wood slamming shut behind her.</p><p>There's a stunned silence that follows.</p><p>I have gotten up from my chair just as Father hasn't budged a single inch from where he stands beside that carved sofa. The expression on his face is completely and utterly lost, dark skin pale with nervous sweat, hazel eyes completely lacking their luster, lips trembling slightly.</p><p>There's a lull in the music where it's between songs, and then an all too jovial tune begins playing.</p><p>
  <em>Yes (Yes)</em>
  <br/>
  <em>She said yes and what a surprise</em>
</p><p>Both our heads snap to the gramophone.</p><p>
  <em>Yes (Yes)</em>
  <br/>
  <em>She said yes and then closed her eyes</em>
</p><p>Father moves quickly towards the music, his strides powerful and rushed, and for a moment I think he might grab the gramophone and smash it right down against the ground, or maybe give it a powerful whack with his arm so it goes crashing to the carpet.</p><p>
  <em>Yes (Yes)</em>
  <br/>
  <em>She said yes and opened her ar—</em>
</p><p>All he does is handle it carefully, fiddling until the music stops and then plucking the record out.</p><p>—</p><p>Sliding the drawer to my nightstand open, my eyes initially settle on the Sleeping Draught I've been using all these months. At least half its contents remain, but...</p><p>I instead pluck the brown bottle with my fingers.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>stand by me by ben e king ^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0071"><h2>71. AN ANGEL IS A DEVIL IN DISGUISE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>halloween party!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>November 2nd, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>You'd think they'd have the decency to leave the common room.</p><p>But they <em>don't</em>, of course, which is why Celeste and Maxon all but fuck each other right there on that arm chair they share in front of all the Slytherin fifth, sixth, and seventh years in this Halloween party Pansy dragged me to.</p><p>I'd have been perfectly happy in my dorm, maybe studying for classes or reading up on textbooks or catching up on some much needed sleep. Maybe I would have come out here anyway to steal a bottle or two of nettle beer, drink a little in my room, maybe grab a joint and let the Alihotsy sink in while <em>I</em> sink into my wonderful, soft silk sheets. No—instead, Pansy just <em>had</em> to make me come to a Halloween party. It's not even <em>on</em> Halloween, considering October ended on Thursday, and yet here I am, watching Celeste unbutton Carlier's stupid pirate <em>blouse </em>while he manhandles her arse.</p><p>In front of <em>everyone</em>.</p><p>Curling my lips in disgust, I turn my head away to where people dance, dressed up in rather minimal clothing.</p><p>Pansy all but shoved me into a costume.</p><p>No, she <em>did</em> shove me into a costume. I was asleep when she—with some inhuman strength I didn't know such a tiny, short girl could possess—hauled me out of bed, yanked my shirt over my head, crammed me into this silk, wine red button down I didn't even know I <em>owned</em>, and gave me a full fucking fright when all of a sudden, horns were growing out of my head.</p><p>"Don't worry, they should go away on their own by tomorrow morning," she said with a cheeky grin.</p><p>I managed to get a hold of my bearings and throw her out of my room—how did she even get in?—before she could yank my sweats down my legs.</p><p>So now I'm dressed in perhaps the most typical costume possible, a devil, sitting by the fireplace waiting for the clock to strike eleven so I can leave and Pansy can't give me shit for not staying long enough. I have Firewhiskey in one hand to take the occasional sip out of, though I might need to grab a whole bottle for myself what with the blatant <em>coitus </em>taking place just mere feet from me.</p><p>Somehow, even over the blaring music and the cheering and chattering of the students, I can pick up their voices.</p><p>"Pansy did well dressing you up, <em>mon ange</em>," Carlier purrs in that light French accent of his, his voice as haughty as ever. It's a wonder I haven't punched him yet.</p><p>My eyes shift to glance at them, though really I'm just drinking Celeste in. <em>Pansy</em>. I should've known she'd pull some shit like this. I shouldn't be at all surprised that if she's forced me to be some modern debauchery of a devil, she'd force Celeste into the getup of a lecherous angel. Her curls are pulled back, exposing the length of her neck, her slender shoulders. She wears a lacy, sheer, white corset, over which she wears white pants, tight on her arse and thighs, though they flare out a little below her knees. His hands are all over her, grabbing at her greedily and pulling her into him.</p><p>There's a halo charmed to stay afloat above her head, bobbing in the air as she sucks down Carlier's neck. Of course, she has wings—incredibly realistic ones, too, with soft feathers. They even flap occasionally.</p><p>Shaking my head, I get up quickly to walk across the common room with my drink in hand, glad to be anywhere but <em>there</em>, when I accidentally knock into a smaller figure.</p><p>"Oh!" Pandora gasps when she nearly falls over, though I'm quick to steady her with my hand on her hip. She glanced up at me, cheeks slightly flushed and green eyes bright, and gives me an apologetic smile. "Sor—"</p><p>"Don't be," I interrupt, forcing a charming smile to flags onto my face as my hand on her hip pulls her a few inches closer, "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."</p><p>—</p><p>Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour later, I'm in my dorm walking towards my door. Pandora left about twenty minutes ago, but I stayed behind to take a break from all the noise and crowd out in the common room.</p><p>As soon as we were done, as soon as she was dressed and gone, I was hit with a wave of nausea. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe it was Pandora, but there was nothing new there. If anything, she's become more enjoyable company in bed, though when she's had a sip or two of Firewhiskey, she's a lot more obvious about her schoolgirl crush. Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe it was that it wasn't <em>her</em>, or maybe it was something else all together, but I needed to get in the shower and clean myself off.</p><p>Despite the intensity of the hot water, her lipstick marks haven't washed off. All that did was leave my skin a little pink. I'll have to ask Pansy how to get rid of the makeup.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>. Pansy. It'll only be so long until she notices my absence and comes breaking down my door, so I choose to keep the wood intact by leaving now.</p><p>Swinging it open, I hear a short shriek that makes me freeze.</p><p>And then I quickly slip out into the hallway and close the door behind me to see Celeste standing right there, her arms up in front of her face slowly lowering. Her dark eyes are wide and riddled with shock, but it slowly melts away as her gaze turns on me.</p><p>My body tenses when I recognize her. Dressed in tight white getup, wings folded behind her back and halo a few inches above her hair, I'm so suddenly thrown back to that night in the Room of Requirements—that night she had to wake me up from my nightmare. I didn't realize I'd woken up, though, and I didn't realize that it wasn't <em>real</em>. I felt—I <em>knew—</em>that she was dead, the work of yet another cruel misdeed from my hands. I remember seeing her and wondering how she could be back, or what form she took upon death. I settled on deity, but still, it's ironic seeing her dressed like this. We haven't interacted much since. I suppose we both left the room with a mutual agreement to be done with it all for the rest of the week.</p><p>She won't bring it up, will she?</p><p>With a soft huff and a roll of her eyes, she lets her arms down and straightens her posture.</p><p>"Trying to give me a concussion, are you?" she snaps, hands moving to adjust her lacy top.</p><p><em>Thank you</em>.</p><p>I lift an eyebrow at her, glancing at my door and then back at her. "Now, how was I supposed to know that you were standing right there? You need something?"</p><p>"<em>No</em>," she scoffs lightly, her eyes distracted as they wander around the hallway. "I was <em>walking</em>."</p><p>"Towards my room."</p><p>"Towards <em>Maxon's</em>, thank you."</p><p>Her halo bobs slightly when Celeste turns her chin up in that haughty, defiant way of hers.</p><p>Both my eyebrows rise at this, and I can't seem to control the way my lips twist into a small scowl. She's not looking at me still, her body language contradictory. She stands straight and proud, but her hands fidget and her eyes can't choose a particular subject to observe. She was going to <em>Carlier's</em> room. Of course. He's probably in there waiting for her to come so that they can...</p><p>I inhale sharply, and in that moment, I decide to stall her for as long as possible.</p><p>"An angel, Celeste?" my voice is soft, icy, mocking, and it prompts her to turn her head back to look up at me. I smirk lightly, seeing her gaze drop down to my lips.</p><p>Her plump lips then twist up into a tight smirk. "A <em>devil</em>, Malfoy? Could you be any less original?"</p><p>"You see the irony here, don't you?"</p><p>"Fuck off," she huffs, crossing her arms tightly over her corset, jaw clenching lightly. "I didn't <em>choose</em> to wear this, you know. Pansy practically manhandled me shoving me into it. She was <em>so</em> close to heading to the Restricted Section to find some illicit spell to have the wings grow right out of my back."</p><p>My lips twitch lightly. "She made actual horns grow out of my head."</p><p>Celeste's eyes widen slightly, and then they drag up to my hair. I reach up at the same time, pushing the damp locks out of the way to better reveal to two dark horns, about two inches in length, protruding right from my scalp. To my surprise, her eyebrows lift my slightly, and then she swallows thickly and glances away with a subtle clearing her throat.</p><p>"So she forced <em>both</em> of us," she mutters, leaning away slightly while her eyes find the door to the sixth year boys' dorm.</p><p>"Mm. Funny she should make one of the devil and the other an angel, isn't it?" I watch her closely, leaning back against my door and loosely crossing my arms.</p><p>"Yeah, I—oh, her <em>bet</em>," Celeste whispers under her breath, eyes widening. "I'm gonna <em>kill</em> h—"</p><p>"Bet?"</p><p>"Never mind."</p><p>"You said—"</p><p>"<em>Those</em> weren't a part of your costume an hour ago, Celeste interrupts me suddenly, and when I scan her face, I find her eyes brimming with something unreadable.</p><p>Dark and stony as ever, there's something else there too, something a touch like irritation. And then I follow her gaze to see it focused on my chest where the buttons of my shirt are undone. Where my skin, still tinged slightly pink, is revealed, as well as the lipstick stains that trail up to my neck. All the hot water and furious scrubbing did nothing more than smudge them slightly. My hand comes up instinctually to where Pandora sucked a hickey over my pulse, and then I lift my gaze back to Celeste to see her already looking into my eyes, plump lips set into a firm line and eyes ablaze.</p><p>"No, they're new additions," I say lightly, my pulse picking up as I smirk. "Like them?"</p><p>"<em>Like</em> them?" she reiterated with an incredulous scoff, jaw tightening as she peers back at my chest from over the length of her nose. Her dark eyes squint at me slightly, as if she can't see properly. "Please. They're so..."</p><p>I quirk an amused brow. "So what, <em>angel?</em>" my voice drops with sarcasm as I use the very nickname Carlier used on her earlier.</p><p>Her nose wrinkles. "Don't call me that."</p><p>Something hardens in my gut, and with my smirk falling and jaw clenching, I ask, "Why? Is it reserved only for your puppy Papillon?"</p><p>"<em>No</em>," Celeste gives me an odd look, her lips pursing and eyebrows twisting together, "I don't like it. I should tell him that—I <em>hate</em> it, actually. It's too sweet, like, cloyingly sweet, and personally, I don't think it suits me."</p><p>My lips twitch, and my muscles relax slightly. She's right. <em>Mon ange</em> doesn't suit her as much as <em>diablesse</em>.</p><p>"What about <em>chérie?</em>" the words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, and Celeste's dark eyes, which had slipped back down to my chest, dart up to mine with a shocked gleam in them. Her plump lips part and shut softly, and she takes a small step back while her arms tighten. "Is that reserved for me?"</p><p>For a moment, the glaringly loud music from out in the common room fades away, and the only noises are the fast-paced thumping of my heart and the way Celeste's breaths grow just a touch heavier. She scans my face somewhat warily, opening her mouth and closing it without saying much at all over and over again, and then she looks back at my chest. Her eyes narrow on a particularly prominent lipstick mark, and her state of perplexity melts away quickly into brazen scorn.</p><p>"They don't <em>look</em> right," she says sharply, a look of distaste on her face while her fingers curl under her chin.</p><p>"Excuse me?" I say.</p><p>"They're just—The way they're placed—"</p><p>"What, you'd have them done differently?"</p><p>"<em>Yes!</em>" she says insistently, and then she stills.</p><p>We both watch each other closely for a few moments, and though the muffled thrum of the music has returned, my pulse only pounds harder. I'm stuck in my position leaning against the door, and I think if I try to move, I'll simply fall over. Her eyes hold me captive in the way they're so big, glowing with intensity, so malicious and perfect while they render me into nothing but a useless statue made of stone.</p><p>The air in the space between us, maybe two or three feet, is thick. I think, if I could move at all, it would take me a century to cross it and reach her, which is far too long for my taste.</p><p>"Yeah?" I manage to murmur.</p><p>Celeste fidgets slightly. "Yes," she exhales again, her fingers tracing the lace texture on her corset.</p><p>"What would you have done differently?" my voice sounds hollow, distant, maybe an echo rather than the actual thing.</p><p>Her eyebrows furrow, and then she opens her mouth to speak. I'm quick to stop her, though.</p><p>"Show me."</p><p>I can't read her immediate reaction. Her lips part, and her eyebrows rise, and her eyes shine with something imperceptible. I think for a moment, pulse rising, she'll scoff at me, ridicule me for suggesting such a thing, or she'll just say "no" and walk away. What I don't expect, however, is when she takes two short steps forward to close the space between us and reaches out with two tentative hands to grip my forearms from over the sleeves of my shirt.</p><p>I flinch slightly, feeling my arm sting where the fabric, despite being silk, chafes against sensitive skin, though she doesn't seem to notice as she eases my arms to uncross. I let them drop to my sides, wondering if she can hear how fast my heart beats as I watch her drink my chest in.</p><p>Her fingers are still loosely touching my forearms. They're not on my skin, but still I can't get over my shock. She can't really be touching me, touching <em>me</em>, willingly. She couldn't be.</p><p>And then she's pulling her wand out, and I quickly straighten up to reach for my own—</p><p>"Relax," there's a teasing hint of amusement in her voice as she keeps her eyes steady on a smudged lipstick stain on my chest. "I just need to start with a blank canvas..."</p><p>Slowly, I lower my hands. I slip them into my pockets and lean back against my door, watching as she gives her wand a short twirl. The lipstick disappears off my skin with a subtle tingling feeling that's fine just as quickly as it comes, and then—and then her hands, after pocketing her wand, are moving to my shirt to unbutton it a little more.</p><p>It takes all my effort not to curse right out loud as I watch her dark fingers undo them with agility, though they take their time. Her knuckles don't brush against my skin even once as she brings herself to the last button, pulling my shirt apart when it's undone. I manage to bring my eyes up to her face, though she still won't look at me. Her eyes are glowing, though, and I swear that's her pulse thumping in her throat so visibly.</p><p><em>There's no way this is happening</em>.</p><p>My shirt hangs open and loose, and her hands drop. I watch her swallow thickly, and I copy her instinctually. And then her fingers are brushing her hair back, though it's tied up and not a single coiling lock is in her face. Could it be a nervous tick? Could she be nervous? I wonder if it's the bad kind of nervous. Or maybe it's the good kind. There is a good kind, right?</p><p>When her fingertips touch my skin, they sear me. I hiss softly, abdomen tightening, and pull away as best as I can with the door already behind me. She shouldn't be touching me like this.</p><p>Her fingers follow me, however, splaying out against my lower abdomen. I close my eyes, focusing not on the sting of the light pressure, but the way her cool skin soothes my irritated stomach. Her touch is tentative for a moment, hardly grazing me while her palms slide up until they reach my chest. And then the pressure increases as I sense her leaning up on her toes, leaning her weight into her hands.</p><p>When her plump lips press against the side of my throat, all the air in my lungs escapes me with a sharp exhale.</p><p>They linger there for a moment, and then they pull away to connect with my collarbone. Her hands are moving again, one sliding down to press against my abdomen, the other sliding up over my shoulder and to the back of my neck so that her fingers can tangle with my hair. She moves carefully, fingers curling around locks and pulling only gently. Her hand slides further up into my hair when she presses a kiss to my chest.</p><p>I open my eyes for a moment to look down at her in a slight haze, catching the dark plum colored stain on my skin, sharp in contrast to my skin, heavier and richer than the pink Pandora left behind before Celeste magicked it away.</p><p>She moves back up from my chest, and I let my eyes close again when her lips are on the hollow of my throat. I'm sure she can feel my pulse on her lips, and—</p><p>And she swipes her tongue ever so slightly against my skin before pressing another kiss right under my jaw.</p><p>I stifle a soft moan, though when her hand abruptly tightens in my hair and pulls my head back, there's nothing that can be done to stop the low groan that escapes my lips. Maybe I'm just imagining it, but I think I hear her respond with her own soft noise. Something between a moan and a whimper, and it makes me nearly collapse right down to the floor.</p><p>The tip of her nose drags gently against my skin, following the line of my jaw until the tip of her tongue teasingly traced the lobe of my ear. My hands dart out all on their own to grab her hips and steady myself. I pull her in closer, and both her hands are now in my hair pulling at it and massaging my scalp without much mercy. She presses a searing kiss right behind my ear, the tips of her feathery wings brushing against the backs of my palms.</p><p>"Celeste," I whisper hoarsely, her hands pulling my head to fall back against the door.</p><p>My hips move forward slightly while her lips meander back down to my neck, slowly sucking on my skin. I let my hands drop down to her arse, gripping it tightly and pulling her closer. She gasps softly when my fingers press into the muscle, nails scraping lightly against my scalp.</p><p>She's greedy. She traverses every reachable inch of me with cold, purposeful hands, tugging on my hair to coerce stifled groan after groan out of my mouth, squeezing my arms and shoulders, dipping her hands into my undone shirt to roam my torso, all while her lips suck and nip at my skin with an intense fervor.</p><p>I find myself being pulled into her mind like a magnet again, and it's not a memory or a feeling that bombards me, but one loud, screaming thought—</p><p><em>Fuck, he smells good</em>.</p><p>And then right as her lips begin peppering down my jawline, nudging upwards slightly until the corner of her mouth brushes against the corner of mine, the door to the boys' hall slams open, allowing the loud music in.</p><p>It makes both of us jump, and Celeste quickly pulls away from me and stumbles backwards until her back hits the wall opposite my door. We both stare at each other, the look in her eyes matching the how stunned I feel. My pulse is racing as I'm frozen solid just staring at her, my skin still tingling where she touched me and my neck slightly sore from her bruises.</p><p>We both turn our heads to look at the door at the same time. I curse softly under my breath when I see Carlier standing there, though, luckily, he's leaning out the doorway talking to someone I can't see. I assume he didn't see anything, glancing back at Celeste to see her already looking at me. As soon as I do so, though, she snaps her gaze away.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>If Carlier's at the door, then he must have been in the common room this entire time. Which means that whatever reason Celeste had to visit his room, it wasn't to fool around with him.</p><p>Wincing softly, I manage to button half my shirt up before Carlier turns around, instantly freezing right there in the doorway when his eyes land on us.</p><p>I give him half a smirk and a shirt wave of my hand, leaning casually against my door.</p><p>"Maxon—"</p><p>"Alright, Celeste?"</p><p>"Yes, fine, I."</p><p>"<em>As tu trouvé l'Alihotsy </em>[Did you find the Alihotsy]?" he asks, eyes dropping down to the key dangling from Celeste's pocket.</p><p>My eyes switch to Celeste when the French slips out of his mouth. She looks nonchalant, resting her weight on one hip and looking at him with slightly lifted eyebrows. Her dark eyes dart to look at me for a moment, quickly flitting away when they see me already watching.</p><p>"<em>Non, je n'est pas eu la chance de regarder encore </em>[No, I haven't had a chance to look yet]."</p><p>I can feel Carlier's gaze on me, and I can feel it intensify when he sees me looking at her.</p><p>"<em>Il te dérange n'est ce pas </em>[He's bothering you, isn't he]?"</p><p>"<em>Il n'est rien </em>[He's nothing]," she snaps lightly, and I have to stifle a dry laugh at this while I continue staring at her with a clenched jaw, "<em>oublie le </em>[forget about him]."</p><p>"<em>Pourquoi est ce que tu lui parle? Tu ne l'aime même pas. Tu le haïe, même si tu ne veut pas me dire pourquoi </em>[Why do you talk to him? You don't even like him. You <em>hate</em> him, even if you won't tell me why]," the boy dressed as a pirate sighs with confusion, fire, and mild irritation as he approaches Celeste, a hand going to the small of her back while he flashes a wary glance at me.</p><p>"<em>Ne t'en fait pas avec ça </em>[Dont worry about it]," Celeste responds tiredly, her eyes flashing away from the both of us.</p><p>Carlier turns fully to look at me. His brown eyes make direct contact with mine, and while he tucks a long, wavy lock of hair behind his ear, he asks her, "<em>Veut tu que je lui dise de te foutre la paix? J'en rêve depuis que je suis arrivé </em>[Do you want me to tell him to fuck off? I've been dying to since day one]..."</p><p><em>I'm glad we feel the same about each other</em>, I mutter internally, cracking him a sarcastic grin while digging my nails into my palms.</p><p>"<em>J'ai besoin que tu fasse rien </em>[I don't need you to do anything]," Celeste sighs softly, her hand coming up to rub his arm while she leans back against the wall. "<em>Trouvons simplement l'Alihotsy et partons </em>[Let's just find the Alihotsy and go]."</p><p>Carlier seems hesitant, brown eyes scanning me, but then a soft smile breaks his face as he murmurs, "<em>Tout ce qui te rendra heureuse, mon bijou </em>[Whatever makes you happy, my jewel]."</p><p>This time, I can't help it when I snort.</p><p>Both pairs of eyes snap to look at me. One is filled with a mild panic that quickly subsides to irritation and fatigue, they other is just annoyed and confused.</p><p>"Something funny, Malfoy?" his voice is cold.</p><p><em>Nothing, just how whipped she has you</em>.</p><p>I shrug. "Your costume is a bit questionable, but not much else."</p><p>He looks like he wants to pummel me, but instead he slips on a cold smile and says, "Are you planning on standing there and eavesdropping on our conversation all night?"</p><p>My lips twitch up into a smirk. "It's common space, Carlier. You can't force me out. Besides," I add slyly, my eyes sliding over to look at Celeste to see her brows slightly furrowed and her eyes watching me cautiously, "it's not like I can understand what you're saying. I'm not sure I'd want to—I can't imagine conversations with you being any less dull in French."</p><p>Celeste's eyes widen, and maybe I'm imagining it, but I see her lips twitch upwards for a fraction of a second. She looks away, squeezing Carlier's arm with one hand and bringing her other hand up while she clears her throat.</p><p>She leans up on her toes from behind him to brush her lips against his ear, and my lips curl in disgust. "Leave it," she whispers softly, dark eyes sliding to lock with mine while she presses a kiss behind his ear, leaving a slight stain from her lipstick.</p><p>I give her a dry smirk, glancing at Carlier to see his eyes on my neck. It only takes me a moment to understand what he's staring at so intensely, so I turn my chin up a bit to give him a better angle to ogle at Celeste's lipstick marks, seeing the very girl roll her eyes at me. Carlier's jaw clenched as he scans all the marks, his tan skin flushing slightly with red, and he reaches behind him to loosely hold Celeste's wrist before turning to speak to her.</p><p>"<em>Tu ne devrais pas lui parler. Tu est mieux que lui, et... je n'aime pas la façon qu'il te regarde </em>[You shouldn't talk to him. You're better than him, and... I don't like the way he looks at you]."</p><p>I nearly straighten up at this—who is he to tell her what to do?</p><p>Celeste groans softly, her forehead dripping into his shoulder. "Let's go, Maxon," she says, squeezing his arm once. His eyes burn holes into mine, but he eventually softens and looks at her with a sickening, cloying fondness in his eyes.</p><p>"<em>C'est bon, tu as raison. Peux importe, Pansy et moi on parlais, et on s'entend les deux pour dire que tu est beaucoup trop stressé récemment, donc ce soir on te fait boire </em>[Fine, you're right. Anyway, Pansy and I were talking, and we both agree you've been too stressed lately, so we're getting some drinks in you tonight]."</p><p>Celeste snorts. "<em>Comme c'est admirable </em>[How considerate]."</p><p>"Here, give me the key, and I'll grab the Alihotsy. You go back to the party," he says with a soft smile, holding his hand out for Celeste to drop the room key into.</p><p>Carlier then gives me one last wary look before turning on his heel to walk to his dorm. Celeste and I watch quietly, a tight smirk on my face, while he unlocks the door and disappears behind it, letting it shut quietly, before turning to look at each other.</p><p>Her eyes first land on the lipstick marks, and her fingers come up to touch her lips—which, surprisingly, are still covered properly with makeup—her chin tilting down slightly. She then clears her throat, dropping her hand and straightening up a little, and turn on her heel to walk towards the door.</p><p>"Wait," I call out when she's moved hardly a step or two.</p><p>Celeste pauses, standing still for a moment, and then she turns her head over her shoulder to look at me inquisitively.</p><p>"It doesn't suit you," I say, scanning her with sharp eyes.</p><p>Celeste's eyes narrow, and she turns to face me fully, hands at her hips. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"The costume. It doesn't suit you."</p><p>She glowers at me harshly, her arms loving to cross tightly over her corset while her jaw shifts. The irritation is clearly written on her face. "Thanks," she says flatly.</p><p>"It doesn't."</p><p>"I got that the first time," Celeste snaps, jaw tilting up and eyes squinting lightly. "What, don't have anything new to add? Maybe you'd like to tell me how it makes me look ten pounds heavier, or—"</p><p>I can't help the laugh that slips out my mouth, my hand instantly darting up to cover it while the rage intensifies in her eyes.</p><p>"I'm glad you find me funny," she spits bitterly, moving to turn again.</p><p>"No, <em>wait</em>, Celeste," I manage not to snicker, taking a step closer to her while she huffs and turns to look at me expectantly. My lips twitch with the effort it takes not to laugh, and then I quickly pull my wand out of pocket.</p><p>Celeste instinctually takes a step back. "What the hell?" she scowls, her hand going to her back pocket where I assume her wand must be. "First you tell me I look bad, and now—"</p><p>"I never said you look b—"</p><p>"—you're gonna <em>Stupefy</em> me or some shit?" she hisses sharply, lowering her voice and glancing at Carlier's door before adding darkly, "don't forget who managed to her you while she was half asleep."</p><p>I roll my shoulder at the memory, wincing as I recall the burning pain. "I haven't forgotten. The scar still hasn't gone, y'know."</p><p>"<em>Good</em>, so put your wand d—"</p><p>"Celeste, if you'd stop talking for once, you'd see that I'm not trying to hex you."</p><p>"<em>Excuse</em> <em>m</em>—?!"</p><p>With a smirk, I give my wand a little flourish, watching as the transfiguration magic unfolds right before my eyes.</p><p>"What are you—What—?" she gasps softly, taking another few steps back with her wand useless at her side, looking down at her body as the lace corset stains black. Her pants transfigured into a leather skirt, short and tight and akin to the clothes she typically wears, just as the feathers on her wings and her charmed halo turn darker than even her eyes. "You—"</p><p>"There," I say simply, pocketing my wand while my lips are unable to keep from breaking into a stupid grin. "Suits you much better."</p><p>And I'm not wrong—it does. Perhaps it's still an angel costume, complete with feathery wings that give a slight flap every once in a while and a glowing halo sitting inches above her head and follows her around, but it's no longer so deceivingly innocent. The black lace of her corset is tantalizing, just like her skirt is. If Celeste were ever an angel, she wouldn't wear white. I was tempted, I have to admit, to turn her halo into horns and maybe her wings into a tail, but I like the irony of it.</p><p>Celeste falters slightly, her dark eyes brimming with shock as she stares up at me while standing in front of the door. Maybe I'm imagining it, maybe the lighting is playing tricks on my eyes, but I swear her cheeks darken just a touch, whether that's even possible. Her hands smooth down her skirt, and she opens her mouth as id to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, she traces her fingers over the lace of her corset and stands there looking shellshocked.</p><p>When I walk towards her at a lithe, casual pace, her eyebrows rise. I stop when we're just inches away, her back directly facing the door. And then when I lean in towards her ear, her breath hitches right in mine, and one of her hands comes up almost instinctively to rest gently on my abdomen from over my shirt. I hesitate for a moment, but then I pick a hand up to curl my fingers behind her ear as if to push hair away, even though it's all tied back.</p><p>"You're welcome," I offer, letting my lips brush against her skin. Celeste shivers, and I become suddenly so aware of how the skin on my neck aches from her bruises.</p><p>And then, before she can gather herself, I swing the door open and slip back out into the common room, deciding to treat myself to a Firewhiskey or two tonight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's ur favorite and least favorite emoji? mine are 😳 and 🤠 respectively</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0072"><h2>72. THE ENTIRE WORLD HAS TURNED GREEN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>just a smoke sesh</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>November 16th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>"We haven't done this in a while," Pansy says softly, her head falling down on the pillow next to mine, her legs stretching out before her.</p><p>"No, we haven't," I yawn back softly, sitting up straighter while I watch as she pops the joint between her lips and inhales deeply, her eyes fluttering shut.</p><p>"You're always so busy," she huffs, exhaling slowly while passing the joint to me. I take it between my fingers, hesitating as I twirl it a few times before bringing it up to my lips. Pansy coughs softly before saying, "You've been coming back to the room really late these days. Studying keeping you up?"</p><p>I open my eyes right as I pull the joint out of my mouth, exhaling slowly. It's been a little while since I've had any Alihotsy—I ended up leaving the Halloween party pretty early—so as I exhale, my throat burns and contracts with each cough I force out.</p><p>"Yeah," I say, leaning over to my nightstand to grab my glass of water. "Alchemy's been kicking my ass. Arithmancy too."</p><p>"So drop 'em."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"The classes. Drop them. I miss you, but you're always off in the library or whatever," she sighs, stretching out. She then turns her head to look up at me, brown eyes bright. "We haven't talked that much lately, have we?"</p><p>"I... The... classes have been keeping me busy," I mutter, rolling the joint between my thumb and forefinger while Pansy's curious eyes burn holes into my head.</p><p>"You don't have to lie," she says softly.</p><p>"Excuse me?" I glance at her.</p><p>"I mean—I'm sure classes <em>are</em> stressing you out, but you don't have to use excuses. Not with me. It's okay if you... if you need space, or—listen, I don't..." Pansy hesitates, pushing herself up into her elbows while her gaze drops. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me everything. I get it, I do, I know—I know things are different, and <em>you're</em> different—"</p><p>"What do you mean?" my voice is oddly hoarse.</p><p>Pansy's eyes widen in a panic. "No! I mean—I don't mean to say that in a bad way. It's... it's expected, right? A lot happened. It's be crazy if you were the exact same."</p><p>I swallow thickly and glance away, forcing a shrug.</p><p>"I just... You don't have to tell me everything, okay? You don't have to tell me where you've been sneaking around, or why you and Draco—" I turn my head to look at her with slight alarm, though she's scowling and looking very solemnly at her stuffed Niffler in deep focus, "—all of a sudden... <em>hate</em> each other again—" Pansy looks up at me and rolls her eyes with a soft sigh. "Don't look at me like that, neither of you are as sly as you think. Even poor, oblivious little Blaise has probably noticed by now."</p><p>I roll my eyes. "Whatever," I mutter lowly, a sinking feeling in my gut.</p><p>"Like I said, you don't have to tell me anything. You don't <em>have</em> to." Pansy bites her lip and glances away, her hand fiddling with the blankets. "But you <em>can</em> if or when you ever want to."</p><p>I don't say anything, staring at the joint in my fingers.</p><p>"I just worry about you," she continues softly, still looking away. "Blaise does too. He—"</p><p>"You two are talking about me?"</p><p>"Can you blame us?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," I sit up straighter, turning to look down at her better while the joint sits in my fingers. "I don't want you guys talking ab—"</p><p>"We'd be talking <em>to</em> you if you'd let us," she says somewhat sourly, giving me a pointed look while snatching the joint out of my fingers. Pansy, still propped up on her elbows, inhales from it shortly, taking a quick breath before letting all the smoke out. She doesn't speak after that, she just takes another longer inhale, coughing slightly while exhaling that out as well. "We don't mean to go behind your back, Cel, I swear, but we're <em>worried</em>. C'mon, you're his cousin, my best friend. We're allowed to be worried. Wouldn't you be if one of us went through all that?"</p><p>I swallow thickly and turn my gaze down to the Prefect badge pinned to her sweater. I would—and they don't even know the full story.</p><p>"Listen, I want to respect your boundaries," she says gently, her left hand moving to stroke my right hand, making me flinch slightly when she brushes her finger against the hidden Nauthiz rune on my knuckle. "I know there's a lot you don't want to talk about, whether it's your... Father, or what happened to you at the Ministry, or... <em>why</em> you were even there, but—but you're pulling away, and it's scaring us."</p><p>"I'm..."</p><p>"You've went through a lot," she says insistently, squeezing my hand so that I look up into her brown eyes to see how intensely they watch me, "so you don't have to act like you're fine. You're not, and that's okay."</p><p>"I can't just <em>say</em> some things—"</p><p>"So don't," she shrugs.</p><p>"—and some things it's not like either of you can fix for me—"</p><p>"Alright," she says patiently—it's almost uncharacteristic how much patience she has with her friends considering how she is in every other aspect of her life. Pansy squeezes my arm to get me to stop talking, and then she says, "Again, Cel. You don't have to tell us <em>what</em> is wrong, not if you don't want to. Just... know you can tell us when you're feeling upset, tell us <em>how</em> you're feeling. We're gonna want to fix it—<em>especially</em> Blaise, you know how he is—but that doesn't matter. If you just need someone to listen, I <em>want</em> to listen. <em>He</em> wants to listen, so, so badly."</p><p>I hesitate softly. "I don't know where I'd even start."</p><p>"Wherever you want."</p><p>"Do I have to talk now? While we're getting <em>high?</em>"</p><p>"You don't <em>have</em> to. And whenever you want."</p><p>My eyes wander away from her again while my mind settles on the locket, on the runes, on my father's ring, on the tea shop conversation, on my mother's conversation with my aunt. The Ministry, the way my locket brought me there, the vision of those racks of glowing blue orbs— <em>prophecies—</em>all the things I saw. How do I even begin talking about that? I can't. Saying it out loud would make it all too real—too real that I think my mother told me I'm dying, and really that just means my father's sacrifice was for nothing. I, in a way, killed him just to die all on my own, and now I have to murderer a man while it happens.</p><p>Or maybe I'm <em>not</em> dying, though how would I know when my mother speaks in riddles? How, by her telling the truth, do I realize she's hiding so much more from me?</p><p>And then of course there's everything that happened this summer, everything to do with Draco and his family. His father that lead the attack that killed my father, killed me. Those three days I spent dead, during which at some point I had one last conversation with my father. Getting this stupid, stupid Mark, and this even worse task, having my mind intruded nightly and controlled without my permission.</p><p>It was all months ago, but until recently, it plagued my dreams too. Whatever is in that brown bottle, it's working. I'm still wary of it, though. I don't take more than two drops in my glass of water. It's inconsistent—sometimes it'll knock me out instantly, sometimes it takes more than an hour. Whenever it kicks in, though, it's sudden, and Pansy has told me there's no waking me until I wake by myself.</p><p>Of course, there's also—</p><p>"The memories," I blurt, stiffening slightly as Pansy's gaze turns inquisitive. "I... I mean..." I sigh softly, letting my eyes close while I deflate slightly. "When he died, my father..." <em>Told me to look at his memories while we sat in a bleached version of our favorite bakery in France?</em> "...left me a box of his memories to sift through."</p><p>"That's sweet," Pansy murmurs.</p><p>"Yeah, it—" I exhale sharply, throwing my head back against the headboard while Pansy drops her back onto the mattress, shifting to rest her head on my thigh. "It's sweet. I guess. I mean—I—sorry, I just—"</p><p>"Hey," she stops me, reaching a hand up lazily to brush her fingers against my jaw, "it's <em>okay</em>. It's just me, my love. You don't have to talk <em>now</em>. Want?" She holds the joint up with her other hand.</p><p>I shake my head, grabbing her hand under my face to hold with my own, resting out joined hands on her chest. "No, it's—I'm good, thanks," I say, watching her thumb lightly stroke my knuckles while trying not to make my legs too tense under her head. "I was trying to say... it is. It is sweet, that he left me those memories. I'm glad he did, because... I mean, it feels like there's still part of him left. And when I miss him..." I almost laugh at this point. <em>When</em> I miss him, as if that isn't always. "I can watch them, see what he was like when he was younger, or the memories he found important enough to bottle. But..."</p><p>I trail off, wincing slightly as discomfort furls out from my gut. My palm feels a little clammy, but when I move to slyly pull it away from hers, she just gives my fingers a tighter squeeze. Her eyes are too piercing on my face, so I choose to look away and at the glass wall to watch creatures swim by in the Black Lake.</p><p>"Sometimes... sometimes when I—when I look at a memory, I just end up—well, afterwards I—" I cut myself off with a dry laugh, wrenching my hand out of Pansy's grip to brush my hair out of my face, my left leg starting to bounce slightly. "Sorry," I choke out with a sardonic grin, watching a fish swim past, "just trying not to..."</p><p>"You're allowed to cry."</p><p>"Yeah, I don't want to."</p><p>"Maybe it'll be good for yourself if you do."</p><p>"Please, Pansy."</p><p>"Okay," she says quickly, lifting her head up a little, "I didn't mean to pressure you."</p><p>"It's fine. You didn't," I say lowly, bringing my hand back down near her arm, grateful when she takes it back without a moment of hesitation. "I, um, saw a memory the other day. My parents were seventh years, and they were just... absolutely in <em>love</em>."</p><p>I glance down at Pansy, seeing a wistful smile on her face. "That must have been nice to see," she says softly.</p><p>"It was... I was a little shocked by how different my mother was. It was a good memory at first, and then... my father proposed to her."</p><p>Pansy's brows furrow. "Why do you say it like that?"</p><p>"She said no."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I mean, obviously, he must have asked again, or she changed her mind later, since they are—were clearly married," I choke slightly on my slip-up, closing my eyes and squeezing Pansy's hand tightly. "But I—that wasn't even it, you know? Her saying 'no,' it wasn't the... She didn't <em>want </em>me," I finally exhale, throwing my head back and letting my eyes close when they start to sting.</p><p>I feel Pansy pick her head off my lap. "What?"</p><p>"She didn't <em>want</em> me," I repeat myself in a harsher tone, though my voice cracks about halfway through while my back slouches slightly.</p><p>"Okay," Pansy mumbles under her breath, and I just hear rustling as she moves to get up. And then her arms are around me, coaxing me to lean into her, my head on her shoulder. I pull away, my gut tightening, but she's got incredible strength for someone so small.</p><p>"She said she didn't want kids, <em>doesn't </em>want them, I'm guessing from the way she acts," I spit, the heels of my palms pushing up against my eyes when they threaten to spill over with tears despite being closed. It does nothing to help with how my throat burns, how the stupid locket around my neck suddenly feels so much happier, and I swallow back a dry sob that wants to wrack through my body. "I just—Why did I have to get stuck with the parent that <em>doesn't </em>want me?"</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"Never mind."</p><p>"No—"</p><p>"Are the boys coming?" I huff, snatching the joint from her fingers and twirling it in mine.</p><p>"Cel, don't just change the subj—"</p><p>"Shouldn't they be here already?" I snap, turning my head to give her a murderous glare.</p><p>Pansy stares back at me with just as much tenacity, but then she just sighs and looks away while I bring the joint up, pretending my eyes are pricking from the smoke. "Draco's out with Pandora on, like, a date or something, and Blaise is at Quidditch practice.That might be a euphemism for sucking Warrington's dick, but I think they'll both be here in like a min—you good?"</p><p>Choking violently on both my spit and the Alihotsy smoke burning my throat, I nod, coughing hard into my elbow while my eyes tear up from the pain.</p><p>"Did you—?" I cough some more, pulling out of her grasp to lean away, chest heaving. "Did—Did you just say—?" I inhale deeply and shakily, and then I'm hit with another round of violent coughs.</p><p>"I think I rolled a little too much into this one..." I hear Pansy mutter before she leans forward to pat my back gently.</p><p>"You think?!"</p><p>"Oh, drink your water."</p><p>Clamping my mouth shut to stifle my coughs, I grab my water and and quickly chug half of it down while Pansy rubs my back absentmindedly. When I'm done, I slam it down, wipe my mouth with the back of my palm, and then to pin Pansy with an incredulous gaze.</p><p>"Did you just say that he's on a <em>date?!</em>"</p><p>Pansy shrug, though the corner of her lips twitches like she wants to smirk. "Yeah, I mean, usually if they wanna fuck, they'd stay in the castle, right? But they went to Hogsmeade, so they're probably on a date."</p><p>"To <em>Hogsmeade?!</em>"</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"<em>Together?!</em>" I interrupt, gasping so suddenly I choke on my spit again, though I ignore that as I reach out to clutch both her shoulders with my eyes wide.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>, Celes—"</p><p>"Did you—Did you see them? Did they tell you? How do you know?"</p><p>Pansy doesn't respond. She sits there and stares at me, an odd gleam in her narrow eyes.</p><p>I squint at her. "What?"</p><p>She says nothing still, tilting her head up while that hint of a smirk spreads across her face slyly, brown eyes now scanning me up and down like she knows something I don't.</p><p>"<em>What?</em>"</p><p>"You'll want to get that jealousy under control before the boys get here," she says in a smooth voice, glancing away and pretending to check her nails.</p><p>"Excuse me, <em>what?!</em>"</p><p>—</p><p>I roll over onto my side, eyes peeling open. What they see, though, makes me jerk and yelp suddenly.</p><p>Draco doesn't turn his attention away from the book he holds up above his head, but he smirks slightly while reading a page. He doesn't say anything, looking infuriatingly good with the way his hair is a little ruffled and falls back from his forehead. The tip of his nose and his cheekbones are a little pink, as if he just got back in from outside and hasn't had time to defrost just yet. In fact, as I scan him, my heart pounding a million miles a second, I see he's in his coat and green scarf, laying near the end of the bed with his knees at the edge of it, feet planted firmly on the floor.</p><p>"What the <em>fuck</em> are you doing on my bed?" I whisper in a horror, one hand rising up to lightly cover my mouth, the other clutching my heart.</p><p>"<em>Pansy's</em> bed," he corrects lazily.</p><p>"Well—it's <em>mine</em> too," I huff, turning back onto my back to stare up in a still mildly bewildered daze at the way light reflects off the Black Lake and forms a warped show on the ceiling.</p><p>"No, just hers. Technically, as a Prefect, she shouldn't be condoning this, as you shouldn't be sleeping anywhere other than in your own bed, and as a Prefect, I should be reporting both of you. However, I couldn't care less," he says lithely, and then I turn my head just in time to catch a wisp of smoke escaping his lips.</p><p>He tilts his head in my direction so it blows away from the book, all while without turning his eyes away from it. I frown slightly, my eyes sliding up to the book, and I gasp again when I see what it is.</p><p>"Give that back!" I snap, lunging forward to snatch the poetry book out of his hands, surprised by how easily he gives way. "<em>Merlin</em>. How long was I asleep for?" I ask sharply, sitting up while cradling the book protectively to my chest, glancing forward to see Blaise and Pansy sharing a joint near her desk.</p><p>"You were <em>falling</em> asleep when I got here, so, like, fifteen minutes?"</p><p>So that's why I didn't have nightmares.</p><p>"Who said you could touch my book?" I snap again, turning my head over my shoulder to see him still laid back casually, his one foot now propped up at the edge of the bed while the other remains planted on the floor.</p><p>Draco shrugs, lips still slightly amused. "It was sitting there on your nightstand."</p><p>"You're a <em>dick</em>."</p><p>He just closes his eyes, bringing the joint in his fingers up to his lips to take a deep inhale. "Want some?" he asks before exhaling softly.</p><p>"Shut up," I mutter under my breath, turning my attention back to the book. My fingers are wedged between the page where he was reading from moments ago, though I have the leather-bound book closed where I can see the title and M.B.A.'s initials.</p><p>The book had been my in father's possession for not very long. He got it in the United States a few years back while looking for collectible antiques, a hobby he liked to indulge in. The book itself, despite its binding and yellowed pages, isn't very old, so <em>why</em> it was with antiques, he doesn't know, but he's glad he's found it. I never read it before he...</p><p>Died.</p><p>It wasn't like he didn't offer to let me. He did, many times. He insisted, in fact, told me he wanted his favorite girl to read his favorite poetry, but poetry never interested me. I had always and still continue to prefer novels, stories I can lose myself into just for a while. Poems are too fleeting for me, but this book is now one of the last things I have of his. He owned many books, but this, despite being written by another, was wholly <em>his</em>.</p><p>I crack the book open to the page Draco was on, recognizing the poem instantly. It's one I've flipped back to many times. My vision slightly blurred, I squint and hold it up closer to my face to read.</p><p>it was as if</p><p>i was trying to grasp sand</p><p>feeling it slip through the cracks</p><p>closing my fist</p><p>tighter and tighter</p><p>grasping at something that just wasn't there</p><p><em>m.b.a</em>.</p><p>"Hey."</p><p>I turn my head back to look at him Draco, his hand resting on his chest, joint dangerously close to singing a button on his coat. His other hand rests on the mattress above his head, and he looks at me lazily.</p><p>Draco then glances away from me, lifting the joint to his lips. "Sorry. Should've asked."</p><p>My eyes narrow at him. "No shit."</p><p>He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't say anything. There's a light dusting of pink across his high cheekbones, probably from the Alihotsy. I glance away, but when his eyes flutter shut, I steal the moment to drag my eyes up and down his features without worrying I'll be caught. His scarf is snug against his sharp chin, soft fabric in comparison to hard angles. And his lips—they're soft, pink, thin at the corners and shaped with a careful angel's bow. I notice, with a startle, that they look plumper than usually. A little swollen, I think, as if he's kissed someone too hard.</p><p>"How was your date?" the words escape my lips before I even realize I'm thinking them, and I can't help but notice the bitter tinge they carry.</p><p>Silver eyes flash open, sharp as daggers as they lock with mine. His features flicker, but then they settle into a neutral expression. His lips neither turn up into a grin, twist with the lilt of a smirk, contort with a scowl, nor drop into a frown. His eyes, shielded with an icy barrier, don't give way to the going-ons behind them. His brows don't even twitch. There's a faint green light cast on him from the glow from the lake, giving him an unearthly appearance.</p><p>"My date," he repeats like a statement, voice dragged out slightly.</p><p>I squint at him slightly. "Yes, Malfoy, you went on a date with Pandora to Hogsmeade, didn't you?"</p><p>His lips twitch this time, but they still don't reveal anything. He watches me for several heavy seconds, the only noise in the air the quiet music on Pansy's Wireless and the murmuring from her and Blaise across the room. He the inhales softly, opening his mouth to say—</p><p>"You could call it that, I suppose."</p><p>I suck my lower lip in between my teeth, my eyes flashing slightly as I tilt my head at him. "So?"</p><p>Draco lifts a perfect eyebrow, igniting a fiery flame or irritation in my gut. "So what, Celeste?" there's a mild mocking air to his voice, but his face is unflinching as he stares me down.</p><p>My jaw clenched tightly. "<em>So</em>, how was it?"</p><p>His lips twitch again. "How was what?"</p><p>"<em>Malfoy</em>."</p><p>"<em>Celeste</em>."</p><p>"Never mind," I mutter darkly, snapping my head away from him.</p><p>Closing the poetry book, I move to get up and walk away, but I'm yanked back with a sharp gasp forcing its way out my lungs by a strong hand wrapped around my wrist. I nearly fall over, but Draco, now sitting up, catches me with his other hand grabbing my hip.</p><p>"What is <em>wrong</em> with you?" I snap, shoving his hand off my hip and attempting to wrench my wrist out of his grip, though he doesn't let go, while darting a look at Blaise and Pansy. The first is wholly consumed with relighting his joint, the other is hanging upside down off her chair mumbling along with the song playing. <em>Of all the times to be oblivious, Blaise</em>...</p><p>"It was alright," he says casually, a sly smirk on his lips, though his eyes just watch me stoically as his hand pulls mine closer to his chest, forcing me to lean down.</p><p>I clench my jaw, trying my hardest to ignore the smell of green apples and cologne that swarms my senses. "What was alright?" I ask stonily, tilting my chin up at him.</p><p>"Trying to take a page out of my book?" he asks in a low voice, eyebrows rising while his hand continues to pull my wrist down until my hand is pressed against the mattress right next to him, and I have no choice but to grab his shoulder to keep from falling right on top of me, my book still clutched in my hand.</p><p>"Let me <em>go</em>," I speak in sharp staccatos, hoping my words will land in his ears like pinpricks.</p><p>He does so promptly, and I straighten up in a rush while my entire face and neck heat up with roaring blood. Grateful that it can't show past the barrier of my skin, I rub my wrist—though it doesn't do much than tingle where his rings were pressed to it—and shoot him a spiteful glare. He returns it with a casual smile, one so lazy and effortless and <em>Circe</em> do I want to slap it right off of his stupidly perfect fa—</p><p>"I hardly doubt it was <em>alright</em>," I scoff, shoving my curls behind my ears while I wonder how much audacity and arrogance a boy must have to dampen my high so quickly. "I can't imagine <em>any</em> date with <em>you</em> being any better than... <em>abysmal</em>."</p><p>"Spent quite a bit of time imagining how a date with me would be, have you?"</p><p>My breath hitches. Quickly, my eyes dart up to our two friends and back down to silver daggers when they're the only pair of eyes on me.</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous," I say simply, rolling my eyes while walking around my bed to open the drawer in my nightstand and place the book of poems inside of it. "If there's anything I daydream about, it's not... <em>you</em>."</p><p>"No, of course not."</p><p>"Exactly."</p><p>There's a brief silence during which someone turns the music up louder. And then there's Pansy's telltale shriek of a laugh, prompting me to look up and across the room to where she and Blaise dance clumsily to a fast paced song, stepping on each other's feet and nearly falling over every few seconds. She's spinning him, struggling to get her hand high enough above his head, and he nearly brings her crashing down to the floor with him.</p><p>"So, uh—what exactly makes you think a date with me would be so bad?" Draco's voice, though soft, is mildly humorous.</p><p>"You're really asking me?" I scoff incredulously without looking at him, turning instead to paw through my nightstand as if I'm looking for something. Really, it's to distract myself from the gnawing feeling in my gut.</p><p>"Mm."</p><p>"Fine," I spit, closing the drawer and turning to face him fully. I hesitate for a moment when I see him. He's on his back again, hand resting in his forehead, joint dangling precariously from his fingers. His eyes are closed, and he looks oddly serene. "Well, besides the obvious—you know, the blatant dehumanization, lack of regard for bodily autonomy, and the tendency to get girls tortured—" I say dryly, seeing his eyes peel open to glance at me while I shift my weight onto the side of the bed, "there's also you're superb assholery, general dickishness, and the fact that you probably pull chairs out right before girls sit so that they fall onto their asses rather than to be a gentleman."</p><p>His lips twitch. "Interesting."</p><p>My jaw clenches so tight, it's a wonder my teeth aren't being ground down into numbs. "What is?"</p><p>"You don't think I can be a gentleman."</p><p>"I <em>know</em> you can't."</p><p>"Just because I haven't been one to you, doesn't mean I can't be one at all," he sounds amused still while kaleidoscopic eyes slip back shut.</p><p>It takes all my effort not to pounce on him with the surge of adrenaline in my veins. What I would do once on top of him—hit him or kiss him—I don't know, and it's part of the reason why I decide not to.</p><p>"So you have no problem being a gentleman to Pandora, then," I say stonily, averting my eyes to take interest in one of Pansy's stuffed toys sitting on the bed.</p><p>There's a brief stretch of silence from him, and then he chuckles. It's a low, rumbly chuckle, and I think that if I bothered looking at him, I'd see his chest shaking from it. I don't, though, because the way it sounds is turning my ears all hot and burning.</p><p>"Well, she does prefer things a little more <em>gentle</em>, yes."</p><p>"You fucked her on your first date with her?!"</p><p>"I..." His voice is weak, like he's having a terrible time swallowing down laughter, "...I didn't say <em>any</em> of that."</p><p>"Whatever..."</p><p>"And who said that was my first date with her?"</p><p>"I—" I cut myself off when the words register in my head, and then I'm watching him incredulously. "You've been on a date before with her? <em>Multiple</em>, even?"</p><p>He doesn't say anything, doesn't move except to pop the joint between his lips and leave it there.</p><p>"I pity her," I spit, getting up off the bed, "to be forced to spend so much time with you."</p><p>"Believe me, there's no forcing nor coercing involved."</p><p>"You disgust me."</p><p>"I spend an awful lot of time in your mind for someone that disgusts you," he says lowly, voice muffled as his lips keep the joint in place.</p><p>I blink as he sits up smoothly, stretching his shoulders out before standing up and turning to face me. His eyes, like blizzards, freeze me to my spot when they find mine, and they stay there while he loosens his scarf, unbuttons his coat, slips the sleeves off his arms, drapes it neatly over his arm, and then tosses it down into the bed with the green scarf. His fingers then pluck the joint back out of his mouth, and he smirks slightly before exhaling.</p><p>"What makes you think you spend any time at all in my mind?" I ask coolly, leaning back against my nightstand as he begins strolling around my bed to approach me.</p><p>"You can't seem to get the thought of me on a date out of it," Draco responds effortlessly, fingers sweeping blond hair back while he stops a few feet away from me, glancing aside at the lake.</p><p>I smile dryly. "You're right—I'm just having difficulty imagining why Pandora would agree to <em>that</em> with <em>you</em>. What did the two of you do at Hogsmeade, anyway?"</p><p>His lips twitch upwards. "Oh, we mostly stayed put at AlohoMocha."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows. "Seriously? You take her to Hogsmeade just to sit at a coffeeshop? You don't even bring her to Honeydukes, maybe grab a drink at The Three Broomsticks? My case stands—you're a horrible date."</p><p>Draco takes a few steps forward until there's two feet of space between us. He twirls his joint in his fingers a few times, and then he brings it up to my lips filtering facing me, beckoning for me to take it. I lift my hand up to grab it, frowning suspiciously at him, but he nudges it away and gently presses the joint to my lips.</p><p>It's when I hesitantly wrap my lips around it, his fingers still holding it, that he says, "Yes, well, it's hard to tutor someone in Arithmancy when you're walking in and out of sweet shops, isn't it? I reckon she and the others would have been too distracted by the sugar quills for focus."</p><p>Mid-inhale, I freeze.</p><p>There's nothing I can do but stare up into his glimmering, sharp eyes that gaze right down at me with unmissable amusement. Nothing I can do but feel a horrible, all-consuming beat devour my body, licking my ears with its red-hot embrace and making my cheeks burn so hard, I think maybe I <em>can</em> blush. Nothing I can do but stand there with his joint in my mouth, cheeks still slightly hollowed.</p><p>He then plucks the joint away, bringing it straight up to his mouth without looking at me. He takes a nice, long drag, exhaling crisply and squinting through the smoke at me.</p><p>"I think you can exhale now," he says in a light, humorous voice.</p><p>As if my lungs were simply waiting for his permission, I push the smoke out of my lungs, still too shocked and flustered to humor the itching urge to cough the rest of it out.</p><p>"Arithmancy," I finally utter after moments pass, my voice croaky for several reasons.</p><p>"That's right," Draco rasps, hardly bothering to hide his massive smirk. "I've missed too many assignments," his voice drops, and his amusement flickers as we both silently acknowledge <em>why</em> he has. "Not since we started sharing the workload, but I was supposed to have detention for <em>weeks</em>. I got out of it by saying I'd tutor instead, so I teach Pandora and a few others Arithmancy every now and then."</p><p>"Oh," my face burns hotter still, and I divert my gaze as his grows increasingly intense.</p><p>"Mhm. So, I <em>guess</em> you could call it a date. A scheduled study date with Pandora and, oh, three others."</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>," a horrified whisper escapes my lips, and I look aside to where Pansy chatters to Blaise. "Oh, I'm gonna <em>kill</em> that little—"</p><p>"What's that?" he interrupts my muttering, but I shake my head and brush past him, deciding Id rather not stay in front of him to live through his torment for any longer.</p><p>Blaise and Pansy both look up when they notice me walking across the room and towards them. I can still feel Draco's inscrutable gaze following me, but I ignore it entirely—just as I should have ignored the ludicrous notion that Draco would ever go on a date, and with none other than a brainless knob like <em>Pandora</em>—while coming up to where Pansy sits on her desk chair and Blaise on top of her desk.</p><p>"Hey," I say, slipping between the two to sit next to Blaise on the desk. I sneak a covert glance to Draco, seeing him lazily stalk across the room.</p><p>"Cel," Blaise exhales, a soft wisp of smoke leaving his mouth. He wraps an arm around my shoulder, the limb heavy and useless on them, though the weight is a comforting presence as he uses it to pull me into his side. "Want?" he holds a joint up with his other hand.</p><p>"No, I—" I falter when my eyes catch on Draco sitting on the floor against the edge of the bed right next to the three of us, engaging in a playful kicking match with Pansy who swings her feet at him with a soft shriek. "I, uh, I've had enough for today. Any more, and I'll be like a third year after one inhale."</p><p>Blaise snorts. "More for me," his voice is slightly hoarse.</p><p>"How was practice?"</p><p>Draco's gaze lifts to glance at us.</p><p>"Good," Blaise says with a slight nod.</p><p>A teasing smirk finds my face. "Was it <em>actually</em> practice? I mean, were you working on your Keeper game, or on your <em>head </em>g—?"</p><p>"Celeste!" he sounds highly scandalized, unwrapping his arm from my shoulders to give me a rough shoulder on my arm, sending me into a fit of rather ugly giggles while I steady myself, hearing Pansy's stifled screeched and even Draco's amused exhale in the background along with the music. "Honestly..."</p><p>"What?" I laugh softly, giving him a light shove back before resting my elbow up on his shoulder. "You haven't answered me, you know."</p><p>"It was <em>actual</em> practice," he huffs with a roll of his eyes, but I don't miss the way his lips threaten to smile. "We have a game in a week, you know."</p><p>"Yeah, yeah."</p><p>"You'll be there? All of you?"</p><p>"Obviously, dumbass," Pansy scoffs, shifting aim to kick Blaise's ankle rather than Draco's legs. "There's nothing I'd rather do than watch you fail miser—"</p><p>"Hey!"</p><p>"<em>Kidding</em>," she sings, giving me a wide-eyed look before the corners of her eyes crinkle with a grin. "I <em>am</em> kidding. You're gonna be amazing, B."</p><p>"You coming, Draco?"</p><p>"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Draco responds, his gaze dropping away while he ruffles his hair with an aggressive hand. His eyes dart up to find me looking, and I can't glance away quick enough to miss the haughty smirk that slips onto his perfectly pink lips.</p><p>"Cel?"</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous, Blaise," I roll my eyes, leaning back against the wall against which the desk is placed, letting one foot prop up on the edge of the desk. "It's not like I have much better to do."</p><p>"Gee, thanks," he says dryly, but then he grabs my hand to give it a short squeeze. "I love having such a nice, considerate cousin."</p><p>"Same here, little cuz."</p><p>"Oh, fucking..."</p><p>I smile softly, and there's a comfortable lull in the conversation. Mostly. It's just music, slightly fuzzy as the Wireless doesn't always work so great down in the dungeons, the creak of Pansy turning in a half-circle in her chair, the scrape of Draco's shoe on the ground as he extends his legs in front of him, the soft inhaled and exhales of Blaise beside me. It's comfortable—the four of us sitting here, knowing we'll find ourselves sitting here like this again, even if it's months in between, even if two of us hate each other in the moment, even if there are so many unspoken questions. It's comfortable, mostly.</p><p>I don't like thinking about it, and I don't like the quiet, so I ask the first thing I can think of asking about.</p><p>"How's Maxon?"</p><p>Three pairs of eyes turn to look at me, and one is oddly intense.</p><p>"What about him?" Blaise sounds mildly confused.</p><p>"I mean—at Seeking. I haven't been able to watch any of the practices so far, so I have no idea if he's any good," I shrug slightly, glancing at Pansy who's now busy lifting something up to a lock of her hair that she grips in a tight fist.</p><p>Draco is quick to bolt up to his feet and snatch the scissors away, much to the dismay of the now pouting girl. He gives her a tired sigh, ruffles her hair, and then glanced up subtly at Blaise and I. His eyes freeze on mine, and there isn't even a hint of amusement in them now as they all but glare at me. He grips the blades of the scissors tightly, and then he steps towards us.</p><p>Blaise and I lean apart to let him reach his arm through and out the scissors away. His face comes close to mine, and though I keep my eyes focused on his, I can feel his eyes on the side of my face just like I can feel his soft breath brush against my cheek.</p><p>Just as quickly, he's gone and back to his position against the bed.</p><p>"Oh, he's good, he's really good. I mean, no offense, Draco, you're a great Seeker, but Maxon's definitely good. The other day, he..."</p><p>Blaise's words reach my ears, but they begin evaporating before my mind can really hear them. It's hard, honestly, to sense anything else in the room when those silver eyes hold all my attention captive.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: ignoring racism and sexism and stuff, which era from the beginning of time would you most like to visit?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0073"><h2>73. BLEEDING, BRUISED, AND CONFUSED</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>slytherin v gryffindor quidditch match!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WC: 12,658</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>November 23rd, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>"Oh, we're <em>so</em> gonna win."</p><p>"That's only if Carlier can get off his incompetent arse and find that bloody Snitch," I mutter under my breath in response to Pansy.</p><p>We sit in the stands, blending in the sea of green. Pansy almost painted half my face the color, but I threatened to break her wrist if she came within a foot of me with that paint. Surprisingly, she actually listened to the threat this time. I'm to her left, and to her right sits her girlfriend Verona. In front of us is Pandora, who turns around frequently to lean in a whisper excitedly to Verona, her cheeks bright pink from the cold.</p><p>"Oh, he'll do it," Pansy says dismissively, her legs bouncing up in down in both excitement and desire to warm herself up. Her right arm is immobile, being hugged tightly to Verona's chest, who shivers lightly and has her scarf practically wrapped around her face. "He'll catch it in no time, you'll see."</p><p>I glower lightly, choosing not to respond for the sake of not wanting to bite my best friend's head clean off her neck. Instead, I glance away just in time to see Celeste navigating the crowded stands, a slight frown on her face as she attempts not to stumble over any clumsily placed feet.</p><p>I turn my head back to Pansy. "Move down."</p><p>"Can't," she says, grabbing my left wrist to squint at my watch. "Shouldn't they have started already?"</p><p>"Move <em>down</em>."</p><p>"There's no space, idiot."</p><p>"Make some."</p><p>"I can't just <em>make </em>sp—<em>DRACO!</em>" she gasps, scandalized, when I get tired of listening her speak and use all my body weight to push her, and therefore Verona as well, as far down the bench as I can, opening up a spot right to my left just big enough for—</p><p>"Hey," Celeste says, and we both turn our heads to see her right behind me.</p><p>"Oh," Pansy echoes my ear, giving my arm a tight squeeze as the teasing edge in her voice gets swept away by the November breeze. "Hey, Cel."</p><p>"Am I too late?"</p><p>"Mm, no, but the match should be starting any minute now, so sit down."</p><p>Celeste hesitates softly, her hand pushing theres curls out of her face while she scans the stands. There are only two free spots in the vicinity. One is directly to my left, which she notes with a slight curl of her lips, and the other is in front of me next to Pandora. She glances between the spots for a moment, her eyes darkening when she sees Pandora, but before she can make a decision, the seventh year Elvina takes the spot on the bench in front of me, holding a large bucket of popcorn she holds out for Pandora to grab from.</p><p>Celeste doesn't react, sitting down beside me promptly. It's a bit of a tight squeeze, Pansy's knees digging into my thigh from my right, Celeste's hip flush with mine.</p><p>"What's taking them so long to start," Celeste asks, and it takes me a moment to realize her murmured words are for <em>me</em>.</p><p>"Couldn't tell you," I shrug, shifting my arm back so it fits behind hers more comfortably, though she makes an irritated noise and pushes her own arm behind mine again. I shoot her an annoyed look, but she's busy squinting out to the field.</p><p>"Honestly," Celeste huffs irritably, leaning forward a little while the long lashes on her upper lid threaten to tangle with those on her lower, "I don't see how they expect us to see anything from all the way up here."</p><p>"The action happens in the sky, you know, not down on the pitch," I say with a small smirk, my eyes darting to scan her face, the way her tongue pokes below her lips in concentration.</p><p>"Yes, I'm aware," she snaps lightly, squinting harder still. "I'm not an absolute idiot, you know. It's hard to see the sky too, I mean even the bloody <em>clouds</em> are blurry."</p><p>I glance out at the sky. It's good weather for Quidditch— no rain or storm clouds within the visible radius, just enough clouds so that the sun doesn't get in the players eyes, which is especially difficult while looking for a tiny Snitch, and though it's cold, the adrenaline will likely distract from that.</p><p>"Ever thought that maybe your eyesight is just rubbish?"</p><p>"That's ridiculous. I have perfect eyes," her teeth chatter lightly as she rubs her hands together between her thighs.</p><p>I open my mouth, and then I pause when I realize I'm about to concur. Shaking my head lightly, I say, "Sky looks perfectly fine to me. You may need to invest in some glasses, darling."</p><p>Celeste's face pinches slightly. "Glasses? No thank you. I can't have anything ruining this face."</p><p>My lips twitch lightly at this, and I glance away back out at the empty pitch. Upon doing so, my eyes catch on the stands directly across us, where the staff reside. Somehow, my eyes latch onto a pair of silvery-blue that are already looking at me, glittering ominously as if they can see straight through to my mind. They're paired with a small, subtle smile, almost as if it's permanently etched onto his face. He doesn't break the eye contact, so I do it first, a horrible pit building itself in my gut. The mark on my inner left forearm itches, so I tug the sleeves of my coat down past my wrists.</p><p>"You could pull glasses off. Perhaps those oval frames?"</p><p>"Please, and risk looking like Trelawney? You <em>want</em> me to be ugly, don't you..." she mutters under her breath, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. "Merlin... I should've worn a thicker coat."</p><p>"It's not that cold."</p><p>"Do you <em>have</em> to disagree with everything I say today?"</p><p>My lips twitch again, ears feeling slightly warm. "My apologies."</p><p>She mutters something in a bitter tone of voice, but the breeze picks it up and sweeps it away before I can catch it. She then sighs softly, shivering lightly while leaning forward to catch sight of the two teams, one in red and one in green, starting their way across the pitch to meet in the middle. A hush comes over the stands followed by a fresh thrum of excited chatter, and we all almost simultaneously lean forward to catch a better look.</p><p>Soon, the game begins with a shake from the Gryffindor captain, Potter himself, and Slytherin's very own Warrington, as well as a sharp blow from Hooch's whistle, and we watch as the Bludgers whizz up into the air with the players.</p><p>It starts out slow—Beaters beat the Bludgers away from their team, Chasers hit the Quaffles towards the hoops, and the Keepers keep them from going through. Weasley, astonishingly enough, is fairing just as well as Blaise is in his Keeper abilities. A stroke of luck, I presume, as that red-haired ingrate typically hasn't shown the capacity for much more than backfiring spells and repulsing every girl in a ten mile radius.</p><p>"I'd rather be doing that History of Magic essay right now," Celeste grumbles when, thirty minutes later, the score is stil 0-0.</p><p>"Hey," Pansy says, attracting my attention though she's leaning down to talk to Pandora, "I'm gonna grab some hot chocolate, you mind sitting up here and saving my seat? Nott's been eyeing it for, like, the past fifteen minutes."</p><p>Pandora laughs and nods, and Pansy promptly gets up to scamper away, her brown eyes narrowed threateningly on Theodore Nott who stands near the corner of the stands, not a single spot open for him to sit. Pandora gets up as well, moving to sit in Pansy's spot between me and Verona and swing her feet up to keep her own seat closed in the meantime. She brushes her arm against me in the process, shooting me an apologetic look I return with a tight nod.</p><p>I nearly miss it when Urquhart finally gets a damn Quaffle through the Gryffindor hoops, jolting when the entire Slytherin box jumps to its feet with a loud roar. Pandora laughs softly, still seated just like me, and leans down to grab a packet of sugar quills from Elvina's lap.</p><p>"Want?" she leans in to shout in my ear so I can hear over the thundering of the third year boys' feet on the floor of the stands—a horrible practice that makes me want to hex them into tomorrow—while holding out the packet for me to take from.</p><p>"Thanks," I shrug slightly, plucking a green quill out of the packet and promptly placing it between my lips. Sadly, it's lime, not green apple.</p><p>"What just happened?!" Celeste leans in to shout over the crowd in my <em>other</em> ear, and I turn my head to see her still squinting—stubborn girl, she'll go blind before she admits her eyesight is awful—and leaning in towards me as if to gain a better look. "They look like fucking <em>bugs</em>, I swear to Morgana..."</p><p>Smirking softly, I respond, "Urquhart scored a goal, so you're allowed to get that look off your face."</p><p>Celeste snaps her head to look at me with a fierce, burning glare in her eyes. "<em>What</em> look?"</p><p>"Like your tongue tastes like Hippogriff shit."</p><p>"<em>Rude</em>," she mutters, and then her eyes drop to where I suck on the tip of my sugar quill. They narrow, stuck on my lips, and her own part slightly before she glances away and crosses her arms tightly around herself. "It's <em>still</em> cold. Why haven't they found a way to use magic to change the stupid temperature?"</p><p>"Gamp's Law," I deadpan, my eyes distracted on <em>her</em> lips now while I suck on this terrible lime quill. "You can use magic to excite the particles in a substance, but you can't exactly do the same for the air." I hesitate softly, wondering why she hasn't clawed my eyes out yet. "Do you want my scarf?"</p><p>"Yes, I'm well aware of Gamp's Law, Malfoy, that's second year Transfiguration material. Your scarf?" she sounds dumbfounded, looking back at me again. My eyes dart back up to hers quickly, but hers are once more on my quill.</p><p>"Yes, my scarf."</p><p>"Why?" she sounds suspicious, a frown painting her lips and crinkling her brows.</p><p>"To <em>strangle</em> you," I deadpan, seeing her eyes squint at me this time in irritation rather than inability to see. "So that you warm up, idiot." I shake my head and let go of my quill, holding it firmly between my lips so that my hands can go up to loosen my scarf. "Honestly, it eludes me how you do so well in your classes," my voice is slightly muffled.</p><p>"I—<em>Stop!</em>" she sounds frustrated, her hand flying up to grip my wrist while her frown deepens. "You can't do that!"</p><p>"Do what? Take my scarf off? I can, and I will."</p><p>"<em>No</em>, you can't be—be <em>considerate—</em>" a sour look befalls her face, "—and insult me in the same sentence, it confuses me!"</p><p>My face warming slightly, I'm grateful for the cold to serve as an excuse for the pink that undoubtedly tinged my cheeks. "I apologize for confusing you," my voice drips heavily with sarcasm while my cheeks continue to burn, a semi-welcome reprieve from the cold that otherwise nips at them. "In the future, I'll be sure to choose one or the other. Do you want my scarf or not, princess?"</p><p>Celeste's mouth falls open, eyes widening slightly. She clears her throat, looking straight ahead while her gloved hands wring closely together.</p><p>"I don't want anything from you," she blurts, chin high while her eyes scam the sky—as if she can even comprehend anything she's seeing.</p><p>I sigh softly, briefly closing my eyes before turning to look back out at the match. In all honesty, her response is nothing more than the expected. "Alright."</p><p>There's a brief quietude between us.</p><p>"But thank you," she says as Crabbe whacks the Bludger towards one of the Gryffindor Chasers, effectively knocking her off her path and sending the Quaffle spiraling downwards. Pucey catches it and begins racing it across the pitch.</p><p>I glance at her from the corner of my eye, and while the sugar quill dissolves in my mouth, I move my hands back up to my scarf to finish pulling it off. Celeste glances at me with a small frown, opening her mouth to say something. Before she can, though, I'm wrapping the cloth clumsily around her neck just above her own scarf, making close her eyes to avoid getting the fabric in there and shut her mouth for the same reason. She's stiff when I pull my hands away, smirking softly at how ridiculous she looks with two Slytherin scarves around her neck.</p><p>I turn away, my eyes flitting up to the high, outer edge of the pitch where the Seekers will be, waiting to catch that flint of gold. Potter and Carlier are on opposite sides of the pitch, both circling it slowly.</p><p>"I said I didn't w—"</p><p>"Don't mention it," I interrupt her, covertly buttoning my coat as high at it goes as my neck suddenly feels chilled.</p><p>She doesn't respond, and again we both fall silent while watching the match progress. I'm not sure what's taking Pansy so long with the hot chocolate, but Gryffindor's got a Quaffle in, tying the two teams, and she's still not back. I grimace slightly as the Gryffindor Chaser does a miniature victory lap, acting as though they've already won, before quickly returning her attention back to the match.</p><p>"You wish you were up there?"</p><p>I glance briefly at Pandora. She's not looking at me, though her face is tilted towards me while her green eyes follow the players.</p><p>Looking back up high into the sky where I can see the small green speck that's Carlier flying about rather aimlessly. "Yeah, I guess. I miss Seeking."</p><p>"It's a shame you're too busy for Quidditch," she says softly, and when I glance at her again, there's a red tinge on her cheeks. Her green eyes still don't look at me as she continues, "You probably would have caught the Snitch by now."</p><p>"Oh, <em>please</em>."</p><p>Both our heads snap to the left to see Celeste rolling her eyes and readjusting <em>my</em> scarf around her neck. She pauses briefly when she notices us staring, giving me a blank look. She then looks at Pandora beside me, rolling her eyes before turning her attention back to the pitch.</p><p>I smirk lightly and turn back to face Pandora, my hand slipping inside my left sleeve to scratch lightly at my mark. The skin there has been fragile lately, right now especially since I took such a hot shower before coming out the castle for the match. I can imagine how red and raw my wrist must be from all the rubbing and scratching, but the itch never leaves. It's like it's all the way down to my bone, and the only way to stop it is to scratch until I reach it.</p><p>"You're right, I would have. Warrington is brilliant, but I don't know what he was thinking making Carlier the Seeker of all people," I say with a slight scoff, tilting my head back up to see him tailing Potter, though neither seem to have found the Snitch.</p><p>"You don't think he can do it?"</p><p>"Well, anyone's a better Seeker than Potter. Sure, he's caught it loads of times, but it's always been moments of sheer luck."</p><p>Pandora laughs softly, and Celeste sighs loudly in aggravation.</p><p>"He nearly swallowed it once, didn't he?"</p><p>"Yeah, shame he never choked on it. But, Carlier, Carlier just doesn't make any <em>sense</em>. Maybe as a Chaser. Yes, I could see him as a Chaser, but he doesn't have what it takes to be a <em>Seeker</em>," I say, squinting lightly as I lean back a little and run my gloved hand through my hair. "Doesn't have the <em>build</em> for it, you see. Seeker's are meant to be lean, not <em>stocky</em>. I find it hard to believe Warrington didn't have a better option."</p><p>"You know, you seem very awfully concerned about Maxon's body for a self-proclaimed straight guy," Celeste snaps abruptly, and once more Pandora and I turn to look at her.</p><p>My neck nearly snaps from how fast I do so.</p><p>"Excuse me?" I seethe with exceptional control, feeling my entire face flame up with a color worthy of the Gryffindor stands, my hands curling into slight fists. I feel Pandora's hand come up on my arm, giving it a slight squeeze.</p><p>"Yeah, I mean, you practically gave a whole speech on how <em>strong</em>, <em>burly</em>, and <em>muscly </em>Maxon is," her voice is scathing, sharp, lacking an amusement factor and instead dripping with malice. "Something you need to tell us? I mean, you even called yourself a skinny little twig in comparison. There's no need to be so self-deprecating, Malfoy, some girls—" Celeste's dark eyes briefly dart away, and I think they may be aiming those daggers at Pandora right behind me, "—are into that. I'm sure you'll find one some d—"</p><p>Celeste gasps softly when I grab the front of both the scarves she wears, tugging them in close so her face is inches from mine. Her breath, coming out of her mouth in clouds of condensation, is chilled by the air by the time it dusts my cheeks, and her dark eyes shine with something unreadable as they glance between mine. The tip of my nose brushes against hers, and I see her eyes threaten to flutter shut while my pulse thumps angrily and loudly.</p><p>"I think you know very well what my body is like," I whisper darkly, feeling her hand come up to wrap around my wrist, but she doesn't try to tug my hand away. "And I think you know very well how <em>into it</em> you are. Don't lie, Celeste," my voice comes out smooth, rich, making her breathing grow heavier, "not to save the reputation of your little Papillon."</p><p>Celeste's face stiffens. "Let me go."</p><p>"Gladly," I mutter, letting go of the scarves with a slight jostle so she jolts back. Turning back to face forward, I can sense Pandora looking at me, but she's quiet and doesn't say anything.</p><p>Pansy soon comes back holding a drink carrier, several cups of piping hot chocolate sitting in it. She thanks Pandora before taking her seat back, and Pandora seems like she couldn't be more grateful for an escape from the way she darts as quick as a Snitch back down next to Elvina.</p><p>"I brought us all hot chocolate! You can pay me back with endless, unconditional love, hugs, or you can do my Astronomy essay, up to you," Pansy chirps, leaning down to hand Elvina and Pandora a cup each.</p><p>I watch as she hands one to Verona and sits down, two cups left in her drink carrier.</p><p>"You didn't get one for yourself?" I ask, plucking one out of the carrier and passing it out Celeste without looking at her. I think she claws her nails against my hand on purpose while grabbing it.</p><p>"Oh, I did," she grins cheekily, grabbing the last cup before I can and taking a long, exaggerated sip from it, complete with lewd moans and sounds of approval. "Ah," she exhales, wiping a brown mustache on the oo of her lip with the back of her hand, "that hits good. Sadly, they didn't have enough left, so you two are gonna have to share. Have fun!"</p><p>"Wait—"</p><p>Pansy turns around promptly, leaning into Verona's side as the seventh year slings her arm around her shoulders, leaving me somewhat dumbfounded with a lack of hot chocolate in my hands.</p><p>Slowly, I turn to see Celeste already looking at me apprehensively. Her hot chocolate sits in her hand, looking relatively untouched as she glances between my eyes. She then clears her throat, other hand reach up to adjust the scarves as if she's suddenly too <em>warm</em>, and then she holds the hot chocolate out between us tentatively.</p><p>"I'm not <em>sharing </em>with <em>you</em>, so just take it," she says, the hot liquid nearly sloshing out of its container.</p><p>Rolling my eyes I turn back forward. "Absolutely not. Im not taking it."</p><p>"What? I'm offering it to you."</p><p>"If I hear you complain about being cold one more time, I might just throttle you," I say bitterly, hearing her gasp ask though scandalized, "so do us both a favor and drink it. I insist. Practically begging..."</p><p>"You're doing it again..." she mutters lowly, slouching slightly in her seat while raising her cup to her lips to take a tentative sip.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Nothing. Never mind."</p><p>I flash her a quick glance. Her lips are slightly pouty, twitching like they can decide whether to turn up or down. She takes a sip from her hot chocolate while I turn back to the pitch just in time to see both Seekers making a sudden dive, an excited murmur washing over the stands as we watch Carlier hot on Potter's tail.</p><p>"What's happening?" Celeste asks, a slight edge in her voice.</p><p>"Potter sees the Snitch," I say, leaning forward with a frown, "and Carlier's right behind him."</p><p>Potter turns his broom up right when he's about to touch ground, and for a moment I think Carlier is about to plummet straight into the earth—I can't decide whether that visual would make up for the Slytherin loss—but his reflexes kick in and he's zooming up after Potter, catching up rather quickly.</p><p>"And now?" her voice is mildly anxious as people shout out in excitement and in dismay.</p><p>"Nearly crashed into the ground. You need glasses."</p><p>"Shut up."</p><p>"I'm not your personal commentator, Celeste, there's an <em>actual</em> commentator."</p><p>"Yes, well, Zacharias Smith doesn't speak <em>nearly</em> loud enough, for all I know he's reading us the ingredients on the back of his shampoo bottle," she huffs, looking like an indignant child from the way her eyes are so angry above the rim of her cup of hot chocolate. She pulls the cup down, and I decide not to tell her she's got a mustache just out of spite.</p><p>"Fine, then—"</p><p>Someone shouts loudly out of excitement, making me jolt and quickly look back out at the pitch. Carlier and Potter seem to be neck to neck now, darting this way and that in pursuit of the Snitch, but I realize quickly that this isn't what's spurred more excitement. No, instead it's one of the Gryffindor Beaters—Jimmy Peakes, a fourth year with a crooked jaw and overly gelled hair—flying at full speed with clear intent to collide. When he does collide, there's uproar.</p><p>My pulse jumps as Pansy shrieks softly, her hand clutching my arm. I can hear Celeste asking what's happening, her voice soft and confused amidst the more panicked shouts that cover up Smith's commentary. I reach out to find her wrist, giving it a quick squeeze, and then I pull her up to stand with Pansy and I so we can make our way down to the pitch where Blaise lays, his arm bent painfully.</p><p>—</p><p>"<em>A FOUL!</em>"</p><p>"I know, Warrington," I deadpan.</p><p>"<em>A CLEAR, BLOODY FOUL!</em>"</p><p>"I saw."</p><p>"I mean, what was the point?! Bloody idiot, that Peakes, going for the Keeper when there wasn't even a Chaser in Blaise's vicinity. Maxon was about to get the Snitch, but he pulls a foul on <em>OUR KEEPER?!</em>"</p><p>"Mr. Warrington!" Madam Pomfrey's sharp voice cuts through the air, and we turn our heads to see her bustling out of her office, a tray in her hands. "You're in the Hospital Wing! Keep your voice down!"</p><p>"My apologies, Madam Pomfrey, but I cannot! It's an outrage! Peakes ought to be the one in here, perhaps with a bloody eye and a fractured nose to pair with the broken arm that should be <em>his!</em>"</p><p>"Mr. Peakes is receiving a full month of detention, Mr. Warrington, surely that's punishment enough. Now, if you could end your incessant screaming and perhaps give me some space, I'll get to healing your Keeper."</p><p>Warrington's face, already pink and splotchy from all the yelling and playing Quidditch, turns bright red at those words. "Right, my Keeper, my Keeper..." he murmurs under his breath, neck turning just as flushed as he runs a ragged hand through his black hair, eyes darting around the room. He then steps away from Blaise's cot, throwing a terse nod to the rest of the team seated in the cot beside it.</p><p>"You'd rather your Seeker on that cot than your Keeper, Warrington?" Carlier asks lightheartedly, leaning back against the pillows on the cot leisurely. I lean sideways against the wall beside it, glaring at the side of his head before dragging my gaze up to Cassius Warrington.</p><p>"Right, my bad, Max, just feeling a bit..."</p><p>"Impassioned?" Adrian Pucey supplies with a wicked grin.</p><p>"Emotional?" Urquhart guffaws like a second year boy.</p><p>"Like a bereaved widow?" Carlier exhales lithely, and the slight smile that had been forming on my face drops.</p><p>"Quiet, all of you," Warrington snaps, cheeks fully red now as he ducks his head over his shoulder to glance back at Blaise, "or I'll put you all in your own cots, and it'll be for worse than some broken limbs."</p><p>Snorting lightly, I walk around the cot the Quidditch team is sat on to the one Blaise lays on, coming around to the opposite side where Pansy and Celeste both are. Pansy is kneeling, her arms on the cot and head resting tiredly on her arms, whereas Celeste looks like she doesn't want to be anywhere near it. She's backed away to sit on the cot to Blaise's left, knuckles white from how tightly she grips the edge of it. I flash her a frown, but her eyes are dazed.</p><p>"Hey," Pansy says, picking her head up when I pull up a chair, gesturing for her to sit in it. She grabs my offered hand and allows me to pull her to her feet, giving my fingers a tight squeeze before dropping down into the chair.</p><p>"His first game, and he's already got a concussion and a broken arm," I murmur, leaning against his side table. A dry smirk lights my face. "I'd say he's a real player now."</p><p>"Merlin, don't <em>joke</em>," Pansy groans, but there's a laugh in her voice as she rubs her eyes. "You go to hell for shit like that."</p><p>"Yeah? I'll see you there."</p><p>Pansy gives me a light slap on my arm. I just roll my eyes at her before briefly glancing over at Celeste behind us. Before I can even ask, Pansy's whispering softly.</p><p>"I think she's just a little freaked out," she whispers, gesturing for me to look away.</p><p>"Right..." I murmur, looking back down at Blaise.</p><p>He's not unconscious, but he might as well be, eyes heavy and falling shut before snapping open like he's fighting this continuous battle against sleep. Honestly, most of it is because of that syrupy stuff Madam Pomfrey gave him. He was talking before—granted, he thought he was in Diagonal Alley shopping for ink, and he didn't have any recollection of being a Quidditch Keeper—but after she fed him that stuff to keep him from getting up and out of the cot every other minute, he's been dormant. His arm is already bandaged up, and based in the look on his face, that orange stuff Madam Pomfrey is feeding him doesn't taste too great.</p><p>"Does he have any allergies?" Pomfrey asks, briefly glancing up at the three of us before specifically narrowing her eyes on Celeste. "I'll pull his file out in a moment, but it's a pain. Filch created a new organizational system, and it is <em>not</em> alphabetical."</p><p>"Allergies?" Celeste echoes, and my head turns to look at her. She looks <em>small,</em> shoulders slumped and face slightly pale. "I don't... know, actually."</p><p>"No allergies," Pansy says quickly.</p><p>"Alright. And no health issues I should know about?"</p><p>"Um..." Celeste's voice wavers, and her fingernails dig into the edge of the cot. "I—Sorry, I don't really... I don't really know.... Oh, he takes a potion for anemia," she flashes her eyes over to Madam Pomfrey, bright and slight with anticipation. "Does that help?"</p><p>Pomfrey smiles almost sympathetically. "Thank you, dear."</p><p>Celeste recedes into herself. She's still wearing both scarves, most of her hair trapped inside mine, but some of it has fallen out to cover the sides of her face. She then clears her throat and stands up abruptly, fingers trembling lightly, and mutters a low excuse before striding across the Hospital Wing and out the doors in a rush.</p><p>Pansy and I exchange quick glances, and with a silent conversation held strictly through our eyes, Pansy gets up to sit at the edge of Blaise's cot and I get up to follow after Celeste.</p><p>Some of the team pick their heads up to look at me, but I ignore them as I step out into the hallway, glancing left to find it empty, and then glancing right to see Celeste sitting on the floor, her knees bent to her chest, her face buried in her gloved palms, and her frame shaking with what look like sobs. Something like horror crossing my face, I quickly drop down beside her, hands gripping her shoulders.</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>She interrupts me with a muffled sound, and it takes me a moment to realize she isn't <em>crying</em>, she's laughing.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>She picks her face out of her hands, looking at the opposite wall in the hallway with a slightly blank gaze. Her eyes are covered in a thin, watery sheen, a little red from the few tears that managed to slip and got smeared right under her eyes by her hands. She sniffs softly, roughly pushing her hair out of her face, and Im surprised when I see the tips of her ears almost red.</p><p>"Careful," I murmur, untangling her fingers from her curls when they get stuck and she starts pulling at it, making frustrated noises. "You don't want to... break them..."</p><p>Celeste snorts slightly, crossing her arms over her knees and shaking her head. She glances at my briefly, looking at my mouth, nose, and forehead, anywhere but my eyes, and the. she drops her forehead onto her arms.</p><p>"I'm being stupid," her voice is watery. "You can go."</p><p>"You're not stupid."</p><p>"I didn't <em>say</em> I was stupid," she sounds like she's trying to snap, but it's not effective when she hiccups right after. "I said I'm <em>being</em> stupid. There's a diff—" She interrupts herself with another hiccup. "Difference."</p><p>"Fine. You're not being stupid either."</p><p>"Didn't you hear me? You can go. I'm sure you have better things to do than babysit."</p><p>"I'm fine right here."</p><p>"Shut up."</p><p>"It's true, I am. The stones in this wall are rather cushiony, don't you think? Perhaps they've done some refurbishing," I say dryly, bending my knees and letting my forearms hang on them while scanning the way her hair falls like a curtain to cover the side of her face. "I can't imagine sitting anywhere else."</p><p>"You're so annoying."</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>"They're an endangered <em>species!</em>"</p><p>I pause, unsure if I've heard her right. "What, the Golden Snidget? You're not wrong, but I don't see how that's relevant."</p><p>"Zabini men."</p><p>I freeze again, squinting slightly at the girl that's now trembling. She pulls herself tighter together, thighs practically flush to her chest, arms slipping down to tightly hug her knees, and face pushed against the fabric of her pants. Her knuckles turn white with how tightly they clutch her pants.</p><p>"Zabini men are... an endangered species," I say slowly with a slight nod, eyes drifting off. I've heard her correctly, haven't I?</p><p>"Well, they drop like flies, don't they?"</p><p>"I—"</p><p>"I'm <em>not </em>wrong, okay?"</p><p>"I mean—I'm not saying you <em>are</em> wrong, but I'm not sure if that comparison is very... tasteful."</p><p>"Oh, fuck tasteful," her muffled voice becomes suddenly clear as she picks her head back up to look at me with a deep scowl, trembling lips, and silent tears that drip from her eyes with every blink. "Fuck—Fuck you and your tastefulness. It's <em>true</em>."</p><p>Her voice is slightly affected the way it becomes whenever she's worked up for one reason or another. It's a blend of all the languages she knows, a myriad of all the people she's been and met across the world. Her short "I"s start becoming "ee"s, a hint to the French she practices so fluently with Carlier and once with me. The "U" in her "tastefulness" sounds more like an "oo," an endearing quality that makes my lips twitch with the desire to turn up in the most inappropriate situation possible. There's something else too, perhaps something from another language she knows, and it makes me wonder how hard exactly she works to suppress these little quirks in her voice.</p><p>"I mean, first Blaise's father dies in that accident," she sniffs softly, rubbing aggressively at her nose with the back of her palm while tears get caught in her lashes. "And then—And then—" She makes an odd noise at the back of her throat, something close to a whimper.</p><p>I hesitate softly, unsure what I'm supposed to say, unsure what i'm supposed to do, unsure why I'm the one out here and not Pansy. I lift a hand and bring it to her shoulders, choosing to ignore the light flinch she gives before relaxing slightly while my hand slides to the center of her back. She's still in her coat, gloves, my scarf and hers.</p><p>"Well, the Zabini family is <em>highly </em>lacking in father figures right now," she sniffs harshly, hands once again aggressively tucking her hair behind her ears, making me wince as I watch her split a tightly coiled curl. "Very much lacking. Even the new ones Aunt Col brings in are gone in less than a year. You know her most recent one? The guy from Japan? His funeral is next week."</p><p>I bite down on the inside of my cheek, apprehensively digging my thumb into the muscle under her shoulder. That should feel good, shouldn't it? If I work her knots?</p><p>She hums softly, but it turns quickly into a frustrated noise while her forehead comes to rest on the heels of her palm. Her body is trembling again, and when it comes a great shake, this time, it's most definitely from a sob and not a laugh.</p><p>"I know—I <em>know</em> I'm being stupid, because Blaise's pathetic little ass is sitting in there with a minor concussion and—and, like, two fractures in his arm, and he's not dead or even remotely close to it, but—"</p><p>She makes a choked noise, and despite how tightly her eyes squeeze shut, little drops slip past the bounds and collect in her lower lashes.</p><p>"Should I shut up? Sorry, I—I don't mean to, like, unload on you—"</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous," I mutter softly, my left hand reaching up to gently pry her wrists away from her face.</p><p>She picks her head up to glance at me with mild confusion, and then her dark, glistening eyes drop to watch as I gently pull her gloves off her hands. I tuck them away into the pocket of my own unbuttoned coat before cupping her hands between mine, squeezing them tightly. Her hands curl into fists, but they don't pull from my grasp.</p><p>"We're not exactly on great terms right now," she says lowly, voice slightly hoarse.</p><p>"Then our terrible terms can wait. Cry all you want, Celeste. I'll still make fun of you later, just not for this."</p><p>"I'm not about to cry to <em>you</em>."</p><p>"You've already done some of it," I point out, and then stony eyes glare at me harshly. "Fine," I sigh softly, shoulders dropping, "I'll get you Pans—"</p><p>"Don't," she blurts, hands tightening inside mine.</p><p>I quirk a brow. "Don't?"</p><p>She shakes her head, curls springing against her cheeks.</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"She deals enough with my bullshit. Besides, if I cry to her now, she's gonna expect that to become a regular thing. Y'know, me coming to her for help, and that can't happen."</p><p>"Oh..." I clear my throat, squeezing my palms together around here. "Then..." <em>Merlin, it hurts me to say this</em>. "I'll fetch you Carlier. If you want."</p><p>Celeste inhales slowly, a tear dropping straight down to her jaw, and then shakes her head again. "No, he..."</p><p>My pulse picks up. "No?"</p><p>"He... no."</p><p><em>She doesn't want him?</em> "Is there anyone else?"</p><p>Celeste shakes her head. "Nobody else." And then she snorts—a great, undignified, rather admirable snort, breaking out into a fit of tear-filled laughter, her cheeks glistening now with tears and her eyelashes clumped together. "Oh, for Salazar's sake, I have—<em>Nobody!</em>"</p><p>My heart stops beating for a second. The hallway briefly becomes a swirling blur, like we're Apparating or taking a Port-Key. The only thing I can see clearly is Celeste herself, her head tilted down in shame, embarrassment, misery rather than tilted up with that haughtiness she always seems to possess. And then I blink, and it's back to normal.</p><p>"That's not true," I say in a hollow voice, because if <em>Celeste</em> has nobody, then who do <em>I</em> have?</p><p>"You said it yourself, Malfoy, don't you remember?" she responds bitterly, her voice starting to waver. When she speaks again, it's in a higher pitched warble, her dam threatening to crack and release an onslaught of tears. "You said—You said—"</p><p>"Please—"</p><p>"No, you said—you said nobody's saving me, and you said nobody's gonna take any care of me, and you—"</p><p>Celeste's voice breaks with a heart wrenching whimper, tears gliding over her cheekbones, dripping off her jaw or even slipping past her plump lips. One of my hands moves to hers to brush them away, my own fingers trembling just as hard as hers do. She flinches and tightly closes her eyes when I touch her, but when my hand pulls away an inch, she leans in with it.</p><p>"You said," she whispers, voice shaking violently and with it my world, "nobody wants me for anything more than my body. <em>You</em> don't, Malfoy. You don't want anything else from me but a focused mind so you can complete the task and just a body to <em>fuck</em>. So go, please."</p><p>"I won't."</p><p>"<em>Leave</em>."</p><p>"I don't <em>want</em> to," my voice shakes slightly.</p><p>Her hands pull away to wipe her tears, the skin around her eyes turning red from how harshly she rubs at them. My pulse thuds harshly, heart thumping loudly in my chest, and I stroke her hair behind her ears in a repeated fashion, letting my thumbs pick up the occasional stray tear.</p><p>"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, I'm <em>so</em>, so sorry."</p><p>"Stop it," she whispers, face screwing up tightly.</p><p>"No, I need to say—"</p><p>"But I don't want to h—" Her voice breaks into a whimper, brows furrowing with the effort to swallow back a series of sobs. "I don't want to hear it right now, please."</p><p>"I didn't <em>mean</em> any of—"</p><p>"But you said it, okay?" she snaps abruptly, reddened eyes widening to pin me where I sit right beside her. My hands pause, cupping her hair against her neck. "You said it. And I know—I know I'm not supposed to care, I know I'm supposed to be some—" She stops and then drops her voice. "I know I'm supposed to be an Occlumens, I know I'm not supposed to care what anyone thinks of me at all, I know it's not supposed to bother me, but it <em>does! </em>And it <em>did</em>. Okay? I know—I know that's <em>weak</em> or <em>pathetic</em> or whatever else you want to call it, but..." She makes another muffled whimper, stony eyes lowering. "But what you said <em>did</em> h-hurt me, and the fact that it was <em>you</em> that said it hurt even worse."</p><p>There's a silence. It's deafening, mind-numbing. It's like a ringing in the back of my head, and there's nothing but the way Celeste's lowered eyes occasionally blink. The release a single tear with each open and shut. Her lips tremble too, sometimes pressing together to control it.</p><p>"One of these days," I start quietly, my body shaking slightly, "I'm going to apologize and you <em>are</em> going to listen. And if you don't want to, I'll make you. But fine. Not today."</p><p>"If I let myself cry to you, it doesn't change anything."</p><p>"Of course not."</p><p>"I don't—I won't hate you any less."</p><p>"I wouldn't expect you to."</p><p>"And I won't be any closer to forgiving you."</p><p>"Why would you be?"</p><p>She looks at me dubiously, eyes dry for a moment and no longer spilling over. They glance between my eyes, and the longer they do, the quicker the tears begin pooling up until they shake with every turn of her eyes, and then her lips press together to unsuccessfully muffle the sob that crawls up her neck.</p><p>We move at the same time. I'm not sure what's happening in her mind, and I could probably use my Legilimency to see and help her, but my mind is hardly functioning. It's hardly thinking. It lets my body take the reigns, let's it move on its own to grab her arms and pull her closer. She moves with me, shifting so her legs are curled up under her, and then her arms are wrapping around the back of my neck. I let my legs flatten out, pulling her closer until her cheek is pressed to my shoulder, bent knees leaning against my thighs.</p><p>"It's... It's okay," I murmur hesitantly, hoping she can't feel how fast my heart is thundering. It races as if I'm still on the team, as if I'm a Seeker currently out on the pitch. It races as if <em>it</em> is a Seeker, and it's Snitch is the pace of her own heart, and all it wants is to pump to the same rhythm.</p><p>"I don't—" Her voice cracks, and she turns her head so her face can bury in my neck.</p><p>I inhale sharply at the feeling of her tears pressing to my skin, warm and slightly sticky. Her lips briefly brush against my pulse while I tentatively wrap my arms tightly around her middle, gripping the back of her coat tightly.</p><p>A year ago, I wouldn't imagine I'd ever be here. I wouldn't have thought I'd be sitting in the middle of holding a crying Celeste that absolutely hated me and had every reason to feel that way. I wouldn't imagine that my father would be in Azkaban, that my skin would be tattooed with the Dark Mark, that a piece of the Dark Lord's soul is forever intertwined with mine. It's a whispering voice at the back of my head sometimes. Not a real voice, but an urge, an itch, a need to destroy everything in my wake, even the girl in my arms.</p><p>"He's okay, Cel," I let my eyes close, my head falling back to lean against the wall.</p><p>One of her hands slips down from the back of my neck to slide inside my open coat, fisting the material of my coat.</p><p>"You won't lose Blaise. I promise you won't."</p><p>"But I—What if I will?" her voice shakes. "I always end up losing them, anyone that's ever mattered. I lost—I lost <em>him</em>, and he was..." Celeste sobs softly, and more tears stream down her face. I make a mental note to get her water as soon as I can, because at this rate, she'll dehydrate herself. "He was <em>everything</em>, Draco, he was everything to me," she whispers, and I almost don't notice my name.</p><p>I squeeze her back, pulling her closer if that's even possible. I can feel her each and every shaky breath on my neck, cold as they wash against her smeared tears there.</p><p>"I could tell," I say softly, my eyes closed so tight that little shapes start swimming in the dark.</p><p>"He was my best friend," she sniffs. "I know that's pretty lame, but when you move so often... He was... He understood me," her voice wobbles slightly, and her hand in my coat roams, soaking the warm from my side. "I want—I want him <em>back</em>, I—" Celeste cuts herself off, silent while her body trembles like it's about to implode. It doesn't matter how tight I hold her, it doesn't stop. "I want him b-<em>back</em>, I want him—" She gasps for breath, "—back, I just—" She sobs, pressing her face deep into my neck, "him b—" She whimpers, "back..."</p><p>My eyes squeeze tighter still as they begin pricking with pain. Her voice is haunting, the way it's so broken, the way she sounds like she's been waiting <em>months</em> for the chance to break like this. And she's wearing my scarf. She's still wearing my scarf.</p><p>"I wish there was a way I could see him again," she sniffles. "He'd know, he would kn—<em>know</em>, he'd know what to d-do and how to fix every—everything," Celeste's voice wavers with a soft weep. "He'd fix it, I know he could... He would know what to—what to do about the r-runes and my locket and Mum and the t-task," she mumbles, her voice garbled like she's choking on her own tears, making not much sense.</p><p>"What do you mean?" I murmur.</p><p>"Never mind..." her voice shakes, and then she falls back into the bottomless pit of stifled cried, wracking sobs, and streaming tears.</p><p>I hold her a little while longer, arms tightening with every shake of her frame. Eventually, my eyes open and head lifts from the wall. She burrows her face deeper into my neck, inhaling deeply as if to take in my scent, while my face turns into the side of her head. I bury my nose in her curls, inhaling the bitter blackberry that's become to me her smell and strictly her smell only.</p><p>"I got scared," she whispers after a little while. "He fell, Peakes collided with him, and he fell. And I was scared I would lose another..."</p><p>"Celeste," I whisper softly.</p><p>"Mm?"</p><p>I hesitate softly, and then I say reluctantly, "We should move."</p><p>She's quiet, and when she speaks, her voice makes me want to scoop her up and hide her away from the rest of the world. "Why?"</p><p>"I don't think you want people to see you when they walk out of the Hospital Wing... Unless you don't mind."</p><p>"Oh... Do <em>you</em> mind?"</p><p>I pause. "I don't."</p><p>Her fingers trail down my side, and then they pull out of my coat. "I don't want anyone to see me like this," she sniffs softly, and then laughs shakily, "as if they didn't hear me sobbing like an idiot already, oh, my <em>Merlin</em>." She then sniffs and pulls away from me, hair falling all over her tear stained face.</p><p>I get up with a slight groan, my back aching tremendously. She glances up when I reach down with my hand out, and after a moment of hesitation, she slips her palm against mine. It's cooler, smaller, and softer, yet her grip on me is strong as I pull her up to her feet.</p><p>"Thank you," she mumbles under her breath, still hiccuping softly though she holds them back so that they just shake her frame. Celeste leans back against the wall, free hand splaying across her thigh.</p><p>"It's fine..." I trail off, letting go of her head to drag mine repeatedly through my hair. I glance away from her trembling arms, clearing my throat before asking, "Should I walk you? To the dorms?"</p><p>"I'm not the one that fell off a broom, Malfoy, I can walk."</p><p>"Right, no, of course."</p><p>"Nor do I think I'll have a breakdown on my way there."</p><p>"I didn't mean to imply that."</p><p>She hesitates, glancing away. "Some company would be... appreciated, however."</p><p>Our eyes lock for three tense seconds, and then we both glance away while a light flame licks at my face. I wait for the warmth to pass before looking back at her, pretending not to notice how she uses one of the scarves on her neck to dry her face before pushing off the wall. Celeste stumbled slightly, so instantly I step in to grab onto her arm.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>Our heads turn to see Carlier stepping out of the Hospital Wing and into the hallway. His hair is still wet from changing and showering after losing the game to <em>Potter</em>.</p><p>Carlier's eyes scan us. They first settle on me, darkening slightly while raking up and down her face. They then roam over to Celeste, softening at her reddened eyes and the light glisten under her eyes, and then they finally flash down to where my hand clutched her arm and harden.</p><p>"Let go of her," he says, stepping forward instantly.</p><p>"Excuse me?" I scoff out instantly.</p><p>"Let <em>go</em> of her. I don't know what you have said to her, but you should get out of here <em>now</em>."</p><p>"Who do you think you are?" I ask lowly, letting go of Celeste's arm to step in front of her, though her hand reaches out to clutch the back of my coat and tug lightly as if to pull me back.</p><p>"Malfoy..." There's a warning edge in her voice.</p><p>"What did you do to her?" Carlier steps forward still, his hand in his pocket turning into a tight fist.</p><p>My neck burns with the intensity of the rage surging through my veins, swarming my body. My hands twitch at my side with the urge to tighten around his neck, but they stay still at my side. "Go back into the Hospital Wing, Carlier."</p><p>He opens his mouth as if he wants to cut back with a sharp retort, but then his eyes slide over to Celeste behind me. She's still tugging on my coat, but I don't budge as I watch Carlier's features soften slightly.</p><p>"<em>Vient avec moi, Céleste </em>[Come with me, Celeste]," he says, taking yet another step forward, concern etched all over his features while his long, wet brown strands fall in his face. "<em>Qu'est ce qu'il t'as dit </em>[What did he say to you]?"</p><p>I hear Celeste sniff harshly behind me, as if to get rid of the last hints of the meltdown she had moments ago, and then she steps forward to just in front of me.</p><p>"<em>Calme toi, Maxon </em>[Calm down, Maxon]," her voice is slightly hoarse and groggy, so she clears her throat while rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes, "<em>Il n'a rien fait </em>[He didn't do anything]."</p><p>I glance at her, drinking in her messed up curls, her bright eyes and damp lashes, and her face that looks worn from all the rubbing. She glances at me from the corner of her eyes and looks away instantly, giving her throat another thick clear before straightening up, chin tilting up.</p><p>"<em>Tu n'as pas besoin de le défendre juste parce qu'il est aussi ami avec les tiens </em>[You don't have to defend him just because he's friends with your friends]," Carlier's voice is sharp and threatening, and though the words are for her, the malice in them and in his eyes are directed right at me. I respond with nothing but a dry smirk, hands curling up into fists. "<em>Il n'en vaut pas la peine, et il ne se mesure certainement pas à toi</em> [He's not worth it, and he's definitely not worth <em>you</em>]."</p><p>"Maxon..." Celeste sighs softly, her hands starting to tremble again as the raggedly brush her hair back, fingers tangling with curls and haplessly breaking them apart. "<em>Je suis correcte, d'accord </em>[I'm fine, alright]?Go back in there. You too, Malfoy, I'd like to go back to the dorms alone now."</p><p>I flash her a look, but she doesn't look at me. "You said that—"</p><p>"I'm saying I want to be alone now. You can respect that much, can't you?"</p><p>"<em>Vient, Celeste </em>[Come, Celeste]," Carlier says, closing the space between the two of them to take her hand in his. She lets him, her eyes closing and a heavy exhale escaping her nostrils, "<em>Ne le laisse pas ruiner ta bonne humeur </em>[Don't let him ruin your mood]."</p><p>"I don't know if you heard her, but I think she said she wants to be left alone," I scoff lowly, hands shoving into my pockets while I lean back against the wall, watching with sharp eyes how Carlier's thumb brushes over her knuckles.</p><p>Carlier laughs dryly, eyes flashing to Celeste's. "<em>Est-ce que tu l'entend? Putain pour qui il se prend? J'aurais du venir ici plus tôt. Aller vient, on va aller te chercher du café ou quelque chose. J'ai envie de te remonter le moral </em>[Are you hearing this guy? Who the fuck does he think he is? I should've come out here sooner. Come on, let's go get you some coffee or something. I want to cheer you up]."</p><p>"<em>Vraiment, Maxie, je suis correcte, mais merci</em> [Really, Maxie, I'm fine, but thank you]," Celeste says, shooting me a wary glance over her shoulder, something like a warning in her eyes.</p><p>"That doesn't look like you leaving her alone," I point out bitterly, glancing between their intertwined hands and Carlier's brown eyes. "Can't follow simple instructions, can you? It's no wonder Potter got the Snitch before you."</p><p>"<em>Merlin, il est audacieux, oser me parler sur se ton </em>[Merlin, he's audacious talking to me like that]," Carlier mutters bitterly, scathing eyes scanning me while I smirk lightly.</p><p>"<em>Laisse faire </em>[Leave it]," she responds sharply, slightly widened eyes stuck on me. Maybe I imagine it, or maybe she gives me the most imperceptible shake of her head.</p><p>"<em>Il est stupide, Céleste. Il est Aussi pire que son père qui pourri à Askaban. Mes parents savent des choses, tu sais, et parfois il m'en parle. On dit simplement qu'ils prévoient une place dans la cellule de son père pour lui. </em>[He's an idiot, Celeste. He's just as bad as that father of his rotting in Azkaban. My parents know things, you know, and sometimes they tell me. Let's just say they ought to clear a space in his daddy's cell for him]."</p><p>I push off the wall with their words, the silent thrum of rage that pounded in a more controlled manner now overwhelming it. It bombards my each senses until my vision starts blurring with a tint of red, and with how hot my neck burns, I wouldn't be surprised if my skin was turning a similar shade.</p><p>"Maxon," Celeste's voice is curt. "<em>J'ai dit de laisser tomber. Et laisse moi tranquilles. Je n'est pas besoin de toi pour me garder comme un enfant</em> [I said to leave it. And leave me. I don't need you babysitting me]."</p><p>"<em>Je ne te laisse pas seule avec un putain de criminel. Je me fous si je te tape sur les nerfs. Se furet est aussi pire que son père, he fait simplement te le dire, Cel </em>[I'm not leaving you alone with a fucking criminal. I don't care if you get annoyed at me for it. This ferret is just as bad as his father, I'm telling you, Cel]—"</p><p>Honestly, I have no recollection of having a thought before the action. My body knows what to do without having my brain directing its choreography, and so my dominant arm rises up all on its own, and my tightly clenched fist swings forward with the power of half my body weight to collide with this stupid,<em> stupid</em> French boy's nose with a crack that makes Celeste gasp.</p><p>There's a brief lull where he groans out in surprise and in pain, stumbling backwards while cupping his nose in his palm and looking up at me with fiery eyes. I don't move backwards, but I curse silently and shake out my slightly aching fist, panting softly while Celeste stands with her jaw dropped a little ways to my right.</p><p>"<em>T'es mort </em>[You're dead]," he snarls, and then he's lunging towards me, grunting softly as his fist comes swinging at me. I dodge it narrowly, though his hand brushes against my ear.</p><p>"<em>Ah, oui? On a voir </em>[Yeah? We'll see about that]," I snap back, and Maxon's eyes go wide in shock at the words. I take advantage of this, and this time, when my fist collides with his jaw, it takes him down to the floor.</p><p>"Draco!" Celeste snaps, tugging on the sleeve of my coat to pull me back. "Stop that, now!"</p><p>I wrench my arm out of her grip. Her voice is hardly a muffled noise in my ear while I step forward, kicking deep into Carlier's gut as he moves to get back up, sending him back down to the floor with a heavy grunt. I kick him again—once, twice. Celeste's hand clamps down on my shoulder, nails digging in even through the material of my coat, prompting me to turn around.</p><p>"<em>What?</em>" I spit, my hands trembling, one knuckle bleeding just slightly—or perhaps that's <em>his</em> blood on my hand.</p><p>Her eyes are wide, and then they narrow so suddenly at me. She opens her mouth as if to scold me, berate me, but then another hand grabs my other shoulder and forced me to turn around. I whip around quickly, just in time to see his brown fist coming straight for me.</p><p>It collides with my cheek, and instantly I can tell it's broken skin. I curse sharply, stumbling away and nearly falling into Celeste, blood filling my mouth from where my teeth have pierced the inside of my cheek. My cheekbone stinging, my tastebuds overwhelmed with iron, and my eyesight fuzzy with red rage, I pant and look back up to see Carlier watching me warily, shaking his wrist out.</p><p>"Don't either of you <em>dare</em> hit the other again, or I swear to Circe I'll—!"</p><p>Celeste's threat dies out as Carlier and I lunge towards each other at the same time. Carlier's hands grip my shoulders and force me up against the wall, and I grunt as his knee collides with my stomach.</p><p>Another pair of hands comes up from behind him to wrench him away, and I'm vaguely aware of Warrington pulling him back with Pucey and Goyle close behind him. Carlier stumbles backwards as Warrington shoves him away, and I make quick work swinging at him again, no particular aim in mind. I get his ribs, he knocks the side of my head with my elbow, and there are hands grabbing at both of us in an attempt to pull us apart.</p><p>The hands don't work. What does work, however, is the sudden surge of energy that quite literally blasts us apart.</p><p>My vision turns white for a second as I fly backwards and hit the wall behind me, slumping down to the floor. It clears in a few seconds, and I realize I'm in a jumbled mess of limbs. Pucey and Goyle, who were trying to hold me back, are on top of me. Apparently I've cushioned their blow. </p><p>Across from me, Warrington and Carlier are in a similar state, a small trickle of blood escaping the latter's hairline. That's likely from my fists, though, and I manage a lopsided smirk at the thought.</p><p>In the hallway between us is a small, steaming crater in the stone floor. I hear the click of shoes on the floor, and then Celeste is standing between us, one hand at her hip and the other tightly gripping her wand at her side.</p><p>My head hurts.</p><p>"On your feet. <em>Now</em>."</p><p>My eyes flutter shut, and I think I might just fall asleep right here, but Goyle and Pucey grab hold of my arms and force me up. How <em>they </em>aren't so disoriented, I don't know. They bring me up to my feet and let me go while I stumble back to lean against the wall, head spinning.</p><p>"Sorry 'bout that, you three."</p><p>"All good, Zabini," I vaguely register Warrington wince. "I'll know not to get on your bad side for the future..."</p><p>She exhaled humorously, but she doesn't sound even slightly amused. "Open your eyes, Malfoy. You too, Maxon. Stand up straight and look at me, or I swear to Morgana I'll have you throwing up slugs for the next week," she snaps, voice wavering slightly on certain words.</p><p>Slowly, I manage to open my eyes, my cheekbone stinging and the inside of my cheek aching as blood continues inundating my mouth. Celeste stands with her feet on either side of the small crater, back straight and chin turned up.</p><p>Her body faces neither me nor Carlier, but her head is turned to look at him. When it snaps to look at me, the dizziness plaguing me instantly clears. Her eyes are stony, fierce, and they look absolutely fed up even though they're still tinged red.</p><p>"Hi," I say, all the air leaving my lungs with a great gust.</p><p>She squints at me and shakes her head. Slowly, I push away from the wall, stumbling towards her while Carlier does the same across from me. It's when we're both within a foot of her that she grabs us—grabs me by the front of my coat, grabs him by his tie—and tugs us to force us close and down to her.</p><p>Carlier grunts, choking softly as she twists his tie, while I just groan softly at the way the quick motion makes my head spin. It's okay, though, because being this close to her, I can smell the blackberry products she uses in her hair, the walnut vanilla body wash she once told me she shower with.</p><p>"You two," she says in a low, agitated voice, "are the biggest imbeciles I have <em>ever</em> met!"</p><p>"<em>Mes oreilles bourdonne </em>[My ears are ringing]," Carlier mumbles, his hand reaching up to grind his palm against his ear.</p><p>"<em>Good!</em>"</p><p>I snort softly, and then she snaps her head towards me to give me a sharp, scathing glare that makes me clear my throat and glance away briefly. When I look back at her, her dark eyes are scanning my face, and my eyes settle on her soft lips. She has both of our heads inches from hers, and it would be so easy to just lean down and...</p><p>"I do <em>not</em> want to see either of you fighting again, especially not with each other. Are we clear?"</p><p>Her lips look so tempting moving like that. Her lipstick is smudged from all the aggressive wiping of her tears away, so there's dark plum stains at the corner of her mouth and even dragging down to her chin, but I think I actually like how it looks.</p><p>"<em>Malfoy!</em>"</p><p>My head shakes. I blink blankly. "Huh?"</p><p>"Did you hear what I said?" her voice is low, so pretty and low. Pretty, pretty, pretty.</p><p>"What?" I blink slowly.</p><p>"Merlin, Zabini, I already have <em>one</em> concussed player. Did you really have to make that number three?" Warrington groans from off to the side.</p><p>"Quiet, Cassius, or that number will go up one."</p><p>"Right, sorry."</p><p>"I said," she then directs to me, "you better not get in a fight with Maxon again, or I'll blast your fucking balls off, got it?" she seethes, leaning in towards me until the tip of her nose is inches from mine, a fiery blaze in her eyes.</p><p>"Why?" I exhale softly, a lopsided smile finding my lips. "Is it because I'm better than that?"</p><p>"<em>No</em>, dumbass," she scoffs incredulously, twisting her hand around Carlier's tie and abruptly tugging on it tighter when he starts humming absentmindedly, eyes a little dazed. "Merlin, in fact, I say you're <em>below</em> it rather than <em>above </em>it. But you <em>are</em> smarter than that."</p><p>"<em>Qu'est ce qu'il y as à propos de moi </em>[What about me]?" Carlier laughs softly, his hand lazily twirling one of her curls. "<em>Est ce que je suis au dessus de ça </em>[Am I above it]?"</p><p>"Honestly? Yes, so it surprised me that you'd engage in something as <em>foolish </em>as a fistfight, Maxon! I ought to write home to your mother, or better yet your sister!"</p><p>Carlier's face drops. "<em>S'il te plaît ne fait pas ca </em>[Please don't do that]."</p><p>Celeste scoffs. "Don't worry, I'm sure it's <em>my</em> mother who will be charged for the property damage here, no thanks to you two utter buffoons. <em>Apologize!</em>"</p><p>"<em>Désolé, Céleste </em>[Sorry, Celeste]."</p><p>"I'm sorry, Celeste," I whisper at the same time as Carlier's mumbled apology, and I see Celeste's features soften for just a fraction of a moment. She scans my face, eyes lingering on my no doubt bleeding and bruised cheekbone. Her hand slides up from my coat, briefly gliding over my throat, and then it holds my jaw. Her touch is gentle at first, but then she harshly squeezes her fingers and forced me closer still while I groan in pain.</p><p>"To each other, you halfwitted ignoramuses!"</p><p>"<em>Je ne veut pas </em>[I don't want to]," Carlier scowls.</p><p>"I'm not apologizing to him," I agree, my neck and backing hurting form how much I have to bend to reach her height level. "He's an asshole, and bloody id—idiot," I stumble over my words, finding them hard to lace together when usually I have a bit of a silver tongue, "y'know, 'specially cause it took him this long to realize I know how to speak France!"</p><p>"French," Gould's distant voice pipes up.</p><p>"French, right."</p><p>"If you don't apologize to him right now, Malfoy, I promise you'll regret it," Celeste's voice turns raspy and low, and I wonder what it would sound like whispered in my ear. "Merlin, I can't even get a good cry in without you two blockheads ruining it for me. Apologize, now."</p><p>"<em>D'accord </em>[<em>Fine</em>]," Carlier huffs, letting go of her curls to cross his arms while hunched over. "<em>Je m'excuse. Est ce assez? Je pense que je vais vomir </em>[I'm sorry. Is that enough? I think I'm gonna throw up]," he then laughs lazily. "<em>Ark </em>[Ew]."</p><p>"Good boy, Maxon," Celeste's voice drips with sarcasm.</p><p>My stomach turns at this, and a great scowl finds my face. I don't think she should call anyone else that, it feels a little unfair. A bit unbalanced, I lean forward closer, making her gasp and jolt when she turns her head back to see me so close to her. Her hand on my jaw tightens, and then her expression turns stern.</p><p>"Apologize, Malfoy."</p><p>I don't know what to do.</p><p>On one hand, I don't see why I should apologize. Carlier was being an idiot, not leaving her alone and saying all those things. On the other hand, she might call me a good boy.</p><p>"I..."</p><p>I huff softly, my eyes darting up to where Carlier is busy plucking bits of the floor out of his robes. And then My eyes wander to Celeste face. It's so stern, so angry and upset. Her eyes are all red, and there are smeared, dried tears on her cheeks, and her lips look like they would taste good. Pretty, she's pretty. What did she ask me to do?</p><p>"I forget what I was gonna say," I say blankly, hearing a snort from behind me.</p><p>"Quiet, Adrian. You were going to apologize."</p><p>"I was?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Apologize, Malfoy," Celeste all but growls, tugging my face down until the tip of my nose presses against hers. She then swallows thickly and turns her head straight forward, tapping her foot impatiently.</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>"Thank y—"</p><p>"I'm sorry your face is so ugly, your mother cried when she saw what she gave birth t—"</p><p>A stinging sensation spreads across my left cheek, the same side that the bruise on my cheekbone is. I gasp softly, head turned to the side and lips turning down as it slowly registers that Celeste has slapped me. Why'd she slap me? I apologized.</p><p>"Ow," I frown, picking my head back up to see her glaring furiously. "That was mean."</p><p>Behind her, Carlier chuckles hoarsely. "<em>Oh sa c'était drôle. Fait le encore, Cel </em>[That was funny. Do it again, Cel]—"</p><p>She whips around, letting go of my jaw in process, and promptly gives Carlier a nice whack across his face as well. It makes him cut his words off with a slight groan. Her slaps aren't very hard, holding just enough power to turn our heads and maybe tingle for a moment. I wonder if it's because she doesn't know <em>how</em> to slap, or because she doesn't want to do it too hard.</p><p>"You two will be the <em>death</em> of me," she snarls, letting go of both of us now to push her hair back in an aggravated manner.</p><p>Carlier frowns. "<em>Ne meurs pas, s'il te plaît </em>[Don't die, please]."</p><p>"You know, I already have <em>one</em> of my boys in there all battered up and injured," Celeste's voice wavers softly, and she abruptly reaches out to grab the sleeve of my coat as if to steady herself. "I do <em>not</em> need to worry about two more sending themselves in there with black eyes and bleeding noses!"</p><p>"You're the one that gave us, um... percussions," I close my eyes and scrunch my face up in concentration.</p><p>"Concussions," Goyle pipes up once more.</p><p>"<em>Quoi </em>[What]?" Carlier sounds dazed.</p><p>"Oh, my goodness," she all but sobs, burying her face in her hands. "I can't... Warrington, will you get them into the Hospital Wing? Oh, never mind, we have an audience. Hello, Madam Pomfrey."</p><p>I look up at the entrance to the Hospital Wing to see Madam Pomfrey standing there with her jaw dropped in disbelief, the rest of the team behind her. Pansy is there too, glancing between Celeste, Carlier, and me with a dumbfounded expression. She then covers her mouth with her hand to suppress a laugh, turning around while her shoulders shake with silent giggles.</p><p>"Who... did <em>that?</em>" Madam Pomfrey points to the floor.</p><p>"That would be—"</p><p>"My bad," I shoot her a grin.</p><p>I sense Celeste turn to frown at me, and she opens her mouth again as if to interrupt me, but I'm quick to cut in once more.</p><p>"It was an accident. I'm free for detention tomorrow."</p><p>"Oh," Pomfrey's voice is a mere echo. Looking like she's about to faint, she opens her mouth, seems to think better of adding any more, and then turns around to silently walk back into the Hospital Wing.</p><p>"Right, so..." Celeste exhales heavily, her hands loosening the two scarves still around her neck. "I... I am going to retire to my dorm—"</p><p>"<em>Laisse moi te parler, Cel </em>[Let me walk you, Cel]—"</p><p>"That sounds good, I'll come t—"</p><p>"—<em>alone</em>," she says sharply, glaring rather viciously at us both. "You two will be joining Blaise in the Hospital Wing. Hands off each other, boys."</p><p>She crosses her arms while Carlier, ushered by Warrington, trudges back into the Hospital Wing, flanked by Goyle and Pucey. I move to follow after them, thinking a cot might be nice for the killer headache absolutely scrambling the insides of my skull, but then I catch sight of the look on her face.</p><p>Tired, worn, and absolutely exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally, in every capacity possible. She glances up at me, surprised to find me still standing there.</p><p>"I'm sorry," I say again.</p><p>Celeste's face softens slightly, like she doesn't have the energy to keep that stone mask up any longer. "I know you are, Malfoy."</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>"You said that," she stifles a yawn by pressing the scarves to her mouth, tired eyes briefly shutting.</p><p>"No, I—I'm <em>sorry</em>."</p><p>Dark eyes flash open and pin me to the spot. They're momentarily unreadable, and then they fracture into a thousand tiny little pieces. A thousand tiny little diamonds that accumulate in pools, precious gems that threaten to spill out of her eyes. She blinks quickly, tilting her head up to look at the ceiling, and they disappear.</p><p>"Thank you, Malfoy," she murmurs softly.</p><p>I frown. "For punching Carlier? I can do it again, if you want."</p><p>Her lips twitch up just slightly. And then they turn into a small, hardly noticeable smile. And then they're grinning, and she's tilting her head down as if to hide it. A soft laugh escapes her lips, and it's just as pretty as her voice and her eyes and her. I smile too. I'm not sure <em>what</em> is so funny, but I smile anyway.</p><p>"No, for—" Celeste clears her throat. "For, y'know, the scarf, and the hot chocolate, and—" Her eyes darting away to the wall behind me. "Letting me... And the floor, of course, you didn't have to cover up for the floor."</p><p>"The floor? What happened to the floor?"</p><p>Another terse laugh escapes her pretty mouth, her pretty mouth covered in smudged lipstick that swirl from the pattern of smeared tears. Her eyes start turning into diamonds again, but she doesn't close them or blink as she steps up a little closer to me.</p><p>"It's absurd, seeing you like this."</p><p>"Like what?"</p><p>"Like an idiot."</p><p>"Am I not usually an idiot?"</p><p>"You tend to act like one, but no. Go lie down, Malfoy," she says softly, tilting her head up to lock eye contact. She then tilts her head to the side, a soft, bitter smile on her lips.</p><p>I want to touch her hair, touch her cheeks, touch her skin, but instead I say, "Alright."</p><p>She nods slightly, tucking her broken, messy curls behind her ears. She then sniffs slightly, turning her head to look blankly down the hall, opens her mouth, and closes it without saying anything at all. Celeste gently pats my chest before turning on her heel to walk slowly down the hall, shoving her trembling hands into the pockets of her coat.</p><p>I watch her walk for no more than a few seconds before she pauses. That's all she does. She pauses, freezes, stops right where she is.</p><p>And then she turns around to storm up to me. Quickly, I wrack my mind to recall if there's anything else I've done more recently to anger her, because that's what's in her eyes: anger. It's pure, pure rage, raw emotion, and the more I think about it, the more I think she's about to get a punch in herself.</p><p>She comes up inches within me, leans up on her toes, and presses a hasty kiss against my bruised cheekbone.</p><p>Without sparing me a real glance, without saying anything to me at all, without waiting a single extra moment, Celeste whips back around and bounds down the hall with a little more energy in her steps, leaving me standing in the hallway. She leaves me bleeding, bruised, and confused.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what do you like most about yourself? don't say nothing or i'll punch you to the elysian fields and back</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0074"><h2>74. A PARTICULARLY INCREDIBLE RUMOR</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>december passes by, and the term ends with slughorn's christmas party</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>December 7th-20th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>DECEMBER 7th, 1996</b>
</p><p>"How long are you gonna ignore me for?"</p><p>"Until that ugly bruise on your nose goes away," I snap, reaching across the table to grab the infusion of Wormwood.</p><p>"It was gone two days ago, Celeste," Maxon sighs softly, pushing the glass bottle towards me when it comes just a few inches shy of my fingertips. "You can look at my face now." There's a hint of amusement in his voice as he laughs softly, "It's no longer ugly."</p><p>"You're not funny."</p><p>"Fine, so I'm not funny, but am I a fool for wanting to look you in the eye to properly apologize?"</p><p>"You've already apologized," I spit bitterly, carefully spooning the Wormwood infusion into our shared cauldron, flinching when a drop comes flying out. "Stir."</p><p>"How many times?"</p><p>"Four times clockwise, three counter."</p><p>"Okay—Cel, please look at me."</p><p>"<em>Stir</em>."</p><p>"I did apologize, but I was concussed, and—" I cut him off, pushing to step in front of him and take over stirring when I see him moving the ladle far too slow for my taste. His hand gently touches my arm. "I was concussed, and you had to <em>make</em> me apologize. I just want to give you a proper apology. Please?"</p><p>"You were stirring too slow."</p><p>"Then I am very sorry about that too."</p><p>I roll my eyes, switching the motions of my stirring to counter clockwise. "Fetch the powdered root of Asphodel, if you intend to be useful at all today."</p><p>Maxon sighs heavily, but he leans over the table to grab the powdered root away, scooping precisely half a tablespoon of the dusty grey substance. He holds it out for me, and I am extra careful not to touch his hand as I pry it out of his grip, dumping it into the cauldron.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>"You're breathing on my neck."</p><p>"I'm a foot away from you, <em>mon bijou</em>," he sounds mildly amused, but then he clears his throat. "If that's too close, I can step back."</p><p>"Six more inches."</p><p>Another heavy sigh, but he shuffles back half a step and plops himself down onto his stool. "Happy?"</p><p>"Ecstatic."</p><p>"Fine, well, if you won't look at me, I'll just have to hope you'll listen," he grumbles, his French accent growing a bit thicker as he turns to cross his arms and rest them on top of our table. "Alright? Will you at least listen? You drive me crazy, Celeste..."</p><p>"Try not to distract me too much. I want to be the first person to finish the potion and get that Felix Felicis."</p><p>"We're supposed to work together."</p><p>"Aren't you supposed to be apologizing right now?"</p><p>"Fair enough. Look, I... I realize the way I acted was... immature at best," he sounds sheepish, and from the corner of my eye I can see him rubbing the back of his neck. "You wanted to be left alone, and I should have respected that. Listen, though, I really thought that if I just walked away, Malfoy would hurt you or something. I was just worried."</p><p>I say nothing, stirring the potion a few more times with a semi-blank expression. I then reach for the sloth brain, placing it onto the cutting board while the potion simmers beside me. Maxon flinches when I grab the knife with a swift hand, making my stony facade nearly crack to reveal a smirk.</p><p>"Careful with that," he sounds slightly nervous. "I was only trying to look out for you. You can understand that, no? I mean, I walked out of the Hospital Wing, and there you were. You were crying, and he was holding your arm like he was going to drag you away. And I know what kind of person he is. His entire family, they're all violent, vicious to Muggles and all. He's a bully." Maxon then adds quickly, "Not that I think someone like you could be bullied... Couldn't entertain the thought especially after that magic you did, giving me a concussion like that."</p><p>"I was <em>crying</em>, Maxon," I say bitterly, digging the knife a little too aggressively into the sloth brain, the slimy grey material slipping slightly, "because Blaise got hurt, and I didn't want to lose another family member."</p><p>"Yeah. I know. I realize that now. I'm sorry I never asked if you were okay," he says gently, his voice low, soft, but heavy with guilt. "I—I wasn't thinking. To me, it was just a typical Quidditch injury, but I should've—I should've thought about how you'd take it."</p><p>"It's not your job to think about me," I say sharply.</p><p>"I <em>like</em> thinking about you. And we're friends. That means it <em>is</em> my job to think about you, especially when your family member is hurt."</p><p>I'm quiet for a moment, slowing my knife strokes so that I slice the brain in more even sections. "It <em>was</em> just his arm and a bit on his head," I shrug.</p><p>"Hey, no, don't be like that. It was my fault I didn't think, okay? I really didn't think. Y'know, about how you'd feel, and then when I saw Malfoy..."</p><p>I glance up briefly, but not at Maxon. Instead, my eyes dart directly across the room where Draco works alongside Daphne Greengrass, though Daphne is busy reading from a <em>Witches Daily</em> magazine while Draco does all the work. My stomach twists when I see him, and for many reasons. There's the memory of that entire day, from him giving me his scarf, to the hot chocolate so I'd warm up, to holding me in the hallway while I sobbed like an idiot, to that fight with Maxon, to the way I <em>kissed</em> him. I kissed his cheekbone, which is still bruised.</p><p>My stomach also twists because the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms. His hands look so good, so skilled as they work. The veins in the backs of his palms twitch slightly as he slices his own sloth brain, and his rings glint in the light as he scrapes the sliced bits into his cauldron. His tie is loose too, and his hair is all messed up. My eyes dart down to his forearms. I can see the inside of his left forearm, as he's on the left side of the Potions classroom. There's no Dark Mark there, hidden by a Concealment Charm, but the skin there is red and irritated.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>I look back down at the brain, and then I pick up the cutting board to scrape the grey matter into the bubbling cauldron.</p><p>"I really don't want you to be mad at me. I hate this. Won't you look at me? Just once?" Maxon sighs softly, and when he gently trails his fingertips up my arm, I don't pull away. "I know it was stupid, getting into a fight like that. I didn't realize he knew French, and I guess you didn't either. It'll be good to keep in mind, though..."</p><p>I wince softly, and whatever anger I had left towards Maxon disappears as I realize this fight could've been easily avoided if I'd told him that Draco knows and speaks French. The fight was still stupid, and the fact that he of all people got into one astounds me, but he'd have known not to inadvertently push Draco's buttons like that if I'd told him.</p><p>"It's fine," I say curtly, using my ladle to lightly smush the brains chunks floating to the top of the potion.</p><p>"It's fine?"</p><p>"It's fine. Get the Sopophorous bean's juice from Slughorn, won't you? Don't forget your gloves," I murmur absentmindedly, frowning softly as I continue stirring the currently putrid smelling grey concoction.</p><p>He exhales softly. There's a brief pause where I think he might say something, but then he just murmurs a "sure" and slip out of his stool to meander over to the front of the classroom while slipping his thick gloves on. I glance up when he reaches Slughorn, scanning him. His brown locks are tied back in a low pony tail that's just an inch long, several strands falling in his face. He doesn't typically tie his hair back unless he's stressed.</p><p>Something, some flash of light, catches my eye. I glance over near the front of the room to the left where I quickly spot Elara Jacobs working on her potion alongside another bespectacled Ravenclaw. Stuart, if I remember correctly. Her brown locks are up in an incredibly messy ponytail, half of it falling out and threatening to dip into her cauldron. She looks up right then, and I have a split second to make a decision. I could look away, or I could keep staring.</p><p>I keep looking, my lips tilting down into a frown as her head tilts to the side and bright brown eyes glimmer in the low lighting of the classroom down in the dungeons. Her lips then turn up into a crooked smile, one that's not necessarily sweet and polite for the sake of being polite, but meaningful. Meaningful in a way that I'm not sure what it means. And then her eyes dart down to my cauldron pointedly.</p><p>My own follow, and I curse softly when I see the grey liquid bubbling ferociously. Snatching my wand, I lower the flames of the fire below it and look up in time to see Maxon returning to our table with a concerned look on his face and the Sopophorous bean's juice in his gloved hands.</p><p>"Alright?" he asks softly, stopping on the other side of the table.</p><p>"Uh..." I huff softly, swishing the potion around with my ladle. "Yeah. Alright, definitely. Put the juice in, won't you? And—And be careful," I frown lightly, stepping back to avoid any of the toxic juice to splash into my skin while her carefully pours the highly potent contents into the cauldron. "Put that back."</p><p>"Yes, ma'am," he mutters softly, and I look him straight in the face to scowl harshly. He just gives me a crooked smile. "You're looking at me."</p><p>"Your bruise is still there. Liar."</p><p>"Oh, it's hardly noticeable, come off it," his lips split into a grin, and then he shakes his head fondly before turning back to return the bottle to Slughorn.</p><p>I continue stirring the potion, occasionally glancing up to see Elara cutting her sloth brain into perfect, precise pieces while her partner measures out the other ingredients, both of them wearing subtle smiles while talking in an amicable manner. And then I glance further to the back of the classroom to where Draco and Daphne are situated. She's still flipping through her magazine, whereas Draco is now sitting on his stool simply stirring. His elbow is propped on the table and cheek pressed against his palm, same side he has that bruise. He yawns softly, silver eyes crinkling, and then when his mouth closes, his eyes dart over to look at me.</p><p>I quickly turn my head back, face aflame, in time to see Maxon returning once more, hands now devoid of gloves.</p><p>"Let me take over stirring," he offers. "You can take a break."</p><p>"I don't really mind."</p><p>He smiles fondly, almost as if I amuse him. "Please, I insist."</p><p>Rolling my eyes softly, I switch stools with him so that he's now in front of the cauldron, stirring it and glancing up at me to make sure I approve of the pace. And then I sigh softly, adopting a posture similar to Draco's in the way I rest my cheek on my fist, tired eyes threatening to shut as they settle on watching Maxon stir.</p><p>"You'll let me make up for it, won't you?"</p><p>"Hm?" I murmur distractedly.</p><p>"I want to make it up to you."</p><p>"You already apologized, Maxon."</p><p>"I said I <em>want</em> to," he chuckles in a lighthearted fashion, switching from clockwise to counterclockwise when I lazily gesture to do so with my hand. "Even if you forgive me."</p><p>"What do you have in mind?"</p><p>"I was thinking Hogsmeade. I will let you drag me around wherever you want. We will do anything, get anything you'd like, on one condition," he says softly, prompting me to look up at his face. His smooth, tan skin somehow looks good and gold even under the dreary dungeon lighting, and his deep brown eyes don't lose their luster either. His lips press into a firm line as he looks up at me, awaiting my response.</p><p>"Oh? What's your condition, Carlier?" I tease without a smile, but he smiles for me.</p><p>"Let me pay."</p><p>"I have all the money in the world," I scoff, closing my eyes while tangling my fingers with the roots of my hair to lightly massage my scalp. "I don't really need yours."</p><p>"No, you don't, but it's the gesture that counts," he says with a soft chuckle. "I want it to be my treat."</p><p>"Is that really the best you can think of? If you really insist on making it up to me, at least be creative," I can't help the soft laugh that slips past my lips while I open one eye to peer at him. There's a soft smile on his lips and a pink hue tinting his cheeks as he shakes his head to himself.</p><p>"You're right, I have to admit. I'll surprise you, then."</p><p>"Mm, I don't like surprises," I close my eyes, smirking softly.</p><p>"I know you don't, but I'll make sure you like this one," he says calmly, and when I feel his hand brushing a stray curl out of my face, I open both my eyes to see him stirring with his left hand with his eyes on me.</p><p>"I hope so. Y'know, for your sake. When should I expect this surprise?"</p><p>He gives me a look. "That's <em>part</em> of the surprise."</p><p>—</p><p>"Why are you mad at me?! It's not my fault Malfoy brewed a better Draught than you," Maxon huffs softly, just a step behind me as I storm up the steps from the dungeon with my face on fire.</p><p>"Yeah, well... You were distracting me!" I snap back, hugging my book bag tighter to my torso while I carelessly shove past all the slow walkers in front of me. "If you hadn't been yapping so incessantly about your stupid fistfight and apologies and Hogsmeade, maybe I would've gotten the Felix Felicis!"</p><p>"You mean <em>we—</em>"</p><p>"Hush, Carlier, I've <em>just</em> forgiven you," I glower, rolling my eyes when someone yelps in pain as I push past them, "you don't want to disagree with me right now."</p><p>"...Fair enough."</p><p>"<em>Malfoy!</em> Of all the people! I'm sure there are plenty more brilliant than he in Potions. We share class with the Ravenclaws, for Merlin's sake, but it <em>had</em> to be—!" I gasp softly. "Malfoy." I stop right in my tracks when, as I step out of the dungeon stairwell and onto the first floor, Draco himself steps in my way.</p><p>"Might I help you, Celeste?" he asks coolly, a bored expression on his face. Crystalline eyes flick back to where Maxon stands behind me, whose hand comes up gently to touch my elbow, before landing back on my face.</p><p>"No, not at all," I say simply, turning my chin up at him and squinting as he appears fuzzy around the edges. "Have you got any plans for the Felix Felicis, then?" I ask, giving him a pointed look while the covered Mark on my inner forearm suddenly itches.</p><p>His eyes scan my face. They don't reveal anything, nor do any of his other features, but then his head bobs with a slight nod as he says, "Yes, I think I might use it to settle a few affairs."</p><p>I nod softly, hearing Maxon clear his throat beside me. And then, with a bitter look befalling my face, I say, "I suppose a congratulations are in order."</p><p>He quirks a singular eyebrow, and in that moment, his messy blond locks fall in his face. One scrapes against his bruised cheekbone, and suddenly I'm hit with the overwhelming urge to steal him away and pull him into some forgotten closet down the hall.</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>"For... having the..." I clench my jaw, seeing mild amusement flicker on his otherwise stoic face, "...<em>best</em> draught in the classroom," I force out with gritted teeth.</p><p>"How difficult was that to say?"</p><p>"Very, so thank me."</p><p>"You haven't actually congratulated me yet," he says calmly, eyes once more flicking to Maxon who, despite not being in my line of sight, is clearly restraining himself from pulling the both of us out of Draco's vicinity. I commend his efforts.</p><p>"Excuse me?" I scowl harshly.</p><p>"You said that congratulations are in order," he says lithely, two of his fingertips dragging down his jawline while a light smirk finds his pink lips, the bottom of which I notice is split from the fight, "but you haven't actually congratulated me."</p><p>I clench my jaw. "Congrats," I say bitterly.</p><p>"Thank you," he says, brows twisting with a look of faux gratitude, his hand coming up over his heart, "how <em>sweet</em> of you."</p><p>"<em>Shut it</em>."</p><p>"Well, since you asked so nicely," he drawls, voice simply lathered in sarcasm while he dips his head down condescendingly. His silver eyes then snap up to where Maxon is still behind me, his fingers massaging my elbow like he's trying very hard not to squeeze it. He then inhales deeply and stands up straight, chin tilted slightly up. "Carlier."</p><p>"Malfoy," Maxon's voice is husky in my ear.</p><p>"Nose is looking better," Draco says simply, an icy mask on his face.</p><p>"<em>Oui?</em> Your face has had better days."</p><p>"I'm afraid yours hasn't."</p><p>I roll my eyes and sigh loudly, sensing both pairs of eyes flash to me. "You're both insufferable. Let's go, I don't want to be late to Charms."</p><p>"Okay—" "Sure—"</p><p>All three of us freeze. My eyes dart between Draco and Maxon, both of whom are glaring at each other with ferocious intensity. Maxon's fingers momentarily tighten on my arm before sliding down to graze the back of my palm and then retract completely. I can hear his breathing grow heavier, chest bumping slightly into my shoulder. Draco's eyes grow sharper, thin and piercing like knife points that desire nothing more than to make Maxon bleed.</p><p>And then a cruel, twisted smile spreads over Draco's lips. He laughs once—a short, dry, and completely unamused laugh—and then turns to walk down the hall.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>DECEMBER 14th, 1996</b>
</p><p>"You can't keep avoiding Slughorn's dinners, you know," Blaise huffs from where he lays diagonally on my bed.</p><p>I glance over at him in amusement from my desk where I'm scanning his Transfigurations essay. "I can, and I will. It's easy—I just take his letter, rip it up, and toss the bits into the fireplace. You should try it sometime."</p><p>"He's been <em>hounding</em> on me to get you to come, Cel," Blaise's voice is sour as I roll his parchment back up. "Soon, he'll start going directly to you. I promise, you won't want that."</p><p>I just shrug. "I have no interest in attending one of his dinners."</p><p>"<em>Please?</em> He's got a Christmas party coming up."</p><p>"I know, I got the invite," I say semi-humorously, turning around and walking back towards the bed. Blaise shifts over slightly to make room, patting the space beside him. "The twentieth, right?" I grunt softly, climbing up onto the mattress and flipping onto my back, my head landing on his shoulder.</p><p>"Yeah, next Friday. Come. Seriously, it won't be as bad as his dinners. Besides we're allowed to bring dates, so it will be <em>ten</em> people and not just five, and he'll have all sorts of famous people. He introduced us to the captain of a Quidditch team, y'know," he says, playfully locking his arm loosely around my neck.</p><p>"Again—boring. It's our last day before we head back home for the holidays, and I don't want to spend it with a seventy year old man," I huff, letting my eyes flutter shut as Cheeky pounces up on the bed and makes himself comfortable between Blaise's calves. "I'd rather, like, smoke or something. Why isn't the house throwing a party?"</p><p>"Because Slughorn's having one, dumbarse," he huffs. "Just think about it. You know how coveted an invite is?"</p><p>"Whatever. Who's your date?"</p><p>"Well, I was gonna take Pansy," Blaise says, lifting a foot up to stroke Cheeky's back very gently with his heel, "figured I might as well take someone whose company I enjoy. She's busy, though—<em>yeah</em>, she's busy, so you won't even have her to keep you company."</p><p>"What could she possibly be busy doing?" I huff, crossing my arms.</p><p>"Date night with Verona."</p><p>"Oh, that's just preposterous."</p><p>Blaise laughs softly, his head knocking against mine.</p><p>"So? Who are you taking, then?"</p><p>He inhales sharply, and then he lets the air out with a long exhale. "Then I was gonna ask Daphne. You know she had a crush on me fourth year? I mean, you wouldn't know. But then I decided otherwise, because—don't get me wrong, she's attractive—I didn't want her to get the wrong idea."</p><p>"Are you stupid?"</p><p>"Well—I mean, I wasn't sure what to do after Pansy told me she wouldn't be free. I—"</p><p>"You didn't ask Cassius?" I frown, mildly alarmed.</p><p>"No! No, I did, I just—" Blaise groans softly. "I was just, y'know, I wasn't sure if I <em>should</em>. I did, and he said yes rather happily, but..." His right hand harshly rubs his face as he makes a pained noise, though his arm healed completely a week ago. "I wasn't sure if we were at a place where that was assumed or not, y'know? Or even at a place where it would be embarrassing to ask, or—"</p><p>"You were overthinking. You <em>are</em> overthinking."</p><p>He huffs.</p><p>"He likes you, right? I mean, I'm assuming he likes you, considering he threw an entire tantrum when you got hurt," I snort, turning slightly into my side and tucking my folded arms in the space between us.</p><p>"Yeah? I heard you had a mental breakdown and shot a crater into the bloody fl—"</p><p>"That story is missing a <em>lot</em> of details!"</p><p>"He likes me," Blaise says softly, pausing before deflating slightly. "I know he likes me."</p><p>"So? What's with the hesitation?"</p><p>He's quiet for a long while, long enough that my grow heavy and shut. Long enough that I think I might just fall asleep right here, though I'd have to take that draught first.</p><p>"I'm not entirely sure I like him," he says finally, right when I'm on the cusp of sleep.</p><p>"Huh?" I exhale tiredly, rubbing my eyes.</p><p>"Are you falling asleep on me?" There's a sudden humorous tinge in his voice.</p><p>"No," I yawn, feeling his arm wrap around my shoulders and pull me in so my head flops onto his chest. "I'm wide awake..."</p><p>"Dumbarse."</p><p>"What were you saying? About Warrington?" I huff, forcing my eyes open as I remember once more that I can't just fall asleep like this, not without a draught in my system.</p><p>"Ah, never mind."</p><p>—</p><p>Later that night, after Blaise leaves (most likely to hook up with none other than Cassius Warrington) and Pansy returns from hanging out with Daphne Greengrass, I find myself walking the shower of our bathroom.</p><p>The water was cold. Sometimes that happens, even despite magic. The water was cold, so the mirrors aren't occluded with steam, so I can see my very reflection that I always try to avoid. I can't peel my eyes off of it now, though, not with all my Concealment Charms gone and blemishes out in the open.</p><p>My Dark Mark swims on the inside of my forearm. It never rests. Doesn't it get tired? The snake slithering out of the skull's eye? Doesn't it ever want to rest? While the snakes sprouting from the skull of my locket are forever dormant, the black, inky, and ominous mark on my skin is in constant movement. It's slithers in place, like it's alive. Like it's a parasite, and I am its host. Sometimes I must wonder if I am its willing or <em>un</em>willing host, for its meaning I carry proudly and its burden encumbers me.</p><p>The rune on the center of my chest glares at me. That scratchy "R" is menacing, like the space in the middle of is its evil eye. Raido. Travel. My journey, the beginning of which is marked by the end of my father's. I wish the universe knew that I don't want any journey that doesn't have him in it.</p><p>The rune on my knuckle is practically laughing in my face, the crooked "t" shaped mark dancing and twitching with every flex of my hand. Nauthiz. Pain, need, and suffering. Honestly, could the universe be more blatant in the way it mocks me? I wonder, when I die from whatever it is I've been afflicted with that my mother seems to think I don't need to know the details of, what other runes will I be covered with? Will they mock me so? Will death be written on my forehead, misery on my lips? Perhaps fear on my stomach, loneliness on my throat? Hate right on the whites of my eyes?</p><p>I know that for someone so concerned, someone whose thoughts are constantly preoccupied with wondering what all this means, I haven't been proactive in finding out.</p><p>I haven't written to Mother since we met. She wrote to me a few times, but she's given up on getting a response. I could write to Aunt Colette, ask her to elaborate on that conversation I overheard her and Mother having. I could even do my own independent research. I'm sure the Hogwarts library must have <em>something</em> of use, though most likely in the Restricted Section.</p><p>Logically, I know I should be in there trying to figure this out.</p><p>But the thought of it is difficult. The thought of researching and finding out my suspicions are true. For someone that wants to be dead <em>so</em> very badly, dying scares me like nothing else.</p><p>But the marks on my skin are glaring at me, so when I stop my clothes on and clasp my cold, gleaming locket around my neck, the very next thing I do is get ready to go to the library.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>DECEMBER 17th, 1996</b>
</p><p>"I thought I'd find you here."</p><p>My head snaps up, and I find Maxon standing in front of me, a soft smile on his plump lips and his hands casually slipped into the pockets of his pants.</p><p>"You've practically been living in the library these last few days," he teases, making me smile softly as I straighten up from where I was bent over my book and lean back in my chair. "Pansy told me she had to sneak lunch in here for you."</p><p>I shrug slightly. "Nearly got caught by Pince, but yeah."</p><p>"So? What's so captivating that it's kept you here?" he asks, giving me a pointed look as he slips his bag off his shoulder to silently ask if he can join me.</p><p>I gesture to the chair across from me. "Just homework, studies," I lie. "Ancient Runes." That isn't a lie. The book I have open is indeed about runes, but I'm not looking into them for the purpose of my scholarly education.</p><p>"Yeah? Classes kicking your ass?" he asks, French accent momentarily growing thicker. He clears his throat, cheeks glowing slightly red, though his gaze is not shy.</p><p>"Yeah, especially Alchemy," I groan, and this <em>isn't </em>a lie.</p><p>"Oh, really? I'm studying Alchemy too. I'm not in your class. I'm good at it, though. I can help you sometime, if you'd like that."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows in mild surprise. I've always studied with Draco, as he's the only other person taking almost all the classes available the way I am. The one class he isn't taking is Alchemy.</p><p>"That would be nice," I say softly, giving him a brief smile before looking back at my book.</p><p>My smile dies quickly. It takes too much energy keeping it up, especially as I scan these pages on the runes. Sneaking into the Restricted Section is much harder than I expected, so I only have access to what is publicly available in the school library. I haven't a single clue how to access the real information, not without getting permission from a professors. I could ask a teacher, but what would I say? I hardly know what I'm looking for. I could lie, but it would have to be elaborate. I've always been a good liar, but I'm not sure just how strict the professors are with doling out permission to students.</p><p>"Celeste? Alright?"</p><p>My eyes snap up. "Hm?"</p><p>Maxon smiles fondly, tucking his long waves behind his ear while exhaling humorously. "You zoned out for a moment there."</p><p>"Ah, my bad."</p><p>"No, no worries. Am I disturbing you?"</p><p><em>A little bit, Maxon</em>, I murmur internally, my eyes dropping back down to my book. I want nothing more than to figure this out right now, and as much as a relaxing presence he is, relaxation can wait.</p><p>"Not at all," I say instead, lifting my eyes back up.</p><p>Rather than locking with his, they connect with two figures further down the library. They're small in the distance, but I recognize them almost instantly as Blaise and Warrington. Warrington's gripping Blaise's hand, tugging him along behind him while looking over his shoulder to say something that makes Blaise laugh.</p><p>I smile bitterly, remembering what Blaise told me. He <em>really</em> wants me to come to that Christmas party, so much so that he's pestered me about it at least once every day since we've talked. I suppose—</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Slughorn.</p><p>Clearly, Slughorn likes me if he's invited me to these things. Or, if he doesn't like me, he at least wants to win my favor and thereby my connections. He of all the professors in the castle is most likely to give me what I want, and if perhaps he gets a bit tipsy during the party, then convincing him to give me a permission slip from his office shouldn't be too difficult...</p><p>My eyes snap to Maxon's inquisitive ones. "What are you doing this Friday night?"</p><p>His eyebrows lift up. "This Friday night?"</p><p>"Yes. Are you busy?"</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>I give him an irritated look, but he just smirks softly and rubs his jaw with two fingers and his thumb. "Slughorn's invited me to a Christmas party, and I'm allowed to bring a... date," I say carefully, not allowing my face to reveal anything while I watch his closely.</p><p>He squints softly, mirroring the expression I've started wearing permanently these days as everything becomes a slight blur.</p><p>"A <em>date</em>, Celeste?" his voice is tentative, soft, but amused.</p><p>"You know what I mean. Not a date, a plus one."</p><p>"You said date," his lips twitch, threatening to turn up with the laugh he audibly swallows back.</p><p>"I'll take the offer back, Carlier," I snarl lowly, my fave beating up with the flames of embarrassment that kick at my skin. I sink lower in my seat, though my chin turns up for me to peer at him from over my nose. "Well?"</p><p>Maxon smiles softly. "I've been wondering when you'd ask."</p><p>"Oh, shut—"</p><p>"I can't come, I'm afraid," he then sighs, leaning forward slightly while his smile drops. "As you know, I'll be visiting back home in France for the holidays, and my parents will be Flooing to come take me by lunchtime Friday."</p><p>I deflate slightly. "Shit."</p><p>"What, you wanted me to accompany you that badly?" he laughs a little too loudly, then wincing as a few people look up at him. He leans in closer, voice dropped to an almost comical whisper. "How flattering, Celeste. It's always nice to know I'm desired."</p><p>A grin threatens to break my face. "Come off it, Carlier."</p><p>"Mm, fine."</p><p>"I just don't want to go <em>dateless</em>," I huff, sitting up straighter and setting my book down on my table. "I mean, that would just be humiliating. If I showed up without a date? As if I couldn't get anyone to want to come with me," I grimace softly. "Are you sure you can't leave on the Hogwarts Express on Saturday like everyone else? Is France really so urgent?"</p><p>Maxon gives me a look. "It <em>is</em> only my home, Celeste," he says sarcastically, but then smiles softly. "You'll find another date. You're highly desired in this castle. I'm sure someone else will be willing to accompany you."</p><p>I snort. "Yeah, no shit," I say, earning an eye roll from him. "I'm well aware that most everyone and anyone would happily go with me, but I also have to be able to tolerate their presence. Which, y'know, I can't do for most people. That makes this difficult."</p><p>"Take Pansy."</p><p>"Pansy's going on a date with Verona that night," I say with a sour scowl.</p><p>"Take Blaise."</p><p>"Blaise has his own invite."</p><p>"Well then take... Malfoy," a curdled expression befalls his face, making me quirk an incredulous brow at him.</p><p>"You're joking right? You can't possibly be serious."</p><p>Maxon shrugs suavely. "Hey, I mean, if you really need a date that badly, then—"</p><p>"I'm not <em>desperate</em>," I snap, turning back to my book with a heavy huff. "I told you, it has to be someone whose presence doesn't make me want to defenestrate myself, and Malfoy?" I scoff, turning a page in the heavy, archaic textbook even though I'm not done reading it. "Malfoy makes the view from the astronomy tower look wonderful."</p><p>Maxon snorts. "Alright, fine, so no Maxon. Who's left, then? You can't stand anyone."</p><p>"That's not true," I say in a slightly pitchy voice. "I could always take <em>Tracey</em>."</p><p>"I <em>very</em> distinctly remember you saying that 'she yaps too much, like a little chihuahua,'" he scoffs with a roll of his eyes, leaning back leisurely in his seat with his arms folded behind his back. "Not to mention she's a half-blood." His face turns solemn, brown eyes scanning me with a scrutinizing gleam. "And you're not fond of those, are you?"</p><p>I frown slightly, brows furrowing as I take in the way he's looking at me. "I mean, her family hasn't married a Muggle or a Muggle-born in <em>centuries</em>, but no, she isn't my preferred type of company. Why are you looking at me like that?"</p><p>He shrugs.</p><p>"What, don't tell me you're a <em>blood traitor</em> now," I spit slightly, shaking my head as I flip the next page.</p><p>"Well, no, but that doesn't mean I endorse violence," he scoffs.</p><p>My inner forearm burns. I clench my jaw. "Whatever," I say sourly and under my breath, resting the side of my face against my palm while bending over the book to avoid looking at him.</p><p>"Yeah. Whatever," his voice is distant, and then he's suddenly getting up. "Listen, I have somewhere to be. Don't fall asleep in here," he says, leaning over the table to give the top of my head a soft pat. "I'll see you later."</p><p>"Fine."</p><p>He stands there as if waiting for more for a couple seconds. Then he sighs, rubs the back of his neck, and turns around to walk off.</p><p>—</p><p>With fifteen minutes left until curfew, I finish putting all my books away and begin slowly towards the library entrance all the way across the room.</p><p>My muscles ache with each step I take. My locket feels heavy around my neck, like the pendant has been replaced with a Quaffle. I reach up to gentle rub it with my thumb and forefinger, the metal cold against my skin. The inside of my forearm still itches, and it takes all my self control not to scratch in raw.</p><p>It's as I'm approaching the doors that I notice her.</p><p>Elara Jacobs is tucked away between two bookshelves, kneeling on the ground in front of the window while packing her book bag to get ready to leave. <em>Why</em> she chose to sit on the ground rather than at a table or an armchair, I cannot fathom, but there she is, earning herself carpet-patterned imprints in her knees. Her loose brown curls fall in her face as she pushes her sleeves up, slings her bulky bag over her shoulder, and comes to her feet with a slight grunt.</p><p>Brown eyes lock with mine.</p><p>Pink lips turn up, somewhat lopsided.</p><p>"Celeste," she says, a slightly surprised hint in her voice as she walks over to me, hobbling slightly under the weight of her bag.</p><p>"Jacobs," I nod back, my face stoic while I turn my chin up. "Trying to steal the entire library are you?</p><p>"What, this?" she asks, lightheartedly patting the side of her straining bag with a grin. "No, no, I've checked these all out properly."</p><p>"Mm. I'd ask what for, but I can't seem to find it in me to care," I say honestly, my eyebrows rising while the corners of her eyes crinkle.</p><p>"Fair enough. What's kept <em>you</em> here so long, then?"</p><p>I scan her, opening my mouth to spew some white lies about schoolwork and Alchemy, but my mind then flashes with memories of our first and last conversation by the Thestrals while I was on my way to meet my mother at Hogsmeade and (unsuccessfully) pass the cursed necklace onto Dumbledore. Her words, sharp and biting yet somehow covered in a hard shell of honey, rip through me, hitting me with a fresh wave of shock as of I've <em>just </em>heard them. As if she's only just now spewing stories about my friends and her interactions with them, only just now telling me all about how I'm supposedly so arrogant, conceited, sheltered, ignorant.</p><p>"I didn't appreciate that, you know," I spit suddenly, stepping forward until there's hardly a foot of space between us. Elara's eyes widen slightly, but she stands her ground with a stunned expression on her face. "I <em>truly </em>didn't."</p><p>"Excuse me?" she asks calmly. There's a hard edge in her eyes, and for a moment I think the beauty marks on her skin are moving.</p><p>"The things you said. I didn't appreciate them."</p><p>"You didn't?" her voice adopts a faux veneer of innocence.</p><p>"<em>No</em>."</p><p>"Are you trying to get me to apologize? Because I won't."</p><p>"You had no business saying all those things about all my friends—"</p><p>"You mean all those <em>true</em> things?" she scoffs, readjusting her grip on her bag.</p><p>"Never mind <em>what</em> they were, you didn't—"</p><p>"Honestly, Celeste, if those are your <em>best</em> friends, I pity you."</p><p>I inhale sharply, nearly choking on my own spit. My eyes widen with shock while I scan her, and for a brief moment, I see surprise flicker in Elara's eyes at her own words. And then my face transforms into a mighty scowl as I drop my book bag onto the floor and reach my hand up to grip her by her blue tie, pulling her closer so she gasps.</p><p>"I don't need your <em>pity</em>, Mudblood," my voice wavers with rage.</p><p>"I told you, I'm not—" Elara gasps again as my grasp on her tie tightens. Her hand flies up to grip my wrist while she tilts her head up to look at me. "I'm not a <em>Muggle-born</em>, and even if I was—"</p><p>"You're as filthy as one, then," my lips spit out before I even realize what they're saying.</p><p>My brows furrow slightly at this, but I just swallow thickly and shakily while wrapping her tie closer around my fist to force her up on her toes. She's not much shorter than me, maybe two inches, but she's weighed down by her bag and my boots give me some inches.</p><p>"My friends are better to me than you could dream," I say thickly, my hands starting to tremble.</p><p>Elara frowns slightly, the panic in her brown eyes melting just slightly. Her hand on my wrist slides up to cup the back of my palm. "So, they're good to <em>you</em>, then," she says softly, eyes flicking down to my lips. "That doesn't make them <em>good</em>."</p><p>"And you think—And you think being like this makes <em>you</em> good? Walking around telling people they're <em>horrible </em>but maybe they can change? What, you've got some kink for fixing people? Pathetic. It's clear you're overcompensating," I laugh dryly, my face growing warm with the rushing blood.</p><p>"Clearly," she says softly, though her voice shakes when I give her tie a harsh jerk, "some of what I said struck a chord if you're reacting like this."</p><p>"<em>Please</em>. As if something said by a—"</p><p>"Oh, at least come up with some <em>original</em> insults," she buffs with a roll of her eyes. "I'm tired of the same old material every bloody time."</p><p>My grip loosens, eyebrows lifting. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Just... try to be more creative, y'know? I know it's a Ravenclaw speciality, but just because you're a Slytherin doesn't mean you shouldn't have any," she says calmly, fingernails lightly scratching over my knuckles.</p><p>I scan her face, and then I let her go. "You're odd."</p><p>"It's a Ravenclaw thing. Is that a gorgon's skull?"</p><p>I follow her lowered, curious gaze to find it fixated on my locket. Instinctually, my hand creeps up to grab it, thumb rubbing the side of the cold gold.</p><p>"Yes," I say somewhat defensively, taking a small step back with a frown.</p><p>"It's a beautiful locket. May I see it?"</p><p>"What, your eyes don't work from there?"</p><p>Elara rolls her eyes. "I meant, can I touch it."</p><p><em>No</em>, is my original instinct, but then I hesitate and step back up to her, dropping my hand to allow hers to come up and replace it.</p><p>She gently plucks the locket up from my chest, head tilting and a few loose brown curls following over her slightly pink cheek. Her long lashes flutter as she examines it, turning it in her hand to soak in ever groove in the metal, count every snake on the skull's head.</p><p>"It's old, isn't it?" she asks softly after a moment.</p><p>"Centuries old."</p><p>Her eyes widen. "Family heirloom, I assume?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Is that your family crest, then? A gorgon?"</p><p>I pause, my frown deepening. "No, it's not. Why would a gorgon be our <em>crest?</em>"</p><p>She shrugs. "Well, it's in an old heirloom, probably laced with magic, important enough that it's still in your family. Y'know, with you. I figured the fact that it's a gorgon's skull must be significant, but maybe not."</p><p>I blink. "Oh," I exhale.</p><p>Elara smiles simply. "It's pretty," she says, letting it drop to my chest. "We should go."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>She turns and walks ahead towards the door while I slowly reach down for my book bag, watching her wobble slightly under the weight of all her books. And then I'm suddenly hit by the sudden urge to do something, an urge that doesn't make sense to me even in the moment and <em>definitely </em>won't make sense to me tomorrow morning, but I ignore that doubt and instead stick with my urge.</p><p>I step forward and call out, "Jacobs."</p><p>She pauses, turning to look at me with inquisitive eyes.</p><p>"What are you doing Friday night?"</p><p>—</p><p>It's as I'm finally leaving the library that I knock into him.</p><p>He doesn't budge a single inch, simply dropping in his step to reach his hands out and grab my arms when I stumble backwards. I blink, my already slightly blurred vision momentarily worsening. When it finally clears, I find silver eyes staring down at me in mild amusement, an aristocratic brow quirked and white-blond strands of hair flopping effortlessly over pale skin.</p><p>"Oh," I say, stepping back when his hands sear me even through the material of my shirt. "Malfoy."</p><p>He squints softly, hands dropping from my arms. A slight glint of light catches my attention, and I glance down to see his silver prefect badge pinned to his sweater.</p><p>"What are you doing out here?"</p><p>Draco's soft, husky voice makes my eyes dart back up to his. I stand up straighter, my hand adjusting the strap of my bag over my shoulder. "I was in the library," I say, his eyes glancing to the doors behind me.</p><p>"There's hardly ten minutes to curfew," he says, his ringed fingers pushing his hair out of his face. </p><p>"I <em>know</em>," I huff softly, turning on my heel to start walking down the hall, "that's why I'm <em>leaving</em> the library."</p><p>I walk down the hall, and it takes me a few seconds to realize he's following behind me, walking at a pace that's leisurely yet quickly enough to catch up to me. <em>Curse you and your freakishly long legs</em>.</p><p>"You're following me," I say blankly when his arm brushes against mine.</p><p>"Yes, because I have nothing better to do," his cold voice drips with sarcasm. "I'm a <em>prefect</em>. I'm making my rounds, and I happen to be done with them, so I'm heading back to the dungeons. I'm assuming that's where you're going..." He inhales deeply.</p><p>"Obviously. Unless we planned a night in the Room of Requirements?" I lower my voice with a frown, tilting my face towards his to see him already peering at me from the corner of his eyes. "We didn't, did we? I mean, I'm <em>sure</em> I checked my schedule properly—We meet tomorrow in the Room, and I <em>think</em> I told you I'm busy Fri—"</p><p>"You're rambling," he says calmly, turning his head back forward and slipping his hands into his pockets.</p><p>"Well—"</p><p>"And <em>clearly</em> you don't know our schedule well if you're unsure whether or not we're meeting tonight. You didn't, by the way. You didn't tell me you're busy Friday, when we <em>were</em> supposed to meet."</p><p>I glower at him. "Fuck off, won't you?"</p><p>"Can't, we have the same destination."</p><p>"Well, then you take the long way! Turn around, I'd like to walk back in peace."</p><p>"Really? Well, if one of must be troubled by the long way back, I think it ought to be you," he says, a hint of amusement in his infuriatingly calm voice. His arm brushes against mine again, and I scowl furiously while stepping a few inches to the side to avoid.</p><p>"And <em>why</em> is that?" I huff.</p><p>"<em>Because</em>, you're the one that gave me a nasty concussion."</p><p>I gasp softly, my face turning warm. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't have had to give you a concussion if you hadn't attacked Maxon like some rabid animal!" I huff rather loudly, my arms crossing tightly over my chest while I hasten my pace to get ahead of him. "Honestly, you act like a bloody <em>toddler</em> half the time, picking fights for no good reason! Merlin, do I wish I had the authority to give you a detention or dock points. Personally, I think Pomfrey was too lenient! Acting so ruddy stupid, nearly bashing each other's heads in... What then? Huh? What would you have done if your poor, precious little face had an indent?! Idiot boy..."</p><p>We walk in silence for a while. Well, <em>he</em> walks, and at a rather relaxed pace. I'm speed-walking, nearly <em>jogging</em>, and yet he's right beside me with no trouble at all.</p><p>"I'm not going to apologize, you know," he then says as we step onto the moving stairs, his voice unbothered. "If that's what you're looking for, don't b—be <em>careful</em>," he snaps suddenly when I nearly miss a step hurrying down the moving staircase. "Merlin, you're clumsy."</p><p>"I'm <em>not</em> clumsy! I walk in a dignified manner."</p><p>"You nearly snapped your ankle in half."</p><p>"Yes, well, you incessant babbling was distracting me. It took away my suavity," my face flames up.</p><p>"So I'm distracting to you?"</p><p>"Quiet."</p><p>"As I was saying," he carries on casually as we step back into sturdy floor, continuing down the corridor, "I <em>won't </em>apologize."</p><p>"Well, color me surprised," I scoff sarcastically.</p><p>"I already apologized to you, that too against my own will after being <em>slapped</em> and given a concussion—"</p><p>"Don't you mean percussion?" I smirk dryly, and it takes me several seconds of rushed striding to realize that he's stopped walking.</p><p>With a frown, I turn back around to see him standing not too far off, his pink lips pouting with a confused look in his eyes. It's <em>almost</em> precious the way he tilts his head at me and gazes into my eyes searchingly, a few blond strands threatening to tangle with his lashes.</p><p>"What?" he asks.</p><p>I lift an eyebrow. "You don't remember?"</p><p>"Remember what?"</p><p>My lips twitch with the effort not to grin. "Of course you don't remember... you were concussed."</p><p>Draco shifts somewhat uncomfortably. "Out with it, witch," he huffs, chin tilting up and kaleidoscopic eyes gleaming with a hardened exterior. "What's so funny?" he scowls when I poorly stifle a small giggle, my ears burning slightly at the memory. "C'mon, speak up."</p><p>"<em>Well</em>, after I broke your stupid little fight apart," I give him a sharp look that he responds to with a roll of his eyes, "I started yelling at the two of you for trying to <em>kill</em> each other—"</p><p>"I wasn't trying to <em>kill</em> h—"</p><p>"Don't interrupt me, Malfoy," I glower threateningly, but all he does is smirk slightly. "As I was saying, I was yelling at you for nearly putting each other in the Hospital Wing, and you responded—" I cut myself off, squinting you at the ceiling to recall his exact words. "I believe you said, 'You're the one who gave us <em>percussions</em>.'"</p><p>Draco scoffs, shaking his head while ambling towards me. "Don't be preposterous. I didn't say that. It must have been Carlier. His poor, pea-sized brain probably couldn't handle more trauma."</p><p>I smirk, forced to tilt my head up rather far to make eye contact with him as he stops just a foot in front of me, pinks lips smirking while he peers down at me lazily.</p><p>"No, I recall very well," I say sweetly. "You'll find I have an <em>impeccable </em>memory."</p><p>"Perhaps it's failing you this time," he says coolly. "There is <em>no </em>way I said—" He stops himself, dignified features starting to contort. His eyebrows knit together tightly, pink lips giving way for a soft little pout. And then Draco gasps softly, his eyes widening just a fraction. </p><p>I lift my eyebrows at him, and then his cheeks then flood with color without a warning. My lips turn up in an uncontrollable grin, and my hands fly up to cover my mouth to keep in that hysterical laughter that desires to spill out. His cheeks only continue turning red at this, and his hands drag through his hair over and over while he takes a small step back, eyes looking everywhere but at me.</p><p>"Don't laugh at me," he says with a threatening glare when a slight squeak escapes my lips. "It's <em>not</em> funny."</p><p>I drop my hands, my face hot with the pent up laughter. "Are you <em>embarrassed</em>, Malfoy?" I gasp teasingly, stepping towards him while he takes another short step back.</p><p>"I'm <em>not</em> emb—"</p><p>"You can lie, but your body can't," I snicker, reaching you to poke one of his reddened cheeks with my fingers. "My <em>goodness</em>, your skin is burning up! Aw, it's alright to admit that you're embarrassed, princess," I coo, his eyes widening in horror.</p><p>"Did you just call me—?!"</p><p>"Look at your cheeks! They're so red, you poor thing," I pout at him sarcastically, my hands reaching up all on their own to pinch his cheeks and push them around a little, his face growing noticeably warmer under my touch while he splutters.</p><p>"Celeste!" he sounds whiny, the look of pure humiliation on his face making me giggle in a way that's completely unlike me. "<em>Stop</em> it!"</p><p>"Oh, but you're just so <em>adorable</em>," my voice drops with derision as he reaches up and grabs my wrists to pull my hands away, though he doesn't let go of me after. "My, aren't we sensitive?" I chuckle softly while his hands tighten around my wrists.</p><p>"Stop it," he all but snarls lowly, bringing my arms up near his chest to pull me closer to him, making me gasp softly.</p><p>We stay like that for what feels like several long minutes but was probably just a few fleeting seconds. Up close like this, I can smell him intoxicating scent, from the green apple to the musk to the cologne, and it takes all my effort not to lean in closer—which would be quite a feat, as he's holding me so my face is inches from his—and get a deeper whiff.</p><p>It strikes me then—if Draco remembers what he's said, can he remember what I did? What I did right before practically sprinting off back to the dungeons?</p><p>My eyes flicker to his cheekbone. The bruise has finally faded, but to my surprise, there's a small scar there. Perhaps Maxon was wearing his family ring, because there is a hardly one centimeter long thread if silver ingrained in his otherwise flawless skin. I decide, in that very moment, that I like it. Nobody should be allowed to be so perfect porcelain, to have not a single flaw in the expanse of their body. It has to be a crime to both be built like a god and present the lack of flaws like one. That scar belongs there.</p><p>His hardened eyes, silver like daggers, stare me down sharply before he pushes me away from him and continues down the hall at a faster pace, ears burning red.</p><p>"You're <em>very</em> irritating, you know that?" he huffs like a child, making the shocked expression on my face melt into one of annoyance.</p><p>"Oh, don't deny that you like it," I snap, following behind him at a much less tense pace.</p><p>I'm <em>teasing</em> him. Why am I <em>teasing</em> him? You don't tease someone that's done the things he's done to you, certainly not like <em>this</em>.</p><p>"I hardly think 'like' is the proper word to use in any context surrounding you, my darling."</p><p>"Oh? Is that so? Don't fret, I hate you too," I scoff softly, noticing him slow as he reaches a corner we must turn in the hallway, glancing over his shoulder to look at me.</p><p>He hesitates, and then he says, "Yeah? Good, then."</p><p>I roll my eyes before hurrying to catch up.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>DECEMBER 20th, 1996</b>
</p><p>Slughorn's classroom doesn't look like I was just sitting in it yesterday listening to him drone on and on about the properties of some remedial potion. No, it's covered in drapes that extend from ceiling to floor, making it appear as though we're in an outdoor tent colored with emeralds, crimsons, and golds. There's fairies floating around the ceiling, giving off a gold glow to accompany the lanterns propped up all around. Despite there only being twelve Hogwarts students invited, including the dates, the room is crowded with people, the live music accompanied with the bustle of conversation. House-Elves scurry about carrying trays and narrowly avoiding being kicked over by inattentive guests.</p><p>"Wow," Elara says simply next to me. "Is that the captain of the Hollyhead Harpies?"</p><p>I turn to look where she's looking, and sure enough, a tall brunette with an uncomfortable expression on her face is surrounded by several greying, middle-aged men offering her drinks and placing their hands on her shoulders. I scowl at the sight, though she's quickly whisked away by someone I can't quite see, a relieved expression on her face.</p><p>"Think so."</p><p>"Hey."</p><p>I turn to look at Elara. She's always been pretty, but I still have to admit she cleans up well. Her longer, loose brown curls are piled up in a bun at the top of her head, two loose strands framing her face. Her dress is a light, sage green, flattering against her skin. It's tight and lacy, showing off her wide hips, and the thin straps and lower neckline display her collarbones. At the very least, she makes a presentable date.</p><p>"Thank you for inviting me," her lips, painted a slightly pink nude, turn up in a soft smile.</p><p>I give her a tighter smile, looking away and back out at the festive commotion. "Don't be too flattered. You were a last resort."</p><p>"You're very sweet, Celeste. Has anyone ever told you?"</p><p>I smile dryly. "Let's walk in, shall we?"</p><p>"Sure," she says softly, glancing around while trailing behind me by just a foot as I walk into the bustling room, narrowly avoiding being dozed over by a running man who looks suspiciously like a vampire. "Am I dressed properly? I didn't have the chance to run out and get anything."</p><p>"You look fine."</p><p>"Do I?"</p><p>"You look <em>pretty</em>, Jacobs, is that what you want to hear?" I say bored, rolling my eyes.</p><p>"Oh, I mean, I wasn't trying to <em>fish</em> for comp—"</p><p>"You talk far too much."</p><p>Elara laughs, to my surprise. "I get that a lot. You look very nice, Celeste."</p><p>I smile tightly. "I know," I say.</p><p>"She's modest, too..." she mutters under her breath.</p><p>I didn't have a chance to go out and purchase a dress either, as I'd only decided to come a few days ago, but I did put my transfiguration and charms skills to use in transforming a simple dress in the corner of my side of the closet that I haven't touched in <em>years</em> into what I'm wearing now. It's a simple dark red dress made of satiny fabric, fitted tightly on my torso before flaring out into a skirt at my waist that reaches just below the middle of my thighs. The straps are thin, and the neckline is deep yet not very revealing. The back, however, is another story, completely exposed until a few inches above my tailbone.</p><p>"I'm surprised to see you in red," Elara says as we circle around the room, taking in the unfamiliar faces—though I think I've seen a few in the <em>Prophet—</em>that surround us.</p><p>"Is that so?"</p><p>"I didn't think a Slytherin would ever be caught dead in Gryffindor colors."</p><p>I laugh shortly, glancing at her and fondly patting the side of her arm while she lifts a curious brow at me. "Oh, Jacobs," I sigh serenely. "Listen, I look good in green. There isn't a single color I can't pull off—though orange always gives me a hard time—but <em>red</em>. Oh, if I look good in green, then I'm <em>exquisite </em>in red."</p><p>She scoffs out a laugh, looking at me in disbelief. "Merlin, the amount of confidence you possess..." Elara trails off, shaking her head while scanning me in amusement. "I hate to inflate your ego, but I can't say I disagree."</p><p>I smirk. "Exactly. Hogwarts Houses can't stop me from looking my best."</p><p>She laughs softly, and then we continue our meandering. It's so crowded, I can't even spot Blaise and Warrington through the thick. I do, however, see Potter, at whole my face curdles in disgust, being hounded by one side by Trelawney the Divinations professor and Slughorn himself. Shaking my head slightly, I pluck two flutes of flavored Gillywater off a passing tray, passing one to Elara who smiles at me shortly.</p><p>My eyes dart back over to Potter, and that's when I see Luna beside him. I squint. "Is that Looney Lovegood? That's his date for the night?"</p><p>Elara gets defensive instantly. "Her name is <em>Luna</em>, and <em>yes!</em>"</p><p>Lazily throwing a hand up in surrender, I just shrug and say, "Noted."</p><p>We get whisked aside by several of Slughorn's guests politely introducing themselves to us. Elara seems much more engaged in the conversations. In fact, after two or three of them, I come to the realization that she isn't faking sweet smiles, faking laughing at horrible jokes, nor grimacing at ever discreet touch of her arm or back. No, she actually seems to <em>enjoy</em> talking to these people, or listening to them rather. I do it all just the same, wiping my palms on the side of my dress with every sweaty handshake, but I'd rather be anywhere else in this current moment. It seems I've lost my affection for conversing with even those in upper echelons.</p><p>Perhaps that died with me but failed to come back. Absurd.</p><p>At one point, I see Hermione Granger standing near Cormac McLaggen, looking absolutely miserably. I sniff and turn my nose up when I see her, scanning her to take her in. Half her hair is up, and she's wearing a decent dress. She's pretty, I suppose, but I can't quite see what Malfoy saw in her.</p><p>I blink.</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>A rustle in the curtains catches my attention and diverts it from the old man currently talking to Elara and I about his expeditions in Tanzania. I see a flash of white, perhaps <em>blond</em>, making me frown, and I'm about to go see what it is when Slughorn appears in front of me.</p><p>"Celeste, my dear! Ah, I was hoping you'd make an appearance. Find the venue alright?" he jokes with a slight wink, very clearly a touch past tipsy in the way he struggles to stay balanced. "Is this your date for the night?"</p><p>Elara smiles beside me. "Lovely party, professor."</p><p>"Thank you, thank you—Now, do you mind if I steal your date?" he smiles at Elara.</p><p>"Oh, not at all. I think I saw Luna standing by herself, so I'll go find her." Elara turns to me, giving me a tight smile and a squeeze on my arm. "Find me later?"</p><p>"Sure," I say, and then as she walks away, Slughorn whisks me aside.</p><p>"I haven't seen you at one of my parties since the first day!" he says, plucking a flute of champagne off a passing tray. "Drink? Ah, I probably shouldn't offer drinks to students—Though I won't tell anyone if you're sneaky about it!"</p><p>I force a smile, wincing as someone steps on my feet. "Oh, I've been busy. My apologies, Professor."</p><p>He waves me off. "Don't fret, my dear. Now, I'm glad to have a chance to talk to you."</p><p>"As am I," I straighten up, watching as he downs his champagne in one impressive go, my eyebrows rising. Then my mind flashes with images of the runes on my skin, and I clear my throat to say, "I was actually hoping to ask a favor of you."</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"I was hoping—Could we go into your office?" I wince as we pass by the live, loud band. "It's a bit loud out here."</p><p>"Ah, yes, follow me," he says, beckoning me to come after him as he turns on his heel (nearly falling over in the process) to stride towards his office door which is the only part of the classroom revealed form under the drapes.</p><p>He opens the door, and in we step. Slughorn closes it with just a crack left open, allowing some of the music to seep in while I walk over to stand in front of his desk. He meanders after me, picking up the crystal decanter next to his nameplate to fill his champagne flute with whiskey while I watch, slightly bewildered.</p><p>"Now, what did you need, my dear?"</p><p>"Well, you see, there's a project Im working on. Unfortunately, the books I need to work on it are all in the Restricted Section, so—"</p><p>"Alright, then! All you had to do was ask," he chortles lightheartedly, fishing around the mess of papers atop his desk before procuring a little pad. "There it is..." He then leans down, grabbing a peacock feather quill, dipping it in a large pot of purple ink, and scribbling away on the pad. Moments later, he's ripping the paper off and handing it to me, a bright smile on his face.</p><p>"Oh..." I say with a slight smile, stunned while taking it from his fingers. I didn't expect that to be so easy. "Thank you, so much."</p><p>"Oh, no big deal. Now, I actually had some things I wanted to ask <em>you</em>."</p><p>"Go on ahead," I shrug distractedly, blowing lightly on the yellow paper so that the ink dries before folding it up into a small square, slipping that into the hidden pocket on the side of my dress.</p><p>"You see, I only ever invite <em>spectacular </em>students to these events. Your grades speak for yourselves, and of course I'm astounded by all the travel experience you have at such a young age."</p><p>"Thank you, professor."</p><p>"And you're new. Well, not <em>new</em>, as it's been over a year, but <em>relatively </em>new. And <em>I'm </em>new—sort of—here, and of course word spreads about those that are new, doesn't it? I've heard quite a bit about you, from student and professor alike. Granted, not all of it I was supposed to hear, but it isn't my fault that some haven't learned how to use inside voices."</p><p>I quirk a brow. Where is this going? "Oh?"</p><p>"Yes, well, I had to ask. I know rumors aren't supposed to be trusted, but..." Slughorn leans across the desk to come closer to me, his eyes alight with excitement and pale skin slightly blotchy. "This rumor... This rumor was... <em>incredible</em>. I have to know."</p><p>"Sir?"</p><p>"Is it true?" His breath smells like alcohol.</p><p>"Is what true?"</p><p>"That day in the Ministry."</p><p>My heart drops to my feet.</p><p>"Is it true you died?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what jobs do u think harry potter characters would have as muggles</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0075"><h2>75. JUST A LITTLE WHILE LONGER</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>yup</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em> </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong> <em>December 20th, 1996</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>He had to ask me to meet him here of all places?</em>
</p><p>I exhale sharply, glancing over my shoulder to ensure that no straggler or late arrivals to Slughorn's little party are approaching before turning back to the doorway. The door is wide open, but the way is covered by drapes with a slit through the middle, and I manage to slip into the room behind the narrow space between the walls and the colored drapes.</p><p>Professor Snape has been repeatedly telling me to meet him in his office. I, of course, have been ignoring him, except now he's threatening to throw me into a month detention, which I <em>obviously</em> can't afford. So now he's told me to meet him here, but without being seen by anyone.</p><p>I press myself as close to the wall as I can get, feeling completely thankful in the moment that I have the build of a Seeker and not a Beater as I manage to only brush against the drapes a few times. I strain my ears, trying to listen for his voice, but it's impossible to hear anything over the horrible mandolin playing and the live band, so I carefully part the drapes in front of me with my fingers, peering out to see who is on the other side.</p><p>The first person I see is Celeste.</p><p>She's standing there talking to some old man, and though she's nodding while he blabs and keeps her eyes on his, I can just tell she couldn't care less what he has to say. I'm not sure how, but I just know. She's nodding, she's responding, she's smiling at what are probably horrible jokes, and she's ignoring the way his hand brushes against her arm on "accident" one too many times—I think I might throttle him, but then I remember I can't quite reveal myself—but I just <em>know</em> she'd rather be anywhere else.</p><p>I scan her. She's wearing a red dress, and though I find it garish a Slytherin would ever wear such colors to a Christmas party when the other obvious choice is <em>green</em>, she looks good in it.</p><p>I blink and look away to see the girl next to her, frowning when she's familiar. Yes, a Ravenclaw in our year. Elara Jacobs. She and I had a brief <em>thing</em> a few years ago, occasionally sleeping with each other. I can't recall what ended it, though.</p><p>Is that Celeste's date?</p><p>I frown slightly, and then I decide not to dwell on it. I have more important things to do right now.</p><p>Letting go of the drapes, I continue skirting around the perimeter of the room when I distinctly hear Snape's nasally voice complaining about the volume of the room.</p><p>I part the green drapes in front of me, nearly jumping when it reveals someone's back. My eyes drag up, recognizing the back of my professor's head, and the. I quickly give a tap on his shoulder. He doesn't jolt or jump, but simply turns his head over his shoulder to glance at me from the corner of his eye. He then shoots his head straight forward, standing like that for a couple seconds before slipping behind the drapes as well. Snape doesn't glance at me or address me before instantly heading towards the exit, making me huff softly before following after him.</p><p>"Professor," I start sharply once we've stepped out the doorway, "I—"</p><p>"You can<em>not!</em>"</p><p>I lift my eyebrows. He then grabs my sleeve and continues tugging me along down the hallway until we reach a window, roughly letting go of me while my face transforms into a scowl.</p><p>"You cannot afford to make mistakes, Draco," Snape's voice is now a low, hushed whisper, the side of his face illuminated by the large, mockingly grinning moon outside the window, "because if you are expelled—"</p><p>"Professor, don't be ridiculous," I snap, instantly getting defensive as my hand covertly slips into the pocket of my robes to find my wand.</p><p>"You and Zabini failed to heed my first warning, and then you proceeded to ignore all my other attempts to assist you," he hisses, coming a bit closer causing his hair to fall in his face.</p><p>"We don't require your assis—"</p><p>"What the two of you did was clumsy and foolish. You two, specifically <em>you</em>, are already suspected of having a hand in it."</p><p>"<em>Who</em> suspects me?" I snap angrily and lowly. "I've gotten all your messages, professor, and I heard you loud and clearly that day. There is no need for this conversation. For all anyone knows, that Bell girl had an enemy no one knows ab—don't look at me like that!" my voice raises on his own when I see his dark eyes narrow at me, blood boiling and raging in my veins. "I know what you're doing, but I'm not stupid. It won't work—I can stop you!"</p><p>
  <em>What am I saying?</em>
</p><p>My throat closes tightly as he scoffs softly at me, turning his chin up to peer down at me from over that great, hooked nose of his. His eyes have an odd glimmer, and then there's suddenly a pressure on the side of my head. I manage to contain my wince as what feels like a great weight tries to burrow its way into my mind, causing me to instantly reinforce the walls of my Occlumency. It's difficult, especially with how badly I'd like to hex him right now.</p><p>"Ah..." Snape says after a pause, sneering slightly, "Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?"</p><p>My neck flushes with anger. "I'm not trying to conceal anything from <em>him</em>. I just—" I stop abruptly to turn my head over my shoulder with a frown when I get an odd sensation on the back of my neck, though the hallway is empty. "...just don't want <em>you</em> intruding."</p><p>"So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You have feared my interference? You realize that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco—"</p><p>"So give me that detention you were threatening to," I hiss lowly, though that's the last thing I need. "Report me—" I laugh dryly, throat tightening still, "Report me to <em>Dumbledore</em>, then." His name is like acid on my tongue.</p><p>There's a pause, and then he says, "You know I do not wish to do that."</p><p>"Then <em>leave me alone!</em> There's another student you could be hounding."</p><p>"<em>Listen</em> to me," his voice drops so low that I have to force myself to block out the rushing of blood in my ears to hear him. "I am trying to <em>help</em> you."</p><p>Bullshit. Nobody can or will help me.</p><p>"I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco—"</p><p>"Then I suppose you'll have to break it, because I don't need your protection," I sneer, seeing his stoic face tighten. "It's <em>my</em> job, my job and hers. He gave it us and, and we are doing it. We have a plan," I say, my gut tightening at the thought of that stupid Vanishing Cabinet, "and it's going to work, just taking longer than we thought!"</p><p>"What is your plan?"</p><p>My blood flares again. This is my one chance, my <em>only</em> chance to redeem my family's name. He doesn't get to take that away.</p><p>"None of your business."</p><p>"If you'll just tell me, I can assist you—"</p><p>"I've got all the assistance I need. I'm not—" My voice chokes slightly, hand flying up to lightly touch my throat. "I'm not alone."</p><p>"You really ought to confide in me, I can—"</p><p>"Don't think I don't know what you're up to," I mutter. "What, trying to steal my glory?" the words are thick coming out of my mouth. "Forget it. You can look elsewhere."</p><p>"You are speaking like a <em>child</em>. I understand your father's capture and imprisonment has upset you, but—"</p><p>Having had enough, I turn on my heel and walk away before he can continue his sentence. No, I strife, I stride as quickly and as sharply as I can manage, ignoring Snape's calling of my name while I rush past Slughorn's still bustling party, sure that if I bump into <em>anyone</em> tonight, I might just throttle them. My hand itches to grab my wand and just destroy everything, send the bricks of this castle crumbling down and with them their inhabitants, including the Headmaster I've been tasked to eliminate anyway. Stupid old man.</p><p>I don't need <em>help</em>. I don't <em>want</em> any help that's being offered, whether the offer is real or not. I can do this just fine myself. Even if I didn't have Celeste to do it with, it would be fine.</p><p>It's obvious what Snape wants. Bellatrix was right, I'm not sure he's someone I can trust, though perhaps for different reasons than she thinks. He's hungry for more, hungry or officially take the spot of right hand man that my father had for so many years. He's eager to be the Dark Lord's most trusted confidant, but it is <em>my</em> job to not only murder Dumbledore but restore my father's honor so that whenever the Dark Lord finally breaks him out, his coveted position will be waiting for him.</p><p>My breathing constricts, and my eyes start to sting as my pace hurries. I'm not sure where I'm going, but it's not to the dungeons.</p><p>My hands have developed a tremor by the time I realize I've approached the foot of the astronomy tower. I managed to stop to stare at the archway of the spiraling stairs, though my body vibrates with an energy dying to be released in some way, whether against a wall or against another body.</p><p>I think I might throw up.</p><p>And my body is overheating, like someone has turned the furnace up as high as it gets. I think I might be melting, like I'm made of wax. Yes, I'm melting, and if I don't move and run up to the top of the tower where the December air will freeze me back up, I'll turn into a pool of nothing right on the stone floor of this pitiable excuse of a school.</p><p>When I get to the top of the astronomy tower, someone is already there.</p><p>Celeste leans against the railing all the way across the tower. Her forearms press into it, her body weight trusting it to keep her from falling. There's a slight wind which, paired with the low temperatures of winter, turns my body right into ice, but I don't mind it so much. It makes a few of her curls away softly, tickling her shoulders, and the hem of her dress dances against her thighs. There's no light up here spare for the waxing gibbous moon hanging in the pitch black expanse of sky, as well as the stars that glitter and keep it company.</p><p>"Who's there?" her voice is soft, and that's when I notice her shoulders are trembling.</p><p>"It's me," I say without hesitation.</p><p>She freezes, and then her head turns to the side, though not enough to look at me. I watch as her legs press closer together, ankles crossing while she shifts her weight to the toes of one foot.</p><p>"Are you just going to stand there?" she asks, her voice an echoes carried by the frigid breeze. It sounds odd. "Make a decision, Malfoy. Either leave, write me up for being out here after curfew, or join me."</p><p>I pause there, contemplating the choices. I could leave. I could go back to my empty dorm, take my third shower of the day, drink myself into a coma, or perhaps smoke a little bit to take the edge off. I could write her up. What good would that do?</p><p>Or I could stay here, up on this tower in the freezing cold with the one person that loathes me more than anyone else.</p><p>I walk quietly forward, rubbing my arms from over my robes, until I reach the railing, leaning against it just as she is though a few feet away from. She doesn't turn to look at me, not even when I turn my head and make no attempt to hide my blatant staring at the side of her face. It glows in the moonlight, a light shadow cast on her cheeks from her lashes. Her eyes, though, are blacker than even the sky, tinged slightly pink in the whites of them. Her arms are trembling, lips pressed tightly together.</p><p>"You're cold," I say simply.</p><p>"Why are you up here?"</p><p>"It's December, and you're out here in a dress."</p><p>"Should you even be up? Shouldn't your rounds be over?"</p><p>"Do you intend to freeze to death?"</p><p>"Maybe," she shrugs, making my brows narrow.</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"Couldn't be the worst way to go out," Celeste's voice is thick as she closes her eyes, leaning forward slightly and over the railing. "I'm sure there are more morbid ways. It might work this time."</p><p>"Burning would certainly be worse."</p><p>"Oh, I know. It <em>is</em> the worst."</p><p>I shoot her an odd look. "You say that as if you've been burned alive before."</p><p>An ironic smile twists her lips, but she says nothing. A silence persists between us, during which she still doesn't shift her eyes from the dark landscape to me. She doesn't even seem phased by my eyes very obviously on her face. The breeze picks up, making a curl drape itself across her face and sway near her jaw, but she can't seem to be bothered to brush it away.</p><p>"Slughorn's party was so bad you had to leave?" I ask, my arms still trembling with the effort not to break something. Snape's words still echo in my head, but I want to forget about him and the task. Just for now.</p><p>She doesn't say anything, but she moves her hand to rest her chin in her palm, black eyes glittering.</p><p>"Why are <em>you</em> up here, Celeste?" I sigh softly, turning around so it's my back leaning against the railing. I have no interest in looking at the stars tonight.</p><p>"Why are you asking?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Are you <em>actually</em> asking, or are you just being polite?" she asks, her voice low and slightly hoarse, and I wonder for a moment if she was crying before I came up the steps.</p><p>"When have you ever known me to be polite, Zabini?" I murmur back, watching her eyes fall shut while she sniffs softly</p><p>Celeste shrugs. "You're good at kissing ass around adults."</p><p>"Fine. When have you ever known me to be polite to <em>you?</em>"</p><p>"Right," she laughs hoarsely, "I forgot. You <em>can</em> be a gentleman, just not to me. I'm up here because I want to be up here. And I wanted to be up here alone. Take a hint."</p><p>"You're the one that offered the option of joining you. How badly do you <em>really</em> want to be alone?"</p><p>"I was being polite."</p><p>"You're never polite, not to me."</p><p>"I'm not in the mood to argue right now," she says curtly, the first ounce of real emotion in her voice all night, though still her eyes are shut and face turned to the sky. And then she deflates slightly, eyebrows knitting together. "Please."</p><p>I scan her face. "Alright," I say, tilting my head up to get a peek at the sky rather than turning around, "I'm not either, anyway."</p><p>"Malfoy?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"Can I see your watch?"</p><p>Frowning, I look back down at her. Her eyes are open, staring intently up at the sky, a familiar flicker of determination swirling in those dark irises.</p><p>"You need the time?"</p><p>"Your watch."</p><p>Hesitantly, I turn back to face the sky, extending my left hand towards her. She shifts her gaze down to my hand, and when both of hers touch it, we both jolt away from the shock we share from static electricity. My fingertips tingle softly where they touched her skin, a small jolt of pain that, for some reason, I find myself wanting more of.</p><p>Carefully, she reaches for my hand again. I move mine towards both of hers, tensing in preparation for the a shock that doesn't come when one of her hands gently holds mine as if she's about to kiss the back of it, the other supporting the underside of my wrist. Her fingertips briefly skim the skin under the sleeves my robes, sweater, and even my shirt, so startlingly cold. <em>Too</em> cold, too cold to be healthy. Maybe she was serious about freezing to death, because her skin is ice against the tip of my concealed Dark Mark that burns angrily in comparison.</p><p>"I should take you inside," I muse out loud.</p><p>Her fingertips drag lazily over my knuckles and the back of my palm. They take their time meandering up to my watch, and I wonder if she's doing that consciously. Teasing me.</p><p>"Why?" her voice is distant while she gives my watch two taps, and instantly it comes alive with that silver, green, and lavender dragon spiraling within its invisible column confines, moving as if to nip her fingertips.</p><p>"You're frozen."</p><p>On cue, Celeste shivers softly. It's a wonder she hasn't been shivering this entire time. I've only barley managed to suppress my shivers.</p><p>"And your skin is covered in goosebumps."</p><p>"Maybe that's because of the cold," she says so quietly, I might have misheard, "or maybe it's something else."</p><p>Celeste lifts my hand up higher until it's raised towards the sky and level with her eyes. I can see the dragon's reflection in her eyes, giving them a mesmerizing spark. My little dragon, my mother's gift, continues its dance in the air, looking wispy against the black background of the night.</p><p>"It's too cold for you," I say, my own voice sounding heavy and distracted to my ears as I find myself unable to stop watching the reflection in her eyes. "And in a dress..."</p><p>"Careful, Malfoy," she says smoothly, softly, fingertips trembling against my skin, "or I might think you care."</p><p>I hesitate. "If you freeze to death here, who has to carry you out?"</p><p>"Oh, are you afraid your poor, twiggy little arms will break?" she asks softly, the corners of her lips twitching slightly while I roll my eyes. "That's alright. You can leave me here, I won't be alive enough to mind."</p><p>"Please. I told you, I'm a gentleman, enough of one that I know better than to leave dead girls on towers," I say smoothly, forcing my lips up into a smirk, forcing all thoughts of Snape out of my head. "Are you done with my hand? I'd like it back."</p><p>"There."</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>"In the sky."</p><p>I frown at her, and then I turn my gaze to the Stygian night. Scattered amidst the never ending expanse of ink are glittering stars like jewels. In the winter air, it's easy to imagine that they're cold. It's easy to imagine that they are mere snowflakes frozen into ice, permanently hanging where they are. It's easy to imagine that, but I know that they aren't finite nor permanent. They could blink out of existence any second now. And they certainly aren't cold.</p><p>"Am I supposed to be looking at anything in particular."</p><p>"Draco," Celeste says.</p><p>I turn my head, caught off guard by her use of my name. "What?"</p><p>"Not you. Up there."</p><p>Deflating slightly, I look back up at the sky to scan it, finding the Draco constellation in hardly seconds.</p><p>"I <em>thought</em> I recognized that constellation up there. You have no idea how long I've been staring at it, trying to remember where I know it from," her voice is soft, slowly ebbing away with each spoken word rather than growing stronger. "I've never been fond of Astronomy, only ever doing what's necessary to pass the class, so it was odd that it felt familiar. Then you came up here, and I realized."</p><p>By the time she's done speaking, we're a foot closer, my hand still up in the air. Neither of us move while I continue gazing up at the sky, glancing over my family sitting among the dark with me. It shouldn't be too hard to find the namesake of my mother's cousin, my first cousin once removed. He's only the brightest star in the sky.</p><p>"Celeste," I start quietly, well aware that I will likely regret bringing this up.</p><p>"Mm?"</p><p>"Might I ask you something?"</p><p>"Depends."</p><p>"I know you don't like talking about the Ministry..."</p><p>"Off to a terrible start, Malfoy."</p><p>I inhale deeply, my hand slowly lowering in its own. Gravity is too strong for even my willpower, I suppose. Celeste's fingers are still on the base of my wand, though they slip and skim my skin slightly.</p><p>"You saw him, didn't you? Sirius Black."</p><p>She pauses. "Yes," her voice is slightly surprised. "I didn't expect... Why?"</p><p>"He's my mother's cousin."</p><p>"Oh. Right, Narcissa Black," she says softly, and I finally notice what is so different about her voice.</p><p>That slight, hidden accent of hers, noticeable particularly to listening ears, is thicker than it's ever been. It's not a French accent, nor is it from the other countries she's lived in—Japan, or Brazil. It's all hers. It's all <em>her</em>.</p><p>"Did you see him... <em>die?</em>"</p><p>"I... I did." Her fingers slip from my wrist, and then shes propping her forearm back up on the railing. "You didn't know him, did you? You couldn't have."</p><p>I shake my head. "He was in Azkaban for most my life, and even when he wasn't... Sirius Black was a Blood-traitor. I didn't know him much less hear tales and anecdotes of him." I then hesitate, inhaling softly. "That's a lie, actually. I have <em>one</em> memory being told about him."</p><p>She doesn't say anything. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, seeing a distracted expression on her face while she toys with that locket of hers. She looks at peace in an odd way, and so I choose to leave the conversation there and continue looking at the stars, pretending to be just as enthralled by them as she is.</p><p>My constellation seems to mock me in the way it hangs there in its untouchable way while I'm down here, falling apart.</p><p>"That's it?" she then says a minute later, startling me. "You can't leave me on a cliffhanger like <em>that</em>. It's poor storytelling."</p><p>"Right. Well, I was... young, maybe seven," I say, exhaling sharply and watching my breath waft away in a gust of condensation. My shoulders shake slightly not from anger anymore but the cold. "My father was away for a month, some kind of business. It was just my mother and I, and one day she wanted to show me something."</p><p>Celeste shifts closer to me. Not an inch, not a foot, but the entire space between us. It catches me off guard when her arm is suddenly brushing against mine, and especially so when it feels like ice even through the material of all my clothes.</p><p>"I'm giving you my robes."</p><p>Her eyes widen, and she finally looks at my face. "What?"</p><p>"Just give it back, alright? You still have my scarf. Keep it, whatever, but I need my robes back."</p><p>"Oh, I—I mean—"</p><p>"You can't tell me you're not cold," I huff, another puff of condensation leaving my lips while my fingers move to undo my robes, "because I won't believe you. You're practically made of ice."</p><p>"I—"</p><p>"Just say 'thank you,' dumbarse," I roll my eyes, shivering while I slip my arms out of the sleeves and dump my robes in her so they hang over her shoulders. "Do you need helping pulling your arms through?" I mock her derisively, seeing her own eyes roll. "Shall I help you fasten the buttons?"</p><p>"Oh <em>quiet!</em>" she snaps, slipping her arms into the sleeves of my robes, and I press my lips together when I see they dangle inches past her fingertips. She struggles for a few moments to free her hands before doing the buttons herself. "I'm not a <em>child</em>."</p><p>"No, just as tall as one."</p><p>"What child is 170 centimeters tall?"</p><p>"Oh, you <em>have</em> to be lying about your height."</p><p>"Just because you're a freakish half-giant doesn't mean we all can be one," she huffs, but there isn't any irritation on her face as she keys herself hands be swallowed by my sleeves again, rubbing the material against her neck. "Are you sure?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"Your scarf. You said I could keep it. It's just sitting in my nightstand, and I have my own."</p><p>"Oh," I clear my throat, ears burning slightly. I hadn't realized I said that. I look away from her, feeling much colder in just my sweater and shirt. "Yeah. Wasn't particularly fond of if."</p><p>"Oh," she echoes, her voice oddly breathless. "Well, I believe you still have my gloves. Um, I mean, you can keep them too. If you want."</p><p>My lips twitch while she draws her arms closer around herself. "That's alright. I'm not sure what use your gloves would be to me. I doubt I'd be able to fit in them."</p><p>"Oh... That was stupid..." Celeste groans softly. "Just... keep telling me your story."</p><p>"Fine, fine," I sigh, pulling the collar of my shirt up higher. "My mother told me she wanted to show me something, and so when I got ready, she Apparated the two of us away. It was... odd," I sigh softly, my shoulders dropping. "Normally, if she goes anywhere, especially for an errand, she'll take a House-elf with her. But it was just the two of us."</p><p>Celeste leans forward a bit more, her shoulder brushing against my arm.</p><p>"She brought me to the Black household. They don't live a manor, y'know. Didn't. They lived hidden in plain sight among Muggles. Of course, my mother didn't grow up there. Her cousins did. It was a bit unsightly for a Pureblood household, but perhaps my perspective is skewed given where <em>I</em> live."</p><p>She exhales humorously.</p><p>"Even though I was so young, I could sense the magic there. There was so much of it. Hexes, jinxes, traps to catch Muggles and Muggle-borns should they somehow enter the place. None of them sprang on us, of course. Mum didn't even have a key, but it opened and let us in like it recognized the Black blood in us."</p><p>"You call her 'Mum?'" Celeste asks suddenly.</p><p>My brows lift. "Occasionally."</p><p>"Oh. Carry on."</p><p>"So we walked in, and she showed me around. Showed me their sitting room, their kitchen, drawing room, all of it. It was covered in a bunch of dust, and there were all sorts of infestations. Mum even made a point of avoiding one of the rooms because there was a Boggart hiding in the drawer of the desk," I say, tugging the sleeves of my sweater down to cover my hands when the chill starts licking at my bones. "It was boring, frankly, but there was one room I recall vividly. Well, it wasn't the room, actually, but a tapestry."</p><p>"A <em>tapestry?</em>" Celeste scoffs, her breath coming out like smoke, though it dissolves into the cold air much quicker.</p><p>"It was massive, and ancient," I say, my eyes dropping to the forest at the edge of the grounds as I recall that day. It truly was ancient. Mum told me some wizard in the Black bloodline made it in the thirteenth century. "It was a family tree. A literal tree, with a picture of ever Black family member ever. Even my mother, and even me."</p><p>It was a large, green thing, worn and weary from all the years. That gold thread, however, that embroidered it and connected each member through marriage or birth or however, still shone like it was brand new. It emulated magic. It displayed every Black family member that there ever was. It was proud of its Pureblood heritage.</p><p>"Did they get you right?"</p><p>"Hm?" I snap my head towards Celeste, looking at her inquisitively.</p><p>She gazes at me solemnly, but she says, "Did they get your features right? It must be hard to recreate such a dreadfully pointy chin."</p><p>I stare at her blankly for a couple seconds, and then a scowl crosses my face. "Oh, you insufferable <em>witch</em>..."</p><p>"And even harder to recreate that haughty look you always wear."</p><p>"Oh, look who's talk—!"</p><p>Her lips twitch, threatening to smile, as she says, "You know I'm joking, right?"</p><p>I blink. "What?"</p><p>"Just... Go back to your story," she shakes her head, turning her face away from me as her mouth wins over and starts spreading upwards.</p><p>"Oh..." I clear my throat, my neck burning slightly, though it's welcome against the biting December air. "Right. Well, then. Where as I?"</p><p>"The tapestry."</p><p>"Right. It had everyone, even the cousins with different surnames, the people they married, everyone with their names and birth dates. But I noticed..." I hesitate softly, sensing Celeste turning her head to peer up at me, though I chose to glare up at all of my family members' namesakes scattered in the sky. "Some of the names were burned away. Just charred, burnt marks on the tapestries. They'd been disowned."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"Mum stood me in front of that tapestry. She made me trace all the lines with her, told me everything she could remember about her dead relatives. She had a sister. Y'know, other than—" I pause, choking slightly on my words while my eyes dart to look at Celeste.</p><p>Her face is downcast, watching her fingers fiddle underneath the sleeves of the robes. "You can say her name," her voice is muted.</p><p>I hesitate softly, glancing down at her lips. "...She had another sister. Andromeda. And her face was burnt out too. She told me about how her sister graduated Hogwarts and married a Muggle-born, and instantly she was cut out of the family. And then she told me about her cousin, Sirius."</p><p>"Your aunt killed him," she blurts suddenly, fingers tightening into fists. My eyebrows lift. "I don't know if you knew who did it, but it was her."</p><p>"Yeah, I—I know."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>"You know how old he was when they burnt his name on the tapestry? When his <em>mother</em> burnt it?" I ask, my voice sounding hollow as I furrow my eyebrows and look at her desperately. With a shock, I find myself filled with the same feeling as when I was there that day at seven years old. Anxious, and so, so afraid.</p><p>"How old?" she asks, not looking at me.</p><p>"Sixteen."</p><p>Her face falls. "Oh."</p><p>"He ran away at sixteen, a year younger than us, and she burnt his face off the family tapestry," I say, turning back around so it's my back against the railing. Celeste turns so shes sideways against it facing me, her hands holding the robes together tightly against her chest. "I think Mum showed me the tapestry so I could be proud of our family, but..."</p><p>Celeste glances over her shoulder and down at the Forbidden Forest, her fingers once more fiddling with her locket.</p><p>I think she wanted me to be proud, but instead I left that place afraid of how easy it is to be erased. How easy it is to be ostracized. How easily a mother will burn her son's face, how easily a family will disown you. I was seven. I <em>am</em> seventeen. Family was all I knew, and it still is now. It's important, it's <em>everything</em>, and it's all tied by blood.</p><p>I left that house terrified that one day I'll make a mistake, one day I'll upset my father and he won't want anything to do with me, one day my mother will burn my face from that tapestry. I think, after that day, a part of me stopped doing anything to please them because I loved them and started doing anything to please them because I was afraid they'd stop loving me.</p><p>If I mess this task up, I wonder, if the Dark Lord didn't kiss us all, would they still love me?</p><p>I never met Sirius, nor do I regret this. He was a Blood-traitor and everything a Pureblood shouldn't be. But his mother erased him from her life when he was sixteen, and his cousin erased him from existence not one year ago. Family is everything, and yet it is so tentative.</p><p>"Draco..."</p><p>I glance at her.</p><p>"How much do you remember? From that night."</p><p>I know which night she is referring to just by the way her eyebrows stitch together with worry, but I ask anyway with a soft voice, "When?"</p><p>Her eyes drop to my shoulder. She wraps my robes even tighter around herself, shrugging her shoulders up to sink into it slightly. "After the Quidditch match. You know what I'm talking about."</p><p>I watch her closely. Her lashes, longer from her makeup, bat lightly against her cheeks. Her lips are darker than they naturally are, and though the lighting is poor, I can see that they aren't painted that dark plum color she seems so attached to. They're redder, darker, browner, but still looking just as soft and full. Especially with that slight pout she's wearing.</p><p>When she bites down on the inside of her lip, the anxiety clear even in her lowered gaze, I inhale slowly and take a step into her head. As always, the window is wide open.</p><p>She's scared, and it's not of me.</p><p>That's the first thing I feel. Her fear, it becomes mine for the moments I'm in her mind. It weighs down my shoulders, but there's no urge to run.</p><p>But there's one single memory she keeps replaying. She's on the floor sitting against the wall, and it takes me a second to realize the person next to her is me. She keeps imagining the same moment over and over again, when we both moved at the same time, when she threw herself into my chest and I pulled her into my arms.</p><p>When I held her.</p><p>I step out of her head. "None of it," I say, though my cheek tingles slightly at the memory.</p><p>Her eyes dart up. They glance between mine, and then they narrow. "You're lying to me."</p><p>"Well, none of it other then the whole 'percussion' bit. You kindly reminded me of that one:"</p><p>"You're still lying," she huffs, now crossing her arms. "I know you're lying. Stop it. I have—I have enough people lying to me already, so it would be nice if you didn't do the same. You can just say you remember, you know. I won't break down," Celeste scoffs with a roll of her eyes. And then she winces slightly. "Again."</p><p>I clench my jaw. "Fine, so I remember it."</p><p>"All of it?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Oh," her voice is slightly strained.</p><p>Celeste then turns around so her back is to the sky. I watch with a small frown as she kicks her heels off, letting them skid to the side, and then sits down on the stone floor, letting her back lean against the wall of the railing while he brings her knees up to her chest and adjusts my robes so they cover as much skin as possible.</p><p>"Is there any chance you could try to... forget it?" she then huffs softly, resting her chin between her knees.</p><p>"I..." I frown at the top of her head.</p><p>"It was just a little humiliating, that's all," her voice is slightly bitter now as she sighs and let's her head fall back against the wall, eyes shut. "You would understand if it were you that broke down in front of... me, I guess."</p><p>My ears burn slightly. "So that's it, then, huh? It's humiliating that it was me?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," she says sharply, eyes shooting open to glare at me harshly. "And don't you <em>dare</em> ask why it was. You know very fucking well. I've spelled it out for you countless times."</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"I'm tired of saying it—"</p><p>"I don't know <em>how</em> to apologize to you!"</p><p>She turns her head to look at me, and I groan softly, rubbing my face with my hands. Celeste inhales sharply a few times, as if to say something, but not a single word comes out.</p><p>"You don't think I'm tired of hearing it either?" I then snap. "<em>I'd</em> like to forget that I did any of that. It's selfish, I know, but it's <em>true</em> and you're not making it any easier. But I don't know—I don't know <em>how—</em>"</p><p>"Bullshit," she spits, looking forward again. "You always have something to say. C'mon. You said you'd make me listen to you apologize, well now I <em>want</em> to. So do it. Say it."</p><p>"I don't—" I groan, lightly hitting the side of my fist against the stone wall before sliding down to sit right beside her. Celeste huffs slightly, but she doesn't move away.</p><p>"What, do you need an outline? Have you never apologized before?"</p><p>"Not <em>really!</em>"</p><p>"Well, that explains a lot."</p><p>"Does it have to be with... <em>words?</em>"</p><p>"How else do you expect to say that you're sorry?!"</p><p>"I <em>have</em> said that I'm sorry!"</p><p>"How am I supposed to know you <em>meant</em> it?"</p><p>"Well, I—"</p><p>I cut myself off with a soft curse, my forearms hanging over my knees. I can feel Celeste turning her head to look at me, but I don't return her gaze or say anything. Quietly, I tilt my head up, catching a bit of the sky past the roof of the tower. It glares back in its never ending silence.</p><p>"Didn't you say you're not in the mood to argue?" I say after a moment.</p><p>"I did. I'm not."</p><p>"So it must be second nature, then. To turn everything into an argument."</p><p>"You—"</p><p>"For <em>both</em> of us," I interject sharply, turning my head to glare slightly at her. "It's no wonder our conversations never get us anywhere."</p><p>Celeste huffs harshly. "And whose fault is <em>that?</em>"</p><p>"Celeste—<em>Fuck</em>," I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. That familiar irritation climbs up my gut, but I force myself to push it away. "Fuck. Okay. Before I came up here, I was talking to Snape. Alright? He's been hounding on me all of term to meet up with him, but I've been ignoring him until now. And—<em>fuck—</em>I don't—I don't know if I believe him. You remember what he said to the two of us that day? That he took the Vow and said he'd help us? I just..." I bite down on the inside of my cheek, my hand wrangling through my hair.</p><p>"I remember," Celeste says quietly when moments later I'm still not speaking.</p><p>"I blew up at him," I deflate, closing my eyes as I feel so suddenly dumb. "Merlin, that was stupid. I blew up at him. I don't know, I assumed he was just trying to take the task form us. Trying to do it before we can, trying to get some kind of glory. But even if he does just want to help us... He <em>can't</em>. It has to be us. You know that, right?"</p><p>Celeste fiddles with the sleeves of my robes that she wears. "Yeah. I know."</p><p>"Celeste, I'm—" My voice catches when my throat swells up to stop any air from entering or leaving my throat. I gasp softly when it opens, my fingertips coming up to graze my Adam's apple. "I'm s—" It's like it doesn't want me to say it. My body, my head.</p><p>"Sorry?" she whispers, big black eyes darting all over my face.</p><p>"<em>Scared</em>."</p><p>As soon as the word leaves my lips, I want to take it back. My body goes rigid, fingernails digging into my palms. It's still freezing out here, but that suddenly doesn't matter. I can't feel the way the breeze turns into daggers and pierced straight through my skin, because my body turns hot in an instant. That's not something I'm supposed to admit, much less <em>feel</em>.</p><p>Celeste's hand is suddenly on my forearm. It's light, as if she isn't placing the weight of her arm fully on me, as her fingers gently make patterns over my sweater. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse.</p><p>"I'm scared, too."</p><p>I don't open my eyes, not even when she slides her hand down so her fingers brush against my knuckles, not even when she traces my rings with cold fingertips. I shake slightly despite how much I tense my muscles, like there's an earthquake creeping under my skin.</p><p>"Malfoy."</p><p>"What?" I say quietly but sharply.</p><p>Her fingers are shaky, trembling, inadvertently drumming lightly on the back of my hand.</p><p>"I'm terrified."</p><p>Her breathing has grown a little heavier, a little louder, a little more struggled, and her finger fiddle with the back of my hand with a slight tremor. They pick at my skin, roll my knuckle squeeze my fingers, prompting me to open my eyes so I can frown down at where her dark skin is in such sharp contrast against my own pale skin.</p><p>"Malfoy."</p><p>"Stop saying my name, and just <em>speak</em>, Celeste," I say quietly, slipping my hand out from under hers so hers falls to the stone floor. It sits there impossibly still for a few moments before I place my hand back down next to hers,  the side of it brushing against the side of hers.</p><p>"Do you have—Do you have a—?" Celeste huffs and shakes her head. "I just—I feel stupid—"</p><p>"<em>Speak</em>."</p><p>"Do you have a happy place?"</p><p>My head moves on its own, tilting up and to the side so I can direct my frown to her. She isn't looking at me, though. She's looking at our hands, which still sit side-by-side, with a soft pout on her lips and tense lines between her eyebrows.</p><p>"A <em>happy</em> place?"</p><p>"Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? I've just heard people using that phrase many times, and I was wondering if people actually h-<em>have</em> them," Celeste murmurs, stumbling slightly over her words as she slumps slightly against the wall. My robes split slightly to reveal the very hem of her red dress and one long, toned leg.</p><p>"A happy place," I say again slowly, my head nodding on the second word. And then my head falls back to lean against the barrier keeping us from falling down to the ground below.</p><p>"Yeah. You know, what people think of when they want to feel better. Sandy beaches and the tropics."</p><p>"I don't. Have one, that is."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>Celeste draws her hand away, loosely wrapping her arms around herself and turning her head away from me. I take the chance to drag my gaze down the slender length of her neck, the tendon that makes itself so stark with the way she has her head turned, the sharp line of her jaw, the way the moonlight gives her an eerie glow. The breeze comes back, and though it's only strong enough to make one of her tight curls wave at me, the way it freezes me too my bone makes it all that much harsher. Celeste draws into herself at the feeling, and she finally shivers with a violent tremble of her lower lip.</p><p>"Do you have one?" I ask finally, slipping my hand into my pocket to grab my wand.</p><p>She hesitates. "I suppose."</p><p>I whisper a spell under my breath, pointing the tip of my wand at my hand. I flinch softly when the Bluebell flames erupt from the wood, expecting it to singe me despite knowing it'll only burn what I want it to burn. It calms down quickly, quieting into a small fire half the size of a Quaffle. Celeste gasps softly when she sees it, and then she exhaled in relief when she realizes they're just Bluebell flames. I slip my wand back away, glancing at her hesitantly.</p><p>We both shift a few inches closer to each other wordlessly, and then I bring my other palm down to cup the fire, watching it grow to occupy the space while I move my hands into the space between us.</p><p>Celeste closes the room between us until our legs are flush together and her arm is behind mine. Quietly, she slips her arm around mine as if to hold it, though both her hands move to curl into loose fists above the flickering blue flames. She flinches whenever one jumps out to lick her skin, though we both know they won't burn her.</p><p>"What does that mean?" I ask quietly when we've both settled. "That you suppose."</p><p>"I mean..." Celeste shivers softly, her hands trembling above the small fire.</p><p>Her cheek is hardly an inch from just resting on my shoulder. The blue fire I hold between us does it's job in warming me up, but it hardly matters when Celeste is like a block of ice against my side. She's more than cold, and more so than any person should be even in this kind of weather.</p><p>"Celeste, you should probably go inside."</p><p>"I'd rather not right now," her voice is a little sharp, and then she sighs heavily. "What I mean is—Well, I don't necessarily think of it when I want to calm down or feel better, but... I've never been happier anywhere else. You don't have a place like that?"</p><p>I frown softly, watching her fingers tentatively greet the tip of the fire, retracting completely untouched. I try to think of such a place, a place where I'm wholly in a better mood than anywhere else, but my mind just keeps returning to the Black residence. Keeps returning to that tapestry, to those singed names, to my own name embroidered in perfect gold thread. My own name that could be burned off with one wrong move.</p><p>Celeste speaks up before I can admit I don't. "There was this bakery in France," she says, her voice soft and distant. Her head keeps falling as if it wants to rest on my shoulder, or like she might fall asleep, but she catches it in time. "We lived in a small village, actually. Saint-Cirq-Lapoppie. There were hardly two hundred, maybe three, residents there. Completely magic, hidden off from the Muggle world. And there was a bakery there..."</p><p>Her hands slowly drift down closer to the base of the fire, brushing against mine. I can hear her swallow audibly while my heart speeds up just slightly when she slides her hands to rest in mine, her fingers trembling harder than ever.</p><p>"Is this—Is this fine? It's just w-warmer this way, b—"</p><p>"It's fine," I say curtly, wincing when her freezing fingers burn my palms.</p><p>Celeste is quiet for a little while. I want to turn my head to look at her, but she's so close that she would notice, and the thought makes my pulse thump harder.</p><p>"I was happy there," she then says definitively, stretching the fingers on her right hand out so her palm lays right on top of mine, so icy and small. Her fingertips make a laughable attempt at reaching mine.</p><p>"I remember."</p><p>She picks her head up, and I close my eyes while my face burns slightly. <em>Idiot</em>.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>I sigh softly, forcing myself not to close my hands into fists. "I mean—I remember you told me about it. The bakery."</p><p>"I did?" The surprise in her tentative voice makes me open my eyes to look at her. There's a blue flicker in her eyes from the flames, and she looks positively celestial with the way the light from the sky and my palms kiss her skin.</p><p>"Last year," I nod, glancing down at her lips. They're too close to mine for me to just ignore them. That heat crawls further up my neck and blesses my cheeks with its sharp grasp, but I doubt it's noticeable in the odd lighting. "After Christmas, I believe. You told me..." I hesitate softly, realizing that perhaps I shouldn't bring it up.</p><p>Realization dawns over her face rather perceptibly. "Oh. The apple mille-feuille. My father got it for me..." she murmurs, looking down at the fire while a soft puff of air leaves her mouth in the form of a white cloud. "That was our bakery. You remember me telling you that?"</p><p>"Yeah, and—" I press my lips together, my ears practically on fire by now. "Yeah."</p><p>One of her eyebrows lifts. "And?"</p><p>"And..." I sigh softly, looking away while I'm sure my entire face is tinged rouge by now. "That book you gave me for my birthday. I think you wrote about it on the margins somewhere," I mutter with a slight shrug.</p><p>"Oh," Celeste's breath hitches softly. "You still have that?"</p><p>I frown. "Why wouldn't I?"</p><p>"Well, I mean, it was in tatters when I gave it to you. I thought you were just being polite when you accepted it. Frankly, I expected you'd toss it into a bin after some time."</p><p>"It was a gift, Celeste. I wouldn't just toss it."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>There's a thick thirty seconds of silence, and then her head falls to rest on my shoulder.</p><p>I tense instantly, my muscles turning into stone. I think if I might move a single inch, the whole world will be disrupted by it. The stars will explode above us, the moon will fall from where it hangs in the sky, and the entire castle will come crumbling down. I need to move my arm, but if I do, everything will be ruined. I keep it where it is and listen to Celeste's soft breaths. Her hands turn limp where they sit cupped in mine, our blue flames dancing in the dark.</p><p>"I'm just not sure if the bakery is my happy place," she says quietly, making my knee jolt in surprise as I was <em>sure</em> she'd fallen asleep, "or if my father was."</p><p>And then she shivers, curling her legs up beside her and leaning all her body weight against me. I don't move, I don't dare even thinking about it. I just gnaw lightly on the inside of my cheek, inhaling the vague smell of blackberries emanating from her hair, feeling her cold skin on mine. Her whole body trembles now, as if she's finally feeling the cold, even more violently than mine does.</p><p>"You need to go inside."</p><p>"Just a little while longer. I like it out here."</p><p>I close my eyes, shapes and colors dancing behind them and a dizzying pace.</p><p>"Malfoy?"</p><p>"Mm."</p><p>"If I fall asleep—"</p><p>"I'll wake you."</p><p>Her cold hands curl up on top of mine. I sit like that for a few quiet moments more, the breeze chilling my skin that was once crawling with burning hot shame, though it would be much worse without the Bluebell flames. My heart won't rest, not even for a moment. It's beats are sharp staccatos, each one harsh against my chest. My blood rushes fast enough to hear it, and my pulse threatens to burst open my wrists.</p><p>It's only my heart that moves. Everything goes still, just so she doesn't rouse. I become a statue under her glacial fingertips. I think, if she wanted to, she could wield that same power on my heart. She could similarly render it into a useless stone, but instead she allows it to continue beating. It's right in her hands, though, I'm sure it is. I'm sure her fingers would hardly have to budge to harden it, that it lays at her mercy in her palms the way the blue flames lay in mine. Once I close my hands, it'll be gone.</p><p>"Thank you," she says.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what is the best compliment you've ever gotten?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0076"><h2>76. SO LONG WITHOUT BREATHING</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>AHHH, CHRISTMAS!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>December 25th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Is it a rule that once you've grieved too many times, you forget how to grieve at all? That once you lost parts of your heart so frequently, it doesn't even affect you anymore? That once you've shed a certain amount of tears over loss, you never shed a single one every again?</p><p>Aunt Colette buried her latest husband not so long ago, but she wears a bright, wide smile on her face as she greets all her guests.</p><p>It's no secret that she has never loved any of her husbands, at least not any after the first. Maybe she loved her first so much, she vowed never to love another again. Or maybe she poured so much love into him, she didn't have any left to give anyone else—not even her son. So many "maybe"s, so many theories, nothing truly explains how she manages to walk around the drawing room and laugh boisterously at every horrible joke.</p><p>Honestly, I didn't really have any plans for how I would spend my Christmas, but I wasn't hoping to partake in my aunt's party.</p><p>It's small, at least relatively to the other events she's thrown in the manor. The entire first floor is open to wandering guests that laugh and drink glasses of champagne while listening to the live music stationed in every room. Yes, small, no more than one-hundred guests. It makes me wonder why these one-hundred people didn't choose to spend the holiday with their families instead.</p><p>At least I have Blaise and Pansy.</p><p>We sit near the fireplace, chairs dragged up and close to it as we could manage without dipping our feet right into the flames. Blaise and Pansy are busy in conversation, and though I try to focus and listen in on it, I find myself growing distracted. Distracted by the fire, distracted by the way Pansy's knee bounces up and down, distracted by that man across the room who has the loudest, most horrible laugh ever.</p><p>The three of us have already exchanged our gifts. Blaise got for me a new Wizarding Chess set, except its made entirely out of glass, half the set embellished with gold, the other half embellished with black. He said something about being sure not to touch it, as he doesn't want me tearing his hair out for doing so like I did when we were younger. I couldn't manage more than a smile at that. As for Pansy, she gave me a beautiful set of gold accessories, custom-made in some far off country I've already forgotten the name of.</p><p>"You can wear them when you're presented at Court later this year," Blaise had said with an impressed lift of his brows when he had peered over my shoulder to see what Pansy and I were cooing over.</p><p>"Court?" I had replied in a shock, and the light in Pansy's eyes had died at this too. "You don't mean—? You can't <em>possibly </em>mean—?"</p><p>"It happens every year, Cel," Pansy had interrupted me glumly, carefully placing the gold hairpins back in the velvet box they came in. "We aren't exempt to it."</p><p>"I just..."</p><p>Court. A tradition old as age, one that's evolved over the years, but at the same time hasn't changed so much at all. Girls, debutantes, they're presented once they've apparently come to a mature age. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, sometimes even older when their Pureblood parents couldn't seem to find them acceptable suitors even after their first debut. It isn't something that's been talked much about for me. I've moved around so often, it didn't seem like a concern.</p><p>"When?" I had asked.</p><p>"This spring holiday. You truly didn't know?"</p><p>I cross my legs, tugging the hem of my black dress down to cover more of my skin as goosebumps appear all over it despite the fire we sit before. I glance around at the guests mulling about the drawing room and both entering and exiting it as if the face I'm looking for will be there, but it won't; Mother is still traveling. For work, she says. She lies so often that I'm not sure if I can believe even that.</p><p>And I don't know whether to feel disappointment or relief that she isn't here. I'm disappointed because <em>she isn't here</em>, but I'm relieved because at least I won't have to look into the eye of the woman that never wanted me.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>I snap my head forward to where Blaise and Pansy share an arm chair. Blaise is sprawled out on the seat of it, looking irritated that the glass in his hand only has sparkling water, whereas Pansy sits on the arm and leans into him, her arm wrapped over his shoulders. She's looking at me with a small frown.</p><p>"Yeah?" I clear my throat, sitting up a little straighter.</p><p>"Are you listening?"</p><p>"Yeah, yeah, I'm lis—I'm listening..." I trail off when just I see from over her shoulder a familiar figure walking through the door, his coat draped over his arm and his jaw set rigidly. "I didn't realize the Malfoys were coming."</p><p>"Mum invited them," Blaise says, tossing back the last sip of his sparkling water before wrinkling his nose up in disgust. "I hate sparkling water."</p><p>"Then why would you get it?" Pansy huffs irritably, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.</p><p>"Looks cooler than just flat water."</p><p>"I knew they were <em>invited</em>," I say, still looking at Draco.</p><p>He's glancing around the room absentmindedly, his ringed fingers distractedly mussing his hair up before he realizes what he's doing and quickly pats it back down. He looks good—infuriatingly so. He's dressed in a black suit, but there's silver embellishment on the lapels matching the ones on his shirt collars and tie. A waiter carrying an empty tray gestures to take his coat from him, but he just shakes his head curtly before glancing in our direction and locking eyes with me.</p><p>"I just didn't think they'd actually come..." I finish, tearing my eyes away from him when he glances away and plucks a drink off a passing tray. I sink a little lower in my seat, avoiding the scrutinizing gazes I get from both of the two that sit across from me.</p><p>"Just Draco," Blaise says slowly, the suspicion in his voice hard to miss. "He owled me earlier today, said his mother won't be coming but that we will, and he asked if he could stay here for the rest of break."</p><p>My eyebrows dart up.</p><p>"Really?" Pansy asks for me.</p><p>"Yeah, he—Took your bloody time getting here, didn't you, Malfoy? It's already nine o'clock," Blaise interrupts himself with a growing grin when Draco walks over to us. He gets up out of his chair to great Draco with a half hug, the both of them lightly patting the other's shoulders. "Merlin, what are you wearing? Did Mum send you a faulty invite? Far too dressed up."</p><p>"Please, this?" Draco mutters with a quirked brow. "This is nothing. Merry Christmas, you three."</p><p>"Yeah, yeah," Pansy says with a grin, getting up when Blaise sits back down to loop her arms around Draco's neck and tug him down for a tight hug. "Where are our presents, hm? You didn't think you could come here without some loot, did you?" she teases when they pull away, lightly ruffling his hair.</p><p>"Upstairs, in my guest room," he huffs with a roll of his eyes, fixing his hair before playfully pushing Pansy back so she stumbles backwards and nearly falls into Blaise's lap. And then he finally turns his head to peer down at me from over the length of his nose, scanning me with sharp silver eyes. "Celeste."</p><p>My hands twitch. "Malfoy."</p><p>"Merry Christmas."</p><p>"To you, too."</p><p>"Might I steal you for a moment?"</p><p>I blink in surprise, but that stoic expression on his face doesn't falter from a moment. It doesn't lift from mine to look at Blaise and Pansy across from us, both of whom I can see gaping through my peripheral vision. He blinks once, twice, but his lips don't twitch upwards nor downwards. A strand of his hair falls across his forehead, but he just blinks again.</p><p>"Sure?" I question, and then he's holding his hand out for me to take. I look down at it blankly. HIs fingernails are manicured perfectly, and the sleeve of his suit is crisp, like it's brand new. His cuff link glares at me in the light.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>"Right," I murmur under my breath, tentatively slipping my hand in his.</p><p>He pulls me to my feet, and there's a moment where I nearly knock right into his chest. He catches me, though, his hand gripping my other arm and squeezing it to hold me steady. I just stare with wide eyes at his tie, refusing to lift my gaze up to his because even though it doesn't <em>look</em> like I'm blushing, my face is on fire. My eyes briefly skip over his shoulder to see Blaise watching us in horror and Pansy covering her face with her hand, her skin red as she convulses with the effort not to laugh loudly.</p><p>I then inhale deeply, trying very hard to ignore his inebriating scent. "Shall we? Go?" I say, my voice sounding unnaturally light as I pointedly stare at the knot in his tie.</p><p>His hand drops from my arm. He gives a small nod, glancing over at Blaise and Pansy once before turning back towards the very door he entered through, pulling me along with him. It's not like he's forcing me to walk behind him, nor is he walking particularly quickly himself, but it feels like I'm in a trance. Maybe I'm walking through some thick substance, but I can hardly bring myself to move my legs at a pace past that of a sleepwalker.</p><p>"What do you want, Malfoy?" I huff as he pulls me out into the hallway. "The party's only just began, and I was gonna flirt the bartender into giving me a bottle of champagne."</p><p>Draco pauses. He doesn't acknowledge me or my words, and the only way I know <em>he</em> knows I'm still there is how he gives my fingers a slight squeeze. He glanced up and down the hall, seeing the few people that kill about, and then he tugs me up beside him before continuing towards the stairs.</p><p>"I want to give you your gift," he says curtly, still not bothering to give me a glance.</p><p>I blink, stopping at the base of the steps right as he starts up. He pauses when our hands get caught between us, and then he turns around to look me. Already taller than me by seven inches, he looms over me standing on the second step. The chandelier light above causes a shadow to cast under his high cheekbones, and his eyes look stormy yet stoic as they skip right past my own and look right into my head.</p><p>"A gift?" I ask, my voice so unnaturally high once more. I'm still holding his hand and he's still holding mine, our arms outstretched between us.</p><p>He scans me once, twice, and my face heats up.</p><p>"Yes, a gift, Celeste," Draco's voice is then sharp as he moves so he's only one step above me.</p><p>My chest is close to his stomach. I tilt my head up and he tilts his down so we can still look at each other. My pulse thuds violently when his hand leaves mine to lightly touch my chin, bringing it up a little further. My lips part on their own when his silver eyes drag down to them.</p><p>"Do you need your ears checked?" he asks, his voice light, smooth, and sharp. "Or is just your eyesight that's deteriorating?</p><p>My jaw drops, but before I can snap back at him, he sighs heavily and drops his head.</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>My eyes widen, and maybe it's by accident, but his thumb brushes against my lower lip.</p><p>"Just come with me, alright?" his voice is husky an low, and I close my mouth to swallow thickly, finding myself unable to tear my eyes away from his. "I want to give you your gift." He swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing lightly. "Please."</p><p>A shiver passes my spine. I scan him, looking for anything that might reveal his intentions. His face is stoic from the way his jaw is clenched so tightly and his brows express nothing, but his eyes watch mine intently.</p><p>Hesitantly, I pull his hand off my face, letting his fingers press against mine. "Fine," I say, my voice a little croaky.</p><p>"Good girl."</p><p>His eyes widen and a choked gasp escapes my lips. His fingers tighten on mine.</p><p>"I-I meant—<em>good</em>. Just... come with me," he sighs sharply, turning around and continuing up the stairs while pulling me in tow.</p><p>"Right," I mumble, following him up.</p><p>He glances once over his shoulder when we reach the top, and then he loosens his grip on his hand and continues tugging me alone down the balls of my own manor. I'm suddenly thrown back to the last time we did something like this. The dress I was wearing was gold, long, and elaborate, though the one I wear now is black, short, and simple. And we were in his manor, strolling through hallways highlighted with silver, not gold.</p><p>When we stop in front of his guest bedroom door, I groan softly and tear my hand away from his.</p><p>"Really, Malfoy?" I spit as he pushes the door open and walks in, briefly glancing at me. I move to lean against his doorframe, my arms crossed. "Are you serious? Are you really trying to <em>fuck</em> me? You never fail to astound me."</p><p>I swivel on my heel, blood boiling dangerously close to the surface of my skin and my fingers trembling with the urge to tear something apart, but a hand much warmer than mine grabs me and tugs me into the room, turning me around so suddenly that I gasp moments before colliding with the hard panels of Draco's chest.</p><p>I stumble backwards, blinking the spots out of my already blurry vision and reaching blindly behind me for the doorway. The he steps towards me again and pushes the door shut, his hands up against the wood on either side of my head while I lean back against it, panting heavily.</p><p>"Honestly, witch," he spits in a sharp, biting voice, the offense in it catching me off guard, "you really think that lowly of me?"</p><p>I lick my lips, blinking rapidly until his face comes into focus. His lips are <em>so</em> pink, and his eyes are <em>so</em> intense.</p><p>"I'm not trying to <em>fuck</em> you, for Merlin's sake," he the. says, pulling away from the door and gripping my arm to tug me along beside him towards the bed. "Just sit down and stay put. I said, <em>sit</em>," he spits when I make another beeline towards the door, this time grabbing. me by the back of my dress and pulling me towards him, eliciting a gasp from my lips.</p><p>"I'm <em>not </em>a <em>dog!</em>" I huff, stumbling away from him. My calves then knock into the side of his bed, and consequently I fall down to sit on his bed with a slight bounce.</p><p>I'd like to slap that haughty smirk off his face.</p><p>"No, a dog would be much more obedient," he muses, running a hand through his near blond locks while his eyes darken and momentarily devour me in my dress. They linger on my shoulders, my thighs, my legs, and then he shakes his head and turns towards his nightstand. "You're quite a handful, Celeste."</p><p>I sniff, tilting my chin up and crossing my arms over my chest. "Something tells me you prefer me this way," I spit back, toes curling in my heels.</p><p>He ignores me, rummaging through his nightstand. I'm still quite huffy, as I don't appreciate being dragged away from my friends and the fireplace—it is <em>freezing</em> in this manor tonight—and being manhandled and barked orders at like a dog, no matter how nice his gift must be.</p><p>I can't believe he got me one. Part of me is still very sure this is some stupid ruse to embarrass me or something. I sure didn't get him anything.</p><p>He looks really good.</p><p>As he's turned away from me, I allow myself a few brief moments to drink him in. That suit fits him to perfection, made for him and solely him. It's crisp and clean, and in slightly better lighting than downstairs, I can see that it's not simply black, but a dark green in velvety material. And the silver on the silk color of his still very much black shirt seems to be dancing, the simple embroidered serpents like jewels in the light. He's tall, he's lithe, and he looks so effortlessly powerful.</p><p>I look down at my own dress. The sleeves are long and reach my wrists, but the skirt only meets half my thighs. The shoulders puff just slightly, not enough to mock middle-aged women who desire to be young again or to make me look particularly pompous, but enough so to bring attention to the hard lines of my collarbones and the sweetheart neckline. I couldn't go without my gold, of course, even with the locket I always wear, hence the simple flowers embroidered on my sleeves.</p><p>I look back up just in time to see Draco turning around, something in his hand. I squint slightly, tilting my head. It's small and rectangular, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a little bit of twine. He passes it between his hands once, twice, and then he steps towards me.</p><p>Draco first tosses his coat, which was still draped over his arm, onto the bed before sitting down beside me. He doesn't bother maintaining a respectable distance, the length of his thigh pressed to mine. I have plenty of space on my other side, though. I could always move.</p><p>"It's a book, isn't it?" I ask quietly when he holds the small package out towards me.</p><p>"Of course," he says, and I take it from him.</p><p>Draco's silver eyes watch not my hands undoing the twine and unwrapping the paper, but they watch my face. I'm grateful for my hair covering the most of it, my throat already growing tight under his watchful gaze. The paper falls to the side, though neither of us notice. I smooth my fingers over the front of the hardcover book. It's clean, crisp, just like everything about him is, and the words on the cover are stamped with precise silver.</p><p>I almost laugh.</p><p>"Poems?" my voice teases lowly.</p><p>"Yes, well—" Draco swallows thickly when his voice cuts off, and thats when I finally notice the anxious drum of his fingers atop his thigh. He's <em>nervous. </em>"It was supposed to be your birthday present, actually, but obviously I never got around to giving it to you. Wasn't planning on it, not for—not for Christmas, but with all that Muggle literature and poetry you keep reading?" He shrugs almost sheepishly while I slowly look up to give him a harsh glare. "I figured it was time someone introduced you to the wizarding world."</p><p>"Thanks," I say loudly, blankly, dryly, seeing a wince flicker over his features before that stoic expression returns. And then I deflate slightly, looking back down at the book while flipping through its clean cut pages. "Thank you."</p><p>Draco inhaled as if he wants to add something, but he says nothing at all. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, pretending to read the blurry words on one of the pages when in fact all I can think about is <em>him—</em>him right next to me, him with his leg pressed to mine, him with his pretty lips I could kiss if I wanted to, him with his hard eyes that must be on me right now, him with his unforgettable scent, him with his ringed fingers, him with his lightly calloused hands, him, him, him, him.</p><p>It's probably only a minute of silence that passes, but it feels like a hour. It's horrible, it's tense, it's the exact opposite of comfortable. I want to move my leg away from his just as much as I want to swing my other over his lap to straddle him. And I want to hit him. I want to hit him very badly for making my mind all confused.</p><p>"So, um, shall we go back downstairs?" I clear my throat, my voice lacking all the passionate aggression and thirst to obliterate him. No, instead it is weak and pathetic, completely unlike me.</p><p>"Err, yeah, I—"</p><p>"I mean, I'd—I'd—I would give you your gift," I choke out, closing my eyes and turning my head away as my face twists in pain at that embarrassing stutter, "but I—well, I wasn't expecting that we'd—"</p><p>"No, no, I didn't think you'd get me—"</p><p>"Well, obviously, I wouldn't. I don't really owe you much," I murmur, and he goes quiet at this.</p><p>I wince.</p><p>That was a bit harsh, wasn't it?</p><p>But he deserved it, didn't he?</p><p>After everything he did? Doesn't he deserve it? The harshness. Logically, I mean, I think he does. He hasn't really done much to prove otherwise.</p><p>It's a lovely gift. It doesn't fix anything, though.</p><p>It's getting increasingly difficult to remind myself that <em>he deserves it</em>. He deserves every harsh word and punch thrown at him. He all but earned it. Doesn't matter if he looks like a kicked puppy or he gives me his scarf or if he lets me rest my head on his shoulder. Consider it his penance.</p><p>Why does he make me <em>awkward?</em> I've never been awkward.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>"Yes," I startle, jolting slightly at the feeling of his fingertips dancing against my tailbone. My face burning hot, I lift my head to look at his chin and strictly his chin. "Is there something else you'd like to say? Or will we return downstairs, now?"</p><p>"I..." His voice is strained, as if he himself doesn't know the answer to my question.</p><p>I glance down at the book, wondering for a brief moment if my father ever read it. The ring on my chain seems so cold against my skin.</p><p>"There <em>is</em> something else, actually," he then sighs heavily, reaching behind him to slip his hand into the pocket of his coat.</p><p>I look up curiously, my eyebrows rising to see a rectangular box lined with velvet sitting in his open palms on his lap. His rings glint in the light, and he holds it tentatively like it's some explosive. Jewelry? It looks much like a box in which a bracelet might come.</p><p>Tentatively, I reach a hand out to touch it. In that moment, he quickly tightens his grasp and pulls away.</p><p>I look up with a frown at his face, but his gaze is down on his hands. He's worrying at his lower lip. "I just—Before I show you, I feel I should say—"</p><p>"I'm getting impatient, Malfoy."</p><p>"When are you not? I suppose you'll just have to deal with it," he huffs.</p><p>Draco briefly directs the daggers in his eyes up at me with a threatening glare, like if I don't shut up, he'll find a way to make me. I roll my eyes and look back down at the box, fully aware of his arm brushing against mine.</p><p>"You have a lovely voice, Zabini, but <em>zip</em> it."</p><p>My blood boils and my stomach flutters simultaneously.</p><p>"I think..." He hesitates softly. "You're typically the one that rambles here—"</p><p>"I do <em>not</em> ramble!"</p><p>"Don't make me gag you."</p><p>My cheeks flush. "Right."</p><p>"<em>As I was saying</em>, you're typically the rambler here, so excuse me if I sound a bit circuitous while I'm speaking. See, I wasn't—I wasn't sure I'd give you this—Hey, I reserve all rights to change my mind, actually," he says in an obstinate voice, clutching the box very tightly, so tightly his hand starts shaking. "Alright? Okay? This is very last minute for me, and I do <em>not</em> like last minute. Okay? I like this planned, and—" He huffs harshly. "You ruin <em>everything</em>."</p><p>My jaw drops.</p><p>"Wait!" he yelps before I can shout at him. "That came out wrong. Oh, fuck you. You're ruining me."</p><p>My look of rage transforms into confusion. <em>What?</em> I mouth to him, brows twisted and head shaking slightly.</p><p>"I just—Fine, I'll say it. I'm nervous, alright? About your reaction," Draco snaps sharply, looking very angry and irritated for someone who is allegedly nervous enough to be rambling admittedly much like I do. Though my rambles aren't necessarily a nervous tic of mine. "Because this could go—This could go either very well or very horrible. I think you might—I don't know—tolerate me after this? Or perhaps you'll hate me more, and I think that would be irreversible because frankly it shouldn't be possible to loathe me more than you already do."</p><p>"Malfoy—"</p><p>"I said not to talk—"</p><p>"You're not making any sense!"</p><p>"Well—" Draco sputters slightly, and I look up in a shock to see his entire face flushed a lovely shade of pink. "Well, that's cause none of this makes much sense to me either!"</p><p>I blink.</p><p>"That day outside the Hospital Wing, you said to me that you felt like you weren't supposed to be bothered in the slightest by anything I said," he says with furrowed eyebrows and a sheer look of focus in his averted eyes while my stomach plummets to my feet. "You said—You said that not only did the words hurt, but the—" He chokes softly, as if he's run out of breath for his words. "But that since it was <em>me</em>, it was... worse? You said that, didn't you?"</p><p>Im silent and still, finding myself unable to move a single muscle. Not the ones in my hands, nor the ones in my face. Not even my throat to make me respond.</p><p>"You <em>did</em>, Celeste, you said that," he presses firmly.</p><p>"Yes," I choke, looking down at the box while an overwhelming wave of shame wraps around my dignity and pulls it into the depths of its greedy ocean. I so, so wish he'd forgotten all that. I wasn't supposed to feel those things much less <em>admit</em> them.</p><p>"Right, well—I'm not supposed to feel guilty, okay? I'm not supposed to give a <em>shit</em> what you're thinking or feeling, but I do, and it probably doesn't help that it's <em>you</em>," he spits, his face contorted with concentration. "Alright? I don't—I don't like it, not a single bit, not the guilt and not... <em>definitely</em> not everything I did." His eyes, silver, hold me fast, pupils dilated so wide I wonder for a moment if he might be on something. "Celeste," he then sighs, "it's just that you're the <em>one</em> person who might—who might understand... <em>anything</em> that I don't even know how to say, and I—"</p><p>I frown when he just cuts himself off and doesn't pick up. "What?" I ask softly, my hand darting up to my throat when my voice shakes. Much like the way his hand is trembling.</p><p>Draco sighs, closes his eyes, and he shakes his head. And then he smirks dryly, saying, "I think I've spent too much time with you. I've never rambled like that before."</p><p>Something close to disappointment settles in my gut. I force a dry smile. "Right."</p><p>Draco scratches the back of his neck. "You might hate this," he says lowly, smoothing his thumbs over the top of the little box. "A lot. And I'm not—Im not trying to intrude on anything special to you, it might seem like it. Y'know, if you want, when you... <em>see</em> it, I can leave. If you'd like. I can leave you alone."</p><p>"Malfoy, quit yapping."</p><p>"Fine."</p><p>"Open the damn box."</p><p>"<em>Fine</em>."</p><p>"Honestly, whatever even is it?" I huff, tucking my curls behind my burning ears while looking away from his even hotter gaze. "It looks like a bloody bracelet box. How much could I possibly hate you for a bracelet? I swear to you, as long as it's gold and not silver, I'll probably love it, Malf—"</p><p>He opens the box.</p><p>It's not a bracelet.</p><p>It's not jewelry at all.</p><p>It's a <em>fork</em>.</p><p>My face drops, and we both still. For several long moments, not a word is exchanged between us. We don't move the slightest inch. He just holds this lovely velvet box open, displaying to me the shiny silver fork sitting delicately on a pillow.</p><p>And then I finally look up, my gaze hard and bitter, and I deadpan, "Did you really just give me that whole fucking speech to give me a fork?"</p><p>"Well, it's—It's not just a <em>fork</em>."</p><p>"Ah, it's a magic fork. Thanks."</p><p>"Well—" Draco pauses, his lips forming a soft pout in concentration while my glare intensified. "Yeah, it <em>is</em> a magic fork, actually."</p><p>I stand up abruptly at this, clutching the book tightly in my hands. "Thanks for wasting my time, Malfoy," I mutter, stalking towards the door while a fresh wave of humiliation burns my skin from head to toe. "I'll be sure to read the p—"</p><p>For the nth time in the night, he gets up, grabs my hand, and pulls me towards him. I spin a whirl, but before I can collide with his chest, his other hand which still holds the now closed box presses to my hip. I shiver softly under his touch, looking up with wide eyes at his tense, aristocratic face, and then I frown before pulling away from his hands, suddenly so cold again.</p><p>He's panting, I'm panting, but we've both hardly moved. I take a small step back, stumbling in a way that's not like myself when my heel skids against the floor, and he again reaches forward to steady me. His hand on my hip squeezes the fabric of my dress before slowly dropping down to his side.</p><p>"It's a Portkey," he says, wild eyes boring into mine.</p><p>I look at him blankly, and then my face twists with confusion. My brows furrowed, and my downturned lips part to question, "A Portkey? You got me a Portkey? How did you get a license for a Portkey?"</p><p>"I didn't."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"There's no license," Draco laughs dryly, a smirk breaking his lips. "This is incredibly illegal, but, honestly, with everything we've done this year and—" His lips flicker, threatening to turn down, "—everything we <em>have</em> to do this year... I'm not worried about the legalities."</p><p>My lips twitch. My fingers tremble. My heart pounds.</p><p>"You got me a Portkey?" I ask again, my voice hardly above a whisper and my head tilting to the side.</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"An <em>illegal</em> Portkey?"</p><p>"I... suppose."</p><p>I can't control my lips. They break into a small smirk, and as soon as he spots it, Draco rolls his eyes and runs a ragged hand through his hair.</p><p>"You, same guy constantly yelling at me for being irresponsible and hasty and careless. You got me—"</p><p>"An illegal Portkey, <em>yes</em>, Celeste," he huffs irritably, though he averts his gaze while his cheeks start tinging a darker shade of pink, one dangerously close to the brink of red. "Can you just ask me where the Portkey is for?"</p><p>"Where's it for?"</p><p>Draco opens his mouth, and then he hesitates. I watch, my head tilting further to the side, as his cheeks burn redder still, forcing myself to resist the urge to cup my hands against them.</p><p>"Actually," he says, lighting dragging his thumbnail<br/>over the velvet, "I'd rather just show you." His sharp eyes scan me. "You should change first. You'll get cold."</p><p>"What is your obsession with my body temperature?" I roll my eyes and cross my arms. "First the scarf, and then your robes, and—"</p><p>"You're quite obstinate, you know that?" he says lithely, crossing the room over to where a single armchair sits by the window. I frown when I see something fluffy sitting atop it, and then when he picks it up, I gasp when I see <em>my </em>own fur coat—in a beautiful cream color—hanging from his hand. "Lucky for you—and me—I anticipated your stubbornness, and so I took the liberty of taking this from your room. Now, I do strongly suggest you change into something that'll cover your legs, as we'll be outside in the night, but—"</p><p>"You <em>stole</em> from me?!"</p><p>Draco looks at me blankly. "It's a lovely coat, Celeste," he then deadpans, "but it's not quite to my taste. I didn't <em>steal </em>it, dumbarse, just put it on."</p><p>I catch it as he tosses it to me, and with a great scowl painted on my lips, I slip my arms through the sleeves and pull it tight over my chest. He scans me, eyebrows loosening, and walks to his bedside to pull open the drawer of his nightstand once more and lift from it a pair of gloves. <em>My</em> gloves. He leans over to hand them to me, skin brushing against mine before I pull away to slip them on. It takes a few seconds. My hands are trembling, maybe with excitement or nerves or confusion. Where is he taking me?</p><p>"Can you just telling me where we're going?" I blurt, watching him slip his own coat and gloves on.</p><p>"No."</p><p>"I hate you."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>"<em>Malfoy</em>."</p><p>"Be patient."</p><p>"I <em>can't</em>."</p><p>"That's your problem."</p><p>I glare harshly at him, but he only responds with a small smirk while stepping back up towards me. And then that smirk drops as he holds the box out between the two of us, opening it up to reveal the <em>magic fork </em>sitting in its confines. And then he reaches to take my hand, making me bite down on my lip while he cups the back of it and turns it to face upwards so he can place the box on it.</p><p>"We'll touch it together," he says, "lest we get split apart. Safer this way."</p><p>"Of course," I mumble, toes curling once more in my heels. For all I know, this is some sick prank. Maybe he'll dump me in the middle of the Sahara desert and take the Portkey right back here, leaving me strand in a sea of sand. Or perhaps it's not a Portkey at all, and he's just trying to embarrass me.</p><p>Draco pulls his glove off with his mouth, making my stomach twist and me clamp my mouth together. He gives me an odd look before pulling the glove off my left hand for me, tucking them both into his pocket. We lift our hands to the fork at the same time, and as soon as our fingers touch the silver, it's like a hook tugs to at my naval and the entire world turns inside out.</p><p>There are a brief few seconds where it feels like I'm flying in midair, glued to the fork just as Draco's blurred figure in front of me is, and then we drop back to the ground with a thud that sends pain jolting up my legs.</p><p>The Portkey drops to the cobblestone ground. I stumble backwards, my surroundings spinning around me while my hands reach for my mouth to hold back the dinner that so desperately wants to come up. I hit a wall, maybe the side of a little building, and nearly fall down to the ground. Closing my eyes, I force myself to count backwards from twenty, focusing on nothing else but breathing properly.</p><p>When I open my eyes, Draco is leaning against the wall of a little building across from me, panting softly. His cheeks are flushed, hair all messed up, and his eyes are trained on me. And then he swallows thickly and pulls the gloves back out his pocket, slipping his on before tentatively reaching for the fork and placing it back in the blue box that had also fallen to the ground.</p><p>It's cold.</p><p>We're outside. I can tell that much as I look around. And we're in a little alleyway, though not the creepy kind that makes me wonder if I'll be jumped at any moment. It's lit by a lantern a little ways off to the side, and we're surrounded by two squat little medieval houses built with uneven and beautiful brick. They're brown, the roofs tall, and they hit me with an odd sense of nostalgia.</p><p>"Malfoy," I whisper, looking up at the bejeweled sky.</p><p>"Put your glove back on," he murmurs, stepping towards me cautiously. I don't bother reaching for it, wholly consumed by the stars looking down at me, so he lifts my hand and eases it on for me.</p><p>"Malfoy."</p><p>I look back down at him. He's watching me apprehensively, and I realize he really doesn't wear his nerves on his face. He admitted to me himself that he <em>is</em> nervous, but he looks at me with focus, with caution, trying to read me. Not quite like I'm a wild animal moments away from launching at his carotid.</p><p>"Where are we?" I whisper, condensation leaving my lips in a wispy cloud.</p><p>I think I know the answer.</p><p>He holds his hand back out for me. He doesn't take it the way he has been this entire night, but he waits for me to take his.</p><p>I slide my palm against his, shivering quietly from the cold, feeling the heat of his skin even through our gloves. He gives my hand a short squeeze, and then he walks forward out the alleyway.</p><p>"I think you'll have to do most of the navigating tonight," he says softly as we step out onto the narrow cobblestone street, my knees going weak as I look up and around at all the medieval house sand stores lining the winding road all the way up the little village. Looking up behind me, there are steeples and buildings and houses towering above us on the elevated ground, and looking down below, there are more houses perched on the side of this limestone cliff we stand upon overlooking the dark waters below. "You're likely more familiar with it than I'll ever be. Perhaps you..." he hesitates softly, squeezing my fingers, "perhaps you'll know where to find the best bakeries."</p><p>My throat closes up. My hand goes limp in his, put I don't pull away. I just stare down at the jagged stone of the cliff, of the little archaic homes with their thatched windows glowing with light from inside. And we aren't alone, not at all. This little village of just over two-hundred people is bustling with life, witches and wizards moving in and out of doors, carrying food in glass containers and waving their wands about to clear the snow out of their way.</p><p>It's just how it was the last Christmas I spent here in Saint-Cirq-Lapopie. Fairies lighting up every rooftop, forming little dancing chains that accompany the floating lanterns. Christmas trees perched at each jagged precipice of the snowy cliff, decorated with gold, silver, red, green, decorated with homemade oranges of wood, stone, and glass. There's only a thin layer of natural snow on the ground, but each witch and wizard has their own charm cast causing little flakes to fall from the sky and dissolve before reaching the ground. When I look at Draco, though, I see them caught on his lashes.</p><p>There's music playing somewhere. No, everywhere. I know there's a small live orchestra that performs in the square. It's nothing professional, just a few villagers that can play an instrument, but charming nonetheless. And there are Wirelesses perched atop windowsills playing merry music while the entire village, a family of two hundred, celebrated in its way.</p><p>It starts fading away, though, the music replaced with the pounding of my heart and rushing of my blood in my ears. I gasp softly for breath, my hand ripping out of Draco's and darting up to touch my throat.</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>I blink quickly, the backs of my eyes starting to sting with needles.</p><p>"Listen, we'll—we can just go back. The Portkey should work. Probably."</p><p>"I, um—" I choke softly, taking a step backwards. My heels land on a patch of ice, and I gasp as I nearly slip. Draco is quick to step towards me though, both his hands tightly gripping me by my elbows.</p><p>"I really didn't mean to intrude on this place. I shouldn't have. Celeste—"</p><p>"Shut up," I whisper, watching a villager and his daughter pass us by towards the square.</p><p>He pauses. "Alright."</p><p>I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Draco fills the silence—or, at least how much silence can exist with the chorus of laughter further down the street and the music surrounding us—rather quickly.</p><p>"Would you like to walk around, Celeste?" he asks gently, his hands coaxing me to turn around. I look blankly over his shoulder, but then his hand comes up to my chin to direct my gaze to his eyes. I shiver when I see them, when I see him, his cheeks kissed from the cold and snow melting in his hair. "I can stay here. I can wait, if you'd like to be alone. Or we can go back. We can do anything you'd like."</p><p>"Why?" I gasp out.</p><p>He pauses, and those pretty pink lips of his turn down into a soft frown. My hands itch with the urge to reach up and coax them back up, but they stay still at my sides. His hand on my chin moves to push my hair out of my face, lingering against my cheek for a moment to long.</p><p>"Why, what?" His voice is soft, breath coming out with a soft cloud that drifts off.</p><p>"Why did you bring me here, Malfoy?" I ask, my voice trembling while my eyes, too tired to maintain contact with his, drop down to his lips.</p><p>He's quiet for a few moments. Then his hands move to the front of my fur coat, slowly and carefully fastening the buttons that I hadn't bothered with.</p><p>"We can go, if you're uncomfortable."</p><p>"I asked you something."</p><p>"I wanted to. I brought you here because I wanted to," he says firmly. "Now do you want to stay? If you do, we will stay. If you don't, we won't."</p><p>"You can't—You can't do that."</p><p>He doesn't say anything, but I can feel his gaze grow harder on my face.</p><p>"I-I want to stay," I exhale, and that's when I realize I do.</p><p>This little village built into the side of a limestone cliff is tainted with my memories, memories of myself and of him. Every corner of the winding cobblestone street has been worn down by our own feet, and the thought makes me want to thrown up over the side of the cliff just as much as it makes me want to retrace the grooves left by our shoes. Somewhere down the road is the butcher's, and I wonder if she'll recall us. And further down is where we got our eggs and milk. The House-elves would typically fetch it for us, but Father and I liked to take me on walks in the morning whenever he could and would pick it up himself.</p><p>"I want—I want to walk around."</p><p>Draco's hand brushes the small of my back. "Would you like me to stay?"</p><p>"Please."</p><p>I close my eyes, my face burning at the single word that escapes my lips with a pathetic air of lightness. His hand tightens on my coat, and I turn with eyes still closed so it's my back facing him again.</p><p>When I open my eyes, I have to blink and look up at the stars above to get rid of the water accumulating. And when I look back down, the fairies are still dancing by the roofs, the Christmas trees are still bright with color, the streets are still lined with soft, translucent snow, and the music still plays in its perfect, discordant merriment.</p><p>I laugh shortly, and then I slap my hands over my mouth. My eyes start stinging again, but this time my shoulders are shaking slightly.</p><p>"Celeste?" Draco asks, moving to stand beside me so he can tilt his head down and tower over me at his ridiculous height. "Are you..?"</p><p>"Isn't it fucking <em>perfect?</em>"</p><p>He's stunned into a silence, assumedly.</p><p>"I mean, look at it! It's just—gosh, I wonder why my parents ever decided to move," I laugh shortly, feeling a singular tear drop onto my cheek when I blink. I sniff loudly, lightly rubbing my nose with the back of my hand—a disgusting behavior I'd typically frown down upon in public, but I can't find it in myself to care. "I-I mean... <em>fuck</em>, it's—it's <em>everything </em>here. Hah," I laugh softly, rubbing my eyes with my palms, wincing when I think it'll smear my makeup, sighing when I remember it's magically enforced. "Merlin, do you see that up there?" I ask, pointing up the cliff. "That's—It's an old chateau-fortress, gosh, just centuries old. That's where <em>we</em> lived. Fuck, isn't it gorgeous? And—And—" I realize that I've started walking up the spiraling street, and I realize that Draco isn't beside me. I look over my shoulder, the fur in my coat brushing my cheek, and blink. "Aren't you coming?"</p><p>He's standing there with his hands in the pockets of his coat, hair all messed up and lips parted slightly. His pupils are simply blown, and they watch me with awe. And then his mouth twitches with a hint of a smile, and he gives his head a short bob before walking forward, offering his arm to me when he reaches me.</p><p>I slip mine around it, holding onto his bicep while taking shirt but hurried steps forward, hardly minding the small patches of ice and snow in my way. "I think there's a bookstore somewhere along this way," I say, holding onto his sleeve tightly, my ears burning slightly as I sense him turning his head to look at me. "Hey, tell me to shut up if I'm babbling too much, alright? I <em>do</em> tend to ramble and get on all sorts of tangents, and most people like it and say it makes me interesting to talk with, and frankly I <em>am</em> interesting to talk with—I'm rambling, Never mind, never mind—<em>Oh</em>, it's a shame we're here this time of year," I pout softly.</p><p>"Hm?" he hums softly, slipping his hands back into his pockets and thus bringing me closer to his side.</p><p>"I mean, it's <em>beautiful. </em>Look at the fairies up there. Oh, they even have red fairies! Do you know how rare red fairies are? Oh, do you know <em>why</em> they're rare? They used to be used as target practice," I say, my face getting all cold from the wind that sweeps down the cobblestone path and nips at my skin. "Muggles, before the Statue of Secrecy and end of integration, <em>far</em> before, they'd use red fairies as target practice for all their weapons."</p><p>"<em>Really?</em>" he murmurs, and there's a hint of laughter in his voice.</p><p>"Yes, really!" I look up at him, faltering at the smirk on his lips. "You knew that, didn't you?"</p><p>"We <em>did</em> learn about it in Care of Magical Creatures."</p><p>"Oh," I clear my throat, ducking my head away.</p><p>I'm grateful eternally for the pigment that prevents my skin from turning a garish shade of red similar to the very fairies I rambled on about for an entire minute. I can usually <em>control</em> my rambling. I've been a rambler all my life, but typically I can reel it in around others to present myself as a bit more suave. Something about <em>him</em>, however, makes me lose my cool in all kinds of ways.</p><p>"You don't have to stop talking," he then says, nudging me lightly worth his elbow. "You were saying it's a shame we're here this time of the year."</p><p>"Oh. Oh, right. I mean it's beautiful," I lower my voice slightly, realizing it had gotten a bit on the louder side in my excitement. My fingers still tremble slightly, but I ignore it. "It really is. But everything will be closed, as it's nine—no, ten o'clock on Christmas night. I wish I could show you all the stores," I must softly.</p><p>Draco doesn't respond for a few seconds, and then he asks, "You'd like to show me?"</p><p>My face heats up. "Oh—I meant, well, if I had <em>anyone</em> accompanying me here, I'd want to show them around. Y'know, the inside of that lovely bookstore—Ah, see? It's right down there, the one with the paisley door sign. Oh, and there's so many wonderful restaurants around here, all family-owned of course. I'd treat you to a dinner, but... well, if we see the festivities, I'm sure we'll be able to have some free of charge anyway."</p><p>He laughs softly. "You want to buy me dinner, do you, Celeste? How polite."</p><p>"Well, I—" I huff softly, squeezing his bicep tightly while clenching my jaw. "I wouldn't just let you <em>starve</em>."</p><p>"You're too kind."</p><p>I roll my eyes, biting down on the inside of my cheek. As we pass by the bookstore with the paisley door sign, I manage to sneak a glance through the window. The lights are on inside to display the decorations, allowing me to peer at the old rocking chairs in the corner. I'd spend many afternoons sitting on them, heavy books propped up on my lap. The owner of the bookstore, Ilonna Couturier, would sometimes give me little squares of chocolate, and in the summer she'd yell at me to eat them quickly before they melted on my fingertips and left marks on the books.</p><p>My father would sometimes come walking up the winding road after a long day of work. He'd find me here, thank Madame Couturier for watching me, tell me that Mother was staying at work for a little longer, and we'd make a stop at the bakery before going home. I spent a lot of time in the bakery, of course, as it was my favorite place here, but I didn't always like being there alone. It never felt like <em>my</em> place, it felt like <em>ours</em>.</p><p>"Why are you so quiet?" Draco whispers near my ear, and I jolt slightly. "All these months trying to shut you up, I never knew all I had to do was bring you here."</p><p>"You're not funny."</p><p>"That's my way of telling you I want to listen to you."</p><p>"Oh. Why?"</p><p>He scans me with sharp eyes. "I just want to. Do you have a problem with that?"</p><p>I shiver from the cold, watching a snowflake dance it's way down from the heavens and make its home on his hair. "Not necessarily."</p><p>"Then talk."</p><p>"Fine," I scowl lightly, unwrapping my arm from his to shove my hands into the pockets of my coat. "There's a restaurant somewhere here that I would have taken you into. Y'know. If it was open. Oh, it has the most lovely food, Malfoy. The House-elves made wonderful food too, of course, but there was something so nice about the little restaurant." I smile fondly, but my mouth feels bitter. "Mum didn't like it when we ate there. Said there was plenty food up in the chateau and no reason to tak to strangers. <em>Strangers</em>. We lived here years, only two-hundred other people, and she thought they were still strangers."</p><p>"You said this village is an all-wizarding commune, isn't it?"</p><p>"It is. Muggles aren't allowed in here, not even those married to a witch or a wizard. So everyone in here is a half-blood," I say, jumping over a small patch of snow. When Draco chuckles softly, I flush slightly and cross my arms.</p><p>I glance at him cautiously, quickly looking away when he's already looking at me.</p><p>
  <em>What are we doing here?</em>
</p><p>What are we doing here? Walking the cobblestone streets of a little French village, holding arms, smiling like <em>that</em>? What reason is he here, listening to me ramble on and on about a cliffside village, laughing when I talk about fairies and restaurants, telling me to continue talking?</p><p>You don't walk arm-in-arm down French streets with someone like <em>him</em>, someone who's done the things he's done, or someone you're supposed to despise. It's all wrong, and it's all so tense and yet so comfortable at the same time, and it's giving my mind a right good scramble trying to figure out what exactly we're doing here.</p><p>"Malfoy."</p><p>"Mm."</p><p>"I told you about the bakery and Saint-Cirq-Lapopie only <em>five</em> days ago. I mean, explicitly told you."</p><p>"I know, I was there."</p><p>"How did you—When did you decide to... you know, do this?" I ask, my voice growing softly and my gaze drops to watch my feet as I walk, swinging my legs slightly.</p><p>"Five days ago."</p><p>"Oh." He's making it hard to hate him. Is he doing it on purpose.</p><p>"Do you know how difficult it is to make a Portkey?" he then groans softly, ruffling his hair. "Doesn't help that I've never seen the bloody place before. And I only had five days to do it."</p><p>"What made you choose a <em>fork?</em>"</p><p>"First attempt I used a lovely hairpin of my mother's. I set it on fire."</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>."</p><p>"The fork felt like a safer option after that. And then the first time I successfully turned it into a Portkey, it sent me to Kazakhstan. Second time, I ended up in France, but all the way in the north. Third time—don't know how—I ended up in the living room of some couple. They were magic, however, so I didn't have to worry about wiping their memories. The woman hit me with a vase."</p><p>I try to stifle a soft laugh, but it doesn't quite work.</p><p>His hand grabs my arm and pulls me to his chest, making me stumble slightly. "What, you find my misery funny, do you, witch?" he sneers slightly, lifting my chin up to look at me properly.</p><p>My eyes widen slightly, and then my mouth goes dry when I see his face. He's almost as pale as the light sheen of snow on the rooftops, but the tip of his nose is red and his cheeks are glowing. His grey eyes are occluded the way the world looks through an icicle or a slab of ice, and they pin me down with cold amusement.</p><p>"<em>Maybe</em>," I quip back, my voice light as I quickly realize my hands are gripping the front of his coat. It doesn't help in calming the thunderous pace of my heart in my chest nor the feeling that a swarm of bees are crawling up my gut.</p><p>"You think it's funny she threw a vase at the back of my head?"</p><p>"I think I'd like to see it in action. You don't think that Portkey could transport us back into her living room, do you?" I ask breathlessly, gasping softly when he yanks me closer to him, the smirk on his lips matching mine.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>I shiver again, both at the cold and the proximity of his face to mine. "Yes."</p><p>"I suffered for you, Celeste," he says with an odd gleam in his eyes, lips starting to twitch upwards, "and this is how you thank me? Had she a more powerful arm and tool, I could be dead now. Just for you."</p><p>I pout softly. "You risked dying for me, darling?" I coo sarcastically, my handing coming up to give his cheek a slight pinch.</p><p>"It <em>was</em> dangerous," he huffs. "Don't call me <em>darling</em>."</p><p>"Oh, do you prefer <em>sweetheart?</em> Princess, perhaps?"</p><p>"Oh, please," he rolls his eyes, sliding his hand against mine to hold and pull me along while continuing down the cobblestone road, forcing me to walk at a pace uncomfortable in these heels to keep up with him.</p><p>"What? I'm just saying, since you're clearly such a damsel in distress—what with being at the mercy of witches with vases—next time you bring me along, and I'll save you," I giggle softly, slapping my hand over my mouth in horror when I register the sound that's escaped me.</p><p>Draco glances over his shoulder with an amused look. "Did you just <em>giggle</em>, darling?"</p><p>"Eat shit, Malfoy."</p><p>"How lovely."</p><p>"Can you slow down?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"I'll <em>fall</em>."</p><p>"<em>Fine</em>," he huffs, slowing down and making a point to give me an exasperated look when I smile at him sweetly and walk alongside him at a much more normal place.</p><p>"<em>Thank</em> you, darling, I—"</p><p>"Oh, quit it with the 'darling.'"</p><p>"Oh, but I quite enjoy it, and if <em>you</em> can call me that, why can't I?"</p><p>"Well, it's—it's different," he sputters, cheeks growing a rosy shade. "Won't you just continue talking about the village? I like you much better when you're rambling about restaurants."</p><p>"Well, aren't you generous with your flattery?" I drawl sarcastically, praying he doesn't notice the way my breath hitches when he wraps his arm around my back, loosely hanging his hand onto my hip. "Hey, Malfoy?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>He looks away from me and shrugs. "No big deal."</p><p>"Weren't you the one just complaining about almost dying for me? And being transported to—Where was it, Kyrgystan? And—"</p><p>"Oh, quiet! That's what everyone says to be humble," he huffs, giving my hip a slight squeeze while directing me to walk around a small pothole filled with water.</p><p>"Humble doesn't suit you."</p><p>"I agree with you there." He pauses. "You're welcome."</p><p>"Can I ask you something?"</p><p>"You'll ask even if I say no."</p><p>"Did you bring me here because you thought it would make me forgive you?" I ask cautiously as we turn up the spiraling cobblestone street, and Draco slows at my words. I wince softly, feeling his hand drop from my hip, and then my head away from him.</p><p>"You really think that's why I brought you here?" he asks lowly, but he doesn't sound offended. Only cautious.</p><p>"I mean—I don't know. Maybe. I'm not sure."</p><p>He looks at me sharply, and then he inhales crisply before continuing on forwards, hands shoved in his pockets. "I brought you here because I thought you might like it," he says quietly, chin turned up and eyes slightly narrowed. The color has retreated from his skin. "I heard you talking about it—the bakery. You said it was your happy place, or <em>maybe</em> it was. I wanted to get you <em>something</em>. I felt I owed it to you. After... After everything I did to <em>hurt</em> you, I wanted to do something that might make you..."</p><p>"Happy?" I whisper, my heart down in my stomach.</p><p>"You know, it's—It's taken me a long time to apologize to you because only a guilty man can <em>really </em>apologize. And I didn't want to admit that I was guilty, that I felt guilty, that I cared in the slightest what happened to you and what part I played in it. I still don't like it. I still hate it. I still find myself denying that I give the slightest shit," he spits, kicking a small patch of snow to the side, his hands balled into fists in his pocket while red starts creeping up his neck.</p><p>"Um..." I mumble, the sides of my face all but on fire while the rest of me continues shivering hard enough that my teeth chatter when I don't focus on making them stop.</p><p>"Neither of us are supposed to give a shit what we do or what anyone does to us. But we do, don't we?" His voice grows slightly weak. "Would it be so bad if we did? We're seventeen."</p><p>"We're Death Eaters," I point out lowly, my left forearm searing with pain.</p><p>"We're still seventeen."</p><p>"And? We won't be seventeen forever. But these Marks? On our skin? Those are permanent."</p><p>He turns his head to look at me, a scowl staining his smooth features. "Are you telling me you don't care, then? What I've done? You don't care, all of a sudden?"</p><p>I look aside.</p><p>"Because you <em>should</em>. You're supposed to. You <em>should</em> be demanding elaborate apologies for me. You should be demanding so much more. So we're not supposed to care. That doesn't change the fact we do."</p><p>"Since when are you so wise?" I mutter bitterly. "We have to kill a man, in case you forgot. And don't fool yourself. We like to think we'll be done after that, but we'll forever be his. We have to kill a man, and after that, we'll have to kill even more. So stop... <em>talking</em> like this. It's better to stop caring <em>now</em>."</p><p>He scoffs. "I'm not telling you to open a bloody orphanage, for Merlin's sake, but you <em>do </em>realize that I'm the only person that might understand you right now? That you're the only one that might understand me? At the bloody least we should <em>try</em> to tolerate each other, lest we one day kill the other and take ourself down with them."</p><p>"This sounds very hypocritical coming from you."</p><p>"And you don't think I know that? I have half a mind to give myself a good socking in the face. I sound like a fucking idiot. I honestly blame you for that."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Never mind."</p><p>Im not sure how much time passes that we walk in silence. It's horrible, just a thick tension keeping us three feet apart walking the snowy road. The music starts getting further and further away as a minute of silence turns into ten, and by now we've reached a little souvenir shop near the top, and we both make the silent agreement to turn around and walk back to the bottom. A few minutes more and we would've reached my old chateau, but any good memories I have of Saint-Cirq-Lapopie were out here, not in there.</p><p>And as we walk in that horrible, palpable silence, Draco's words play over and over again in my head. A part of me agreed with him wholly. We are seventeen, and we are <em>human</em>. So what if I care what he thinks? So what if I care what he does? So what if I care what <em>I</em> do? And then the other part of me knows that caring—caring about <em>anything—</em>is the worst thing I could do for my own sake. Caring only leads to a whole world of pain, because it's the things a person cares about that get ripped away.</p><p>And it's not just Draco I shouldn't give a single shit about. It's everyone. It shouldn't bother me what my mother thinks, why she's never here, why she never wanted me. And perhaps I should work on my attachment to both Blaise and Pansy, because this summer, I was forced into a world where I can't afford to have any attachments. If this task succeeds, I get to keep my heartbeat, but my life ended months ago. I'll survive, if we succeed, but I won't live for myself anymore.</p><p>Which is fine. That's fine. I'll live for the Dark Lord, and that is something people have given up their freedom and sanity for. I shouldn't complain. I'll live for his cause, live for whatever suicide mission he wants me to embark on. And that's fine. It doesn't matter. Maybe that's the one thing I should care about—the cause.</p><p>It doesn't matter, of course.</p><p>Does it really not matter that I've had my youth ripped away? Is it true it doesn't matter if the cause is worth it? Or am I just convincing myself this to make myself stop dwelling in the pain of it?</p><p>Maybe, maybe, just <em>maybe</em> I can allow myself one guilty pleasure. A safe one, at that. Something that, if revealed, wouldn't get me slaughtered. It couldn't hurt to care about one thing, one person, especially if they're in the same place I am.</p><p>I deserve that, don't I? Because I don't have just the task to worry about, I have my <em>life</em>. I have these tunes, I have everything in the past and everything in the future. My mother, my father, the memories, the runes. I deserve something, just <em>one</em> thing, if I have to give up everything else.</p><p>"I think I've been too hard on you," I whisper when we reach the very alley we emerged from, and I wince when my voice comes out hoarse.</p><p>He stops walking. "Excuse me?"</p><p>I don't stop talking with him. I continue on down the cobblestone, and soon enough he catches up with me, his hand brushing my back.</p><p>"I've been too hard on you," I say decidedly, or I <em>try</em> to. It doesn't work, though, not when my voice comes out with a tremble. "And I think I know why."</p><p>"What do you mean?" he asks firmly, his hand gripping my arm to force me to stop walking.</p><p>I close my eyes, bite down on my lip, take a deep breath, and then I turn around to face him. My throat closes up when I see his face, and my eyes suddenly are stinging all over again. I don't let them water up, though. I can't go crying in front of him—not again.</p><p>"Look at me."</p><p>"What I mean is, I've been blaming you more than you deserve," I exhale, opening my eyes but refusing his order. His hand squeezes the sleeve of my coat, pulling me a few inches closer. "I-I mean, what happened with Bell—Bellatrix—"</p><p>"She <em>tortured</em> you, Celeste," he spits incredulously, tilting his head to the side to try to look at my face.</p><p>"Did you ask her to?"</p><p>He pauses. "No. Obviously not."</p><p>"Did you <em>tell</em> her to?"</p><p>"<em>No</em>, what are you on ab—?"</p><p>"Well, did you force her to do it?"</p><p>"Celeste, I went up to her and all but convinced her to do it! I gave her all she needed to excuse it."</p><p>I shake my head calmly, but my hands are trembling at my sides. "You went up to her, and you told her the truth. You told her I wasn't focusing—which I wasn't—and that I couldn't care less about the task—which I couldn't. You were afraid I would ruin it for you, ruin the task, get you and your family killed—"</p><p>"That wouldn't have been your fault," he says hesitantly.</p><p>"Wouldn't it have? It wouldn't be the first time someone died because of me," I laugh dryly.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"It wasn't your fault. You're a fucking <em>dick</em> for telling her that, but I don't know if I can say that I wouldn't have done the same had the roles been reversed. It's not your fault she chose to torture me. It's not."</p><p>"I didn't <em>have</em> to go to her."</p><p>"Didn't you? I mean, I don't—" I cut myself off with a choked noise, the trembling in my hands growing stronger as my mind flashes when the memory of laying there out in the garden, pain tearing its fingernails through my mind. He reaches for my wrist, but I take a small step back. "I don't think, if she hadn't done it, I'd care half as much as I do now about the task."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"And the Imperiusing," I falter, taking another step away while trying to wrench that memory away from before my eyes. My voice trembles when I speak, and I choose to believe it's because of the cold. "That wasn't your fault," I whisper, feeling my eyes water again as I back into the middle of the cobblestone street. "You didn't have a choice. And I, um—" I laugh dryly, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, "I won anyway, right? So—It's, it's fine."</p><p>"Celeste..."</p><p>"And—And, you know, everything from <em>that</em> night, the last time we—" I choke slightly, forcing a dry smile on my face. "That was..." I shake my head, feeling my throat close up. "I just don't have the energy to be mad at you for that anymore. I—I <em>can't</em>, I can't do it, I really can't hate you for it any longer. I can't make myself hate you for any of it, cause I really just don't fucking want to."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, Malfoy, do you want me to forgive you or not?!"</p><p>"...Yes?"</p><p>"Then, shut up, because this is me forgiving you!"</p><p>He blinks at me once, twice, and then he takes a step towards me and offers me his arm. With a casual voice, he asks, "Shall we keep walking, then?"</p><p>I watch him cautiously for a few seconds, panting softly while he hardly moves a muscle. And then I take the last steps towards him and wrap my arm back around his, my face burning abnormally hot. "Whatever..."</p><p>And then, just like that, we're back to walking. The silence persists for a few minutes more, but before I even realize it, we're soon back to talking as well. It's mostly me, but he doesn't seem to mind listening to me point out every house and store I remember, listening to me recount stories and memories while attempting to blink back tears and covering strangled noises with dry laughs. It's good being back here, and at the same time, it's the worst.</p><p>Nothing, however, beats what I see next.</p><p>I freeze in my step when I see it. It's just outside the square, where we can see tables of food and desserts set up as well as the entertainment surrounded by a ring of dancing fairies. Villagers mill about, dressed in their best clothes—the same clothes they wear every year—and cheering with each other.</p><p>Draco's looking at me, and I can sense the confusion practically radiating off of him in waves. I give his arm a tight squeeze, and then my hand goes limp and drops to my side. He turns to see what has me so stunned.</p><p>"Right," he sighs, "this is what I was a little nervous about. I wasn't sure how you would react to..."</p><p>"The bakery," I finish for him.</p><p>"Right. You can hit me if you want, y'know, for bringing me back here. Just try to avoid my nose, please."</p><p>"Please don't make jokes," I whisper, my voice cracking with both a hint of a laugh and because my eyes are watering slightly.</p><p>He exhales humorously, but he says, "I'm not joking."</p><p>I drag my eyes all over the little building, trying not to miss a single detail of the exterior. It's made of the same white stone that almost every other house and store in this village is, and its windows are lined with pale blue curtains. It's decorated for the holldiays, fairies playing with evergreen ropes that hang around the roof, and a tree in the corner of the bakery inside. But it's closed. Of course.</p><p>"I don't have to walk in there with you," he says softly. "I know it's special to you, I know that it was your place with your father. I don't want you to feel like you have to share it with me."</p><p>"What are you talking about? It's closed, Malfoy..." I murmur, staring at the little welcome mat, worn from the feet that have trampled it for decades,  while my shoulders drop.</p><p>"And? That doesn't mean you can't take a look at it."</p><p>"What are you talking about?"</p><p>"Magic, dumbarse. It can open a door."</p><p>"That's <em>illegal</em>."</p><p>"Since when do you care?"</p><p>"Since when do you... <em>not?</em> What is with you lately? Making illegal Portkeys and breaking into bakeries..."</p><p>"Oh, c'mon, nobody will notice. Just look around for a few minutes, if you'd like that," he says with a low laugh, running his hand up and down my back.</p><p>"The entire village is literally <em>right</em> there," I point out, glaring up at him.</p><p>"And? They're all drunk, and they're not looking at us. Do you not want to? Is that it? Because if you don't, that's perfectly alright."</p><p>I clench my jaw. The last time I saw this bakery, I was dead. The last time I saw this bakery, he was there too, even if he was dead too. If I walk in, the last time I'll have seen this bakery will be while I'm alive, but he won't be there.</p><p>Shall I do it for him? He came all the way here to visit it for me last year. Perhaps, just perhaps, I could do the same for him. I never got to be there for his burial, what with being dead preventing me from doing so. Maybe...</p><p>"I want to."</p><p>"Let's go, then."</p><p>I manage to drag my feet the distance across the street to the bakery, my breaths growing slightly heavy while I keep glancing over at the crowd in the square to make sure none of them are looking at me. They aren't, I can't see a single one, but that doesn't ease the feeling like I'm going to throw up. And I'm not sure if the queasiness is because of the prospect of getting caught or the ideaing of seeing this place, this place that is potentially my happy place, without the person that, without fail, made me happier than any other.</p><p>When we reach the door, Draco reaches out for the doorknob. He gives it a testing twist, and to my surprise, the door pops right open.</p><p>"See? Didn't even need magic. It was open already."</p><p>"<em>Yeah</em>, because this is a village of two-hundred people that <em>trust</em> each other," I scowl softly. "I feel like a horrible person."</p><p>"So what if you are? Get your arse moving, Zabini."</p><p>I shoot him another glare, but all he does is stare at me. And then his lips twitch. And then they lift up into a soft smile, and he nods for me to keep walking.</p><p>Inhaling deeply, I open the door just a few inches, moving sideways into the bakery and letting the door close behind me.</p><p>The lighting is dim in here, as it's only coming from the crooked Christmas tree in the corner and the few fairies that fly around the ceiling, seemingly lost from where they should be outside. I freeze right in front of the door, my eyes landing on that tree first. Its ornaments are all carved from wood, shaped into sloppy reindeer, ornaments, wands, pictures of people hanging from some of them. Pixies and fairies perch on the branches, and they seem to be drunk from the way I can hear the high-pitched chime of their laughter and how they occasionally tumble down to the base of the tree.</p><p>The display case hasn't changed. It's always been too small for all the treats the baker wants to put out, cramped with treats and tarts and pies and pastries. I smile softly, seeing that he didn't bother clearing it out before joining the festivities. There's bread sitting out on the wax papers, a few left over tarts, and I find myself tempted to take one.</p><p>Somehow, this bakery is exactly how I remember it, and yet there's something so different about it.</p><p>I remember it always being so brightly lit. Even in the nighttime, even if it was closed. And I remember the walls were painted to pristine perfection. They weren't peeling as I notice they do now, and I don't recall the particular shade of blue they were to be so... <em>grey</em>. And I look up at the blackboard where the baker would always write out what was fresh and what was for sale, and I frown when I realize his handwriting isn't as neat as I thought. And the bakery is't as big as I remember. It's small, cluttered, and maybe I could call it rustic, but it leaves me confused.</p><p>I look over at the booth all the way at the end of the bakery, and in half a trance, I walk over to it.</p><p>Yes, <em>this</em> is our booth, and this is exactly how I remember it. The seats are slightly worn, and there's a groove in the side of the table like someone rubbed their thumb against it over and over again. The wood of the table top has black stains stretched across it, and it's slightly uneven. The baker put coins underneath one of the legs to even it out, but his wife would always sneakily take them away just to watch in amusement as he got frustrated.</p><p>Cautiously, I take my seat in the booth facing the rest of the bakery, and when I look across it to the other seat, I'm not really seeing. I'm not seeing what's in front of me, no, but I'm seeing a nightmare that I haven't had since I started taking the Sleeping Draught that woman in the apothecary in Knockturn Alley gave me.</p><p>He's across from me again, and I nearly weep when I see him.</p><p>The bakery is white again, and it's in pristine condition the way I saw it all those months ago. And he's back in front of me, a flickering vision, perfect with all his scars and those hazel eyes I'd always wished I had inherited. And he's not smiling, but he's somehow <em>always</em> smiling even if his lips are turned up. And he's sitting across from me again, and I'm so afraid to blink, because if I do, I know he'll be gone.</p><p>But my eyes are watering, and they're stinging, and with a choked sob, I blink because I have to.</p><p>When I open my eyes, it's just an empty booth across from me. And suddenly it hits me. I'm not sure how I didn't really come to this conclusion before, but it hits me now. Never again will I sit in this booth, not with him across from me. Never again will we be sipping on coffee and reading books, occasionally reading a line out loud for the other, laughing at what we read without providing context, pretending to fight over the last bite of a tart.</p><p>My hands shake, and I shiver harder still at the cold, my hands coming up to press over my mouth. His seat won't just be empty, won't just remain vacant with his vacancy. His and my seat both will be filled by others, others who will sit here and drink coffee and eat apple mille-feuille, others that won't ever know what this bakery is and what it means. That's a dead man's seat, and it'll be sat upon by so many others. It <em>has</em> been.</p><p>My eyes slide to look out the window. I lean towards it, and I catch sight of Draco sitting on the steps in front of the door. His elbows are on his knees, chin resting on his palm, and he's looking out at the square where everyone dances. Just above his head dances a silver fairy. I wonder if he knows that.</p><p>Before I can really register what I'm doing, I'm up and storming back towards the door. I push it open without caring if anyone from the square might see. Draco gets up, slightly startled, when he hears me, watching with a small frown as I close the door with shaky hands and slightly blurred vision before straightening myself out, the fur coat hardly doing its job in keeping me warm.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>"Let's keep walking," I shiver, hurrying down the steps and rubbing my gloved hands together. "There's a path that goes down by the river."</p><p>"Are you alright?" he asks softly, jogging to catch up with me.</p><p>"Fine. I'm fine. I just didn't want to be in there any longer," I mumble, and then add quickly before he can speak, "It's not your fault. Don't apologize for bringing me here. I'm glad you did. Are you coming? I don't like walking down there alone at night, it gets slippery."</p><p>To my relief, he doesn't press any further, but I just know he wants to. He only loosely wraps his arm over my back, his hand cupping the side of my right arm, and pulls me into his side while I lead him down the path off the side of the square, my heart pounding while I pant softly as if I've just run around the entire village. He gives my arm a tight squeeze, and I laugh dryly, hoping I'm being covert when I pretend to push my hair out of my face while wiping the few tears that managed to fall off my cheeks.</p><p>"It really is beautiful here," he says after a few minutes of quiet, his hand now holding mine to help me down the rocky path. "How long did you live here?"</p><p>"Two years," I say, shivering softly. He shoots me a frown, but I ignore it. "It's not that long, not really, but I think they were the best years of my life."</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"I'm offended, Celeste," he teases softly, catching me when I gasp and slip on a patch of melting snow, his hands on my waist. I'm still on a rock a bit above him, so our faces are close together, my nose inches from brushing his. Draco's stormy eyes flicker down to my lips, and I watch as he sucks his own between his teeth.</p><p>"Offended?" I whisper breathlessly, my hands gripping his shoulders.</p><p>"What about last year?" he smirks softly, helping me down to where he stands so that I'm once more tilting my head up to look at him. "You can't tell me that wasn't fun."</p><p>My cheeks burn slightly as I shift to walk in front of him, being more careful to watch where I'm stepping and not to get any mud on my coat. "What, our little game?" I scoff softly, squinting as I look ahead. The path should get smooth soon.</p><p>"Yes, our little <em>game</em>."</p><p>"The one that <em>I</em> won?"</p><p>"Don't gloat, Zabini, it isn't a good look on you," he rasps dryly, playfully pushing on the small of my back. I gasp, thinking I'm about to fall, but he grabs me by the back of my coat and pulls me to his chest so he can whisper in my ear. "You are <em>so</em> clumsy."</p><p>"You <em>pushed</em> me!" I huff, wrenching myself away from him and leaping down onto the smooth path below the small boulder we stand atop.</p><p>He laughs softly before slipping down to join me, his hand slipping over my hip. I slap it away, continuing down the path. Bushes obstruct our view to the right, but after a couple meters, they clear away, and the river makes itself apparent. Its rushing is louder than the vague music behind us, and it somehow makes me colder as I shudder softly.</p><p>Draco comes up behind me. "How often did you come down here?"</p><p>"Not often. Mother thought I'd get hurt."</p><p>"Can't blame her. You nearly cracked your skull open three times back there."</p><p>"You <em>pushed</em> me."</p><p>"And I caught you, didn't I?"</p><p>I grumble softly under my breath, rubbing my arms from over the sleeves of my coat while walking at a slower pace. The path widens, and Draco comes up to walk beside me, lightly pushing me so he's beside the river and I'm beside the limestone. I give him a weird look, but he's busy looking up at the silent sky above us.</p><p>"Celeste, do you actually forgive me?" he asks, a puff of condensation parting his lips.</p><p>"Yes, idiot."</p><p>"Oh, thank Merlin. I was afraid for a moment that that would mean you'd actually be <em>kind</em> to me," he deadpans dryly, shooting me a glare from the corner of his eye. It softens when he scans me and sees me shivering, and instantly I tense my muscles to stop it, but he stops walking anyway. "Why are you always so cold?"</p><p>"I don't know. Maybe I just like it when you give me your clothes," I say sarcastically, but then my face burns with a ferocious intensity when he just lifts his eyebrows at me. "That was a joke," I grumble, shoving my hands into my pockets and bouncing up and down on my heels to warm myself up.</p><p>"Uhuh."</p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>."</p><p>"I didn't even say anything, vicious witch."</p><p>"I could hear your brain being stupid."</p><p>"Shut up," he scoffs, and then he steps towards me while unbuttoning his coat.</p><p>"What are you doing?" I frown, eyeing him suspiciously.</p><p>"Stripping naked to go skinny dipping in the river," he says dryly, looking at me with a stoic expression while undoing his last button.</p><p>I quirk a brow. "That might be interesting to watch."</p><p>His lips twitch. "If you really want me to get naked, you can just ask, Zabini."</p><p>"Thought I told you to shut up."</p><p>"Come here," he says, holding his hands out for mine.</p><p>"Why? Oh, why do I feel like you're gonna throw me into the river... I swear if you do, Malfoy, I will skin your pasty ass alive and feed what's left of you to the Thestrals," I scowl, "and then I—<em>fuck!</em>" I gasp loudly when he, with an irritated groan and roll of his eyes, reaches over to steal my hands himself, yanking me into his chest so that I hit my forehead <em>very</em> hard against it. "Ow!"</p><p>"You're so dramatic."</p><p>"Oh, says you."</p><p>"Yeah, but you're warmer now, aren't you?"</p><p>I don't say anything, just lift my head enough to look at his neck. He's holding my arms up against his torso, though he slowly lets go to grab hold of his coat, wrapping it as far around the both of us as he can.</p><p>Slowly, I move my arms so that they're pressed to his side, not his front, letting him press me closer against him. All the while, my heart pounds hard and loud enough that I'm sure he can somehow hear it. And when I tentatively turn my head to rest it against his chest, I can feel his own heart thudding against his chest. It's loud, hard, and somehow—just somehow—it pulses to the exact same rhythm as mine.</p><p>I bite back a smile, but that doesn't do anything to keep the slight laugh that escapes my mouth in.</p><p>"What's so funny now?" he asks as though exasperated, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice.</p><p>"Nothing, just—just thinking about how confused Blaise and Pansy must be right now," I say in a hushed voice.</p><p>He snorts lightly. "Let's be honest, they probably think we're shagging."</p><p>"Oh. I'm sorry if Blaise punches you later."</p><p>"No, I left them a note just in case they go looking for us. He might punch me anyway, but it won't be as hard," he says nonchalantly, the muscles in his abdomen shifting against me as he speaks. Then his head drops, bury in the crook of my neck, and a chill travels up my spine when he sighs softly and lets his breath wash against my skin.</p><p>I lift my own head from his chest, straightening my posture so I'm more level with his neck. My nose brushes against his skin slightly, and I feel his hands tighten where they hold his coat against mine. Slowly, I move my hands around, soaking in the heat he exudes from his body even through the suit he's wearing. I can feel his muscles tensing under my touch, but he doesn't tell me to stop, so I don't. I let my hands feel the corded muscles of his back, let my fingers press lightly into those near his muscles, let myself revel in the way it makes him exhale in relief.</p><p>"I, um, I'm new at this Portkey thing," he says in a raspy voice while my hands move back to his sides. "I wish I could have made it so that you could come back here whenever you want, but, honestly, I'm not even completely sure it'll be able to take us back home."</p><p>I feel him pick his head out of my neck to look down at me. His eyes are hazy and heavy, and they can't seem to choose one thing to focus on. They glance between my eyes, drop to my lips, and then pick up quickly. But they keep dropping back down, and when his head dips a little closer to mine, my stomach flips.</p><p>"So, I'm, uh, sorry if we get stuck here because of my poor Portkey-making skills," he says lowly, letting go of his coat to grip the back of mine. I gasp softly when his hands twist it tightly, pulling me closer to him and forcing me up onto my toes, my hands sliding up his paneled torso to rest on his chest.</p><p>I laugh shortly, my own eyes dropping to his perfectly soft, perfectly pink, and perfectly crafted lips that hover so close to mine. He smells intoxicating in this proximity, and I'm sure at this point his cologne has permeated even my clothes. I don't mind, though.</p><p>"Something funny?" he whispers huskily, his head tilting. He doesn't bother even trying to keep his gaze above my nose. It's trained heavily right on my mouth, his own lips parting.</p><p>"Nothing so funny," I murmur so lowly that I'm not sure if he can even hear me. "Just that you think I would mind."</p><p>"Hm?" he hums distractedly. His hands slide up and down my back, squeezing my muscles while I resist the urge to sigh softly under his touch.</p><p>"You think I would mind if we got stuck here."</p><p>The tip of his nose brushes against my skin. I close my eyes, my nails likely digging into his shoulders as he drags his nose against my skin. And then he tilts his head so it's his lips dragging against my skin. He lets them brush against my ear, presses them against my jawline.</p><p>"You wouldn't?" he whispers under my jaw.</p><p>"No, I don't think I would," I manage to exhale, pulse fluttering when his lips brush against the corner of my mouth.</p><p>When his upper lip just ghosts my lower, I gasp softly.</p><p>He pulls away instantly, and then regret settles in the pit of my stomach like a deadweight. I keep my eyes closed even as he pulls inches away, though I can still feel his minty breath wafting over my face.</p><p><em>Idiot</em>.</p><p>When I open my eyes, he's watching me closely with furrowed brows. His kaleidoscopic eyes are as unreadable as ever, and they draw me in like magnets. My hands loop around the back of his neck, trembling not from the cold but from something else entirely. And, suddenly, my throat closes up. I can't breathe, not air. And I need to breathe, but the air won't do anything for me.</p><p>I look down at his lips, the same ones that have hurt me, the same ones that have apologized endlessly. His hands grip my sides now, holding me close and tight to him, as if  I'll disappear if he lets go of me. And they pull me closer still, force me higher onto my toes, which isn't so easy in heels on a rocky path.</p><p>I can only go so long without breathing.</p><p>I lean in, closing the space between us, and when his breath hitches, I just ignore it. I need to breathe, so I press my lips against his. And when his move against mine, his tongue gently dragging against them, I inhale deeply through my nose, breathing in every ounce of his sweet, bitter, twisted scent.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: who is your comfort character fork any movie, show, or book, and why?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0077"><h2>77. THE BOTH OF US ARE LYING</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>oui!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>December 26th-28th, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>DECEMBER 26th, 1996</b>
</p><p>The Dark Lord has been traipsing the country, but I asked to stay at the Zabini manor for the remainder of my holidays to avoid the Death Eaters sullying my carpeted floors.</p><p>But the Dark Lord is back, and he wants to see his two prodigies before the end of the year.</p><p>And it reminds me far too much of the last time it was just Celeste and I alone with him in a room. The time I forced her onto her knees and violated her mind, all while he egged me on. We stand in the room we trained in over the summer, Celeste near the window and I several feet away from her near the wall. He's not looking at us. He's watching his snake, the smaller cousin of a serpent, slither across the floor and over his bare feet. Nagini hisses, a soft rattle that sends chills up my spine, and it doesn't help how cold the manor gets in the winter.</p><p>"Have you been enjoying your break?"</p><p>His voice is cold, thin, a slab of ice that could pierce skin just as easily as it could shatter. It makes my stomach twist, and I look away as my mind flashes with the memory of what happened the last time he caught me alone.</p><p>"A needed respite from your task, has it been?"</p><p>Celeste shifts from her position near the window. I glance at her, watching as she pulls her thick cardigan tighter around herself. Her lower lip is trembling.</p><p>"I expect you'll be on the train back to Hogwarts by the end of the week."</p><p>He looks up, beady red eyes boring specifically into mine. I freeze at the sight of his face, his hood falling back to fully reveal it. Pale, sickly skin, green and purple veins like bruises crawling the top and sides of his scalp, that mutilated nose with scar tissue going deep within, and the cruel smile on thin lips. He's tall and towering even from a distance, a crooked hand holding his crooked wand at his side.</p><p>The throbbing pain leading from the Mark on my forearm, up my shoulder, up the back of my neck, and in my head intensifies with his each and every murmured word. That piece of him—piece of his magic, piece of his mind—that he left behind in me the day he tortured me in my own cellar seems to recognize him, and it's screaming inside me, scratching its nails down the insides of my veins and destroying my cells.</p><p>"Yes, my lord," Celeste says in a low voice, and his eyes snap to her.</p><p>"<em>Celeste</em>," he says in a light voice, his arms spreading slightly while his thin smile curves higher. "Tell me, how has your task been progressing?"</p><p>"Well, my lord. Malfoy and I made notable steps towards our end goal over the last term," she says in a steady, mechanic voice, as if practiced, but her hands—clasped behind her back—tremble as she speaks.</p><p>Nagini's hissing intensifies. She lifts off the ground, slowly spiraling around the Dark Lord's arm until reaching his shoulder. He turns his head only slightly towards her, red eyes trained firmly on Celeste, while she travels over his shoulders and down his other arm.</p><p>I glance at Celeste. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and there's something odd flashing through her eyes.</p><p>"Tell me, Celeste," the Dark Lord's reptilian simper returns, making me close my eyes to forget the way it whispered in my head while showing me all my worst nightmares at once. "Can you understand her?"</p><p>There's a thick silence that freezes over the room, but Celeste breaks it with a whispered, "What?"</p><p>He smirks slowly, and then he nods at his little serpent. "Can you understand her? She's talking to you."</p><p>Nagini hisses in response, dropping from his arm to the floor with a light thud. She slithers slowly across the floor, dark scales glittering under the dusty light coming through the window, and then when she's mere feet from Celeste, she lifts her head from the ground until she's nearly level with her heaving chest. Celeste's eyes close for a moment while Nagini's head tilts, tongue flicking out with a hiss.</p><p>"I'm not a Parselmouth, my lord," she murmurs smoothly, her eyes slowly opening to look Nagini right in the face. I watch as she inhales deeply, but the air doesn't leave her lungs.</p><p>"I've heard you're quite adept with picking up languages, are you not? And she seems to like you... Listen to her... Listen to her closely."</p><p>A soft, muted sound hums at the back of my throat as a sharp stabbing sensation ensues with the cadence of his voice in my head, and my hands twitch with the urge to rise and grip my scalp.</p><p>His sharp eyes shift to me, and this time, they don't move. I do my best not to move—not a single uncomfortable shift of my feet, not a twitch of my eyebrows. I don't even let my gaze move from his, but its like his eyes are burning into mine as Nagini's hissing grows louder again, undulating as the snake comes dangerously close to Celeste's face.</p><p>"I..."</p><p>"You hear her, don't you?" The Dark Lord's silvery voice is for her, but he tilts his head and runs his red eyes up and down my frame, giving me this feeling like someone's running long nails against my skin. My Mark is burning now, searing itself deeper into my arm.</p><p>"Most of it is... I mean, it means nothing to me..."</p><p>"But when you focus, can't you hear her? Can't you hear what she says?" His smirk grows, and his eyes drop to look at my hand by my side.</p><p>"I can understand... I can understand a few of the words," she says hesitantly, "but they don't make any sense."</p><p>"<em>Listen!</em>" his hiss grows to a roar surpassing Nagini's, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. "What do you hear? What do you <em>hear?</em>"</p><p>"She's—She's—Something about <em>blood</em>," Celeste responds quickly, her voice audibly strained, and I hear the scuff of her shoe against the floor as she takes another step back, my own pulse jumping to beat at a faster pace. "And..."</p><p>"And?"</p><p>"She keeps saying... <em>sister</em>."</p><p>Celeste's voice comes out faint and weak, and when I glance back over at her, my heart stops for a second. She's trembling, and she's taking these short steps backwards, but her knees look like they're going to give out at any give moment. Her eyes are heavy like she might pass out.</p><p>I will myself to stay rooted to my spot, to let my ice walls surge up and block out whatever anxiety has just crashed it's wave in my head, but when she almost crumples to the floor, I find I have no control over my own body. I all but lurch towards her, catching her in my arms before she can crash to the marble. Her hands instantly fly up to grip my forearms tightly, nails digging in and one plunging directly into the skull of my Dark Mark. I bite back a wince, feeling her slump against my chest. It's like she's lost all her energy, all except whatever is in her hands forcing her nails into my skin.</p><p>I look up at the Dark Lord, half expecting him to be pointing his wand at me and shouting out torture spells. That's what he did the last time I helped her in front of him.</p><p>He's smiling, though, with his hands clasped behind his back and his head tilting slightly. Maybe that isn't a smile. Maybe his lips are just forever twisted into that grotesque expression. He isn't even looking at me. He's looking at her, and he's looking at Nagini—who I realize with a start is still right in front of the two of us—with those sharp red eyes.</p><p>"Nagini wasn't always like this, you know," the Dark Lord murmurs softly, his eyes as fond as they might get. "She's a Maledictus." His sleek words are little needles, slowly digging into my scalp to get to my brain.</p><p>Celeste squeezes my forearm, her head briefly dropping back against my shoulder. She pants softly, and when Nagini's hissing intensifies, a pained wince parts her lips. I frown, tightening my hold around her waist while easing her up onto her feet properly. Her knees tremble still, and when I move to loosen my arms, she nearly falls back against me. I curse softly, this time gripping her arms and pinning them to her sides, using them to hold her upright and against my front while my pulse thunders treacherously.</p><p>"Long ago, she was a young woman just like you. A pity her looks have gone to waste, but a loyal companion she has made. Haven't you, Nagini?"</p><p>Nagini's mouth slowly opens, jaw shifting to allow her gullet to reveal, fangs shining slightly and dripping with venom. Her mouth snaps shut then, and her tongue slips out with another hiss that makes Celeste curse in front of me.</p><p>"Do you know what a Maledictus is, Celeste?"</p><p>Celeste forces her heavy eyes to open. She shakes her head slowly, arms wrapping around herself to touch my hands with hers. She digs her nails into the backs of my palms, scratching at them, but I can't feel it much. My skin is numb from how quickly my blood rushes.</p><p>"A Maledictus is a female who carries a blood curse," he says, tilting his head up to peer at Celeste from over his nose. "A particular kind, at that. One that eventually turns her into a beast—permanently."</p><p>Celeste's loose curls, coiled in a manner similar to Nagini's body, brush against my chin. She wobbles slightly, but she seems steadier than before. I don't let her go, though. She could fall. She could hit her head.</p><p>"At first she could transform at will. Eventually, however, she remained stuck this way," the Dark Lord sighs, and at that, Nagini abruptly turns around and makes her way back towards him. "You see a beast, don't you? And she is one. I wonder, sometimes, if the woman she used to be is still in there, or if she really is nothing but a mindless reptile now. Isn't it curious?"</p><p>Celeste groans in relief when Nagini creeps behind him. She cursed again just under her breath, and then she slowly peels herself off my chest and straightens up. I watch the back of her neck, the side of her face, catching how hard she breathes.</p><p>"Celeste," I murmur, and quickly she mutters back—</p><p>"Step away, Malfoy."</p><p>Snapping my eyes back up to the third presence in the room, I drop my hands and take a small step back, gut twisting and neck burning.</p><p>"She likes you," he muses, and my hair stands up. "Nagini doesn't like most people." His eyes shift to me. "Draco," he says, head tilting back, and a sharp pain shoots form my wrist up my shoulder.</p><p>"My lord," I rasp back, watching his red eyes flicker between Celeste and me.</p><p>"Do you remember our last encounter, Draco?"</p><p>I'm not sure if it's just me, I'm not sure if it's him doing it to me, and I'm not sure if it's the part of his magic he left in me that's doing it, but his sharp words throw my mind back. I stumble backwards, and when I blink, it's like I'm back in the cellar down below this very manor, standing on the wet wood floor, listening to water drip somewhere, watching him loom over me with his wand placing curse after curse on my body. And my parents—They sway in a still breeze off to my side, and the girl covered in blood is on my other.</p><p>"Yes," I manage to cough out, my brows furrowing. I blink over and over again, but I'm still in the cellar, and my pulse is shuddering in my wrists. "I remember."</p><p>"Vividly?"</p><p>"<em>Vividly</em>, my lord," I say a little too quickly, a little to breathily, glancing around but not seeing what's around me.</p><p>His Legilimency—I, swallowing thickly and forcing myself not to fall into some panicked state, assume that's what this is—doesn't overwhelm me with waves of raw, human pain. Not that he would need to, what with the way my forearm and head throb with agony. It's a quiet Legilimency, showing me what he could be doing and what he did rather than doing it.</p><p>"Perhaps you could be refreshed on it..."</p><p>His words cause a sharp pain in my head, like a dagger going in through one ear and out through the other. It's a dizzying pain, so much so that I can't even find the energy to make a sound—it's all spent keeping me upright.</p><p>And it smells like blood. I know—I <em>know</em> what I'm seeing isn't real, that most of it wasn't even real the first time, that I'm up in the training room not down in the cellar, that Celeste is right next to me, not covered in blood, that my parents aren't swinging from nooses. I know this isn't real, and I know I must be imagining it, but it smells so strongly of blood.</p><p>Suddenly, my throat is closing in on itself. I've been backing away without realizing, that too clumsily, and my shoulders hit the window with a thud that startles me. But I pant softly, staring where my parents hang, watching their fingers brush against their thighs while they sway in the solid air.</p><p>I can't breathe—</p><p>Until I feel a cold finger graze the back of my palm. It's a purposeful touch. I can tell from the way it stays there, tracing over my rings and lightly running its nail down one of my veins.</p><p>Slowly, my vision clears.</p><p>I'm gripping the window sill tightly, my chest heaving as my head drops and heart slowly returns to a normal pace. Celeste's hand fully cups the back of mine for a moment, giving it a short squeeze before slipping off. My face burns—burns with the persistent pulsing of the pain in my head and my arm, burns with the humiliation of all but fainting in front of the Dark Lord and Celeste, burns with fear at what he could and might do.</p><p>"I don't think that would be necessary," I pant softly, carefully lifting my head back up to look at him from over Celeste's shoulder, my hair falling in my face, "my lord."</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>DECEMBER 28th, 1996</b>
</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>I glance over my shoulder, and standing in the doorway of my guest bedroom in the Zabini manor is my mother.</p><p>My brows furrow. "Mother. I didn't know you were coming." I turn back forward to look down at the trunk I have open on my bed, reaching over to grab another sweater to fold.</p><p>"I wanted to see you before you left for Hogwarts."</p><p>"You had over a week to see me."</p><p>What time I spent in the manor, she spent locked in her room.</p><p>"Draco," she sighs softly, and then I hear the creaking of my door sliding shut. She walks carefully up to me, and when her cold hand presses against the back of my shoulder, I still. I don't bother turning my head to look at her, but I can see her through my peripheral vision. I can't remember when I got so much taller than me. "Don't be cross with me."</p><p>"I'm not <em>cross</em>," I say, cursing when the sweater doesn't fold properly and shaking it out to do it again.</p><p>"You won't look at me."</p><p>"I'm packing."</p><p>"By <em>hand</em>. You only do things the Muggle way when you can't help it or if you're upset," she says in that firm, knowing voice of hers, her hand cupping the back of my neck. "I know my son, Draco, don't try to fool me."</p><p>"Are you here for a reason?"</p><p>"You leave tomorrow morning, darling. I won't even have you for the new year," she says softly, and then her right hand cups the left side of my face, gently easing it to turn towards her. I let her, the sweater still in my hands, but my eyes remain dropped on the necklace she wears. "Look at me. Please."</p><p>"Mum..."</p><p>Her thumb swipes over my cheekbone, and my eyes flash up to meet hers. Soft clouds surround her tightened pupils, but when my gaze meet them, they relax just slightly. I think, unlike my father and I, Mother's eyes are more blue than they are grey. I exhale slowly when she smiles at me—a tight smile that's both forced and natural at the same time, her head tilting—and I drop my sweater into my trunk to wrap my arms around her.</p><p>She pulls away almost instantly, though, just enough to look at my face while moving both her hands to cup it.</p><p>"You have his eyes," she says softly, brushing my hair out of my face, "as well as his temperament." I frown softly, and at this she shakes her head. "Your smile, though, that you inherited from me—and your father told me once that my smile could stop the rain from falling. Smile for me, Draco."</p><p>I scan her face, my frown only deepening when I notice her frown lines have gotten more pronounced since I last saw her.</p><p>"I have to finish packing."</p><p>"You can use magic, or call up a House-elf."</p><p>"I can," I pause, pulling my arms away from around her to pick my sweater back up, "but I don't want to."</p><p>She doesn't make a noise, watching me fold the grey sweater up and tuck it into the corner of my trunk. I grab another sweater, this one in white, and soon have it piled neatly as well, and then I pause when she's reaching across the trunk to grab one of my slacks and fold it herself.</p><p>"Mum?"</p><p>"You don't mind if I help, do you?" she says in a perfectly innocent voice, though I stand firm in my stance that my mother is the slyest member of my family. "Perhaps the job will be finished quicker. Now, why did you ever unpack if you were only staying eight days?"</p><p>"I <em>thought </em>I was staying until the end of the break," I say quickly, watching her place my slacks down next to my sweaters before moving to grab my pile of Hogwarts uniforms. "I didn't anticipate that the Dark Lord would put me onto a train back to the castle." I turn my head to look at her with hard eyes. "Did you?"</p><p>She looks at me blankly, and then her features melt into incredulity. "No, Draco, I didn't—And I didn't expect him to give you this task either," she says lowly. "So there's no need for you to be insinuating such things—"</p><p>"I didn't say a word to suggest—"</p><p>"The look on your face said enough," she says sharply, wrenching my shirt out of my hands to refold it just the same. "Do you go around wearing that look around him?"</p><p>"Mother—"</p><p>"I <em>hope</em> you don't, lest you give him even the slightest idea you're unhappy doing his bidding. Are you?" She turns to me sharply, blue flames in her eyes. "Are you unhappy doing his bidding?"</p><p>I frown. I swallow thickly. I don't know how to answer this. "No, Mum. I didn't say that."</p><p>"If you want to keep your head on your neck, you won't," she then replies smoothly, tucking my shirt away into my trunk. "Where are your books? All your other things?"</p><p>"Already packed."</p><p>"These are all the clothes you're bringing?"</p><p>"The rest are still at Hogwarts."</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I love you."</p><p>I glance at her, and she's looking at me sternly. "Alright, Mum," I mutter softly, picking another shirt up to fold.</p><p>"Do you think you're too old to say it back?"</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"Then say it back."</p><p>I groan softly, tossing my shirt haplessly into my trunk to cover my face with my hands, feeling my neck burn slightly. "I <em>love you too</em>, Mother," I huff, rubbing my eyes.</p><p>"To my face, darling. I taught you better than to speak without making eye contact."</p><p>Promptly, I drop my hands and turn on my heel to give her a hard look. She only has to life one eyebrow for it to melt away, and then I sigh softly, grabbing both her hands with mine to press a kiss on the backs of them. And then I drop her hands, feeling an odd warmth spill out from my chest while I pull her back towards me to kiss her forehead and the. wrap my arms tightly around her, lifting her just slightly off her feet while she makes a small noise of protest.</p><p>"I love you, Mum," I murmur into her shoulder, my eyes closing when her arms, trapped inside mine, shift so her hands can rub my back.</p><p>"This still isn't eye contact," Mother says back smoothly, and I nearly groan in protest, but she laughs shortly and says, "but it will suffice."</p><p>"You are <em>demanding</em>, Mother."</p><p>"I have <em>high standards</em>. There is a difference, and it would do you well to understand it."</p><p>I smile softly, but it only lasts so long before slipping off my face. Brows furrowing, I squeeze my arms tighter around her, hearing a soft gust of air escape her mouth, but she only winds her arms around my back just as tightly. That pounding, pulsing torment returns, shooting so suddenly up my arm that it makes my entire hand spasm for a moment, and I curse right into my mother's ear.</p><p>"Watch your language," she says, but she pulls away quickly with a small frown, instantly grabbing my left hand. I try to pull it away, but she gives me one long, stern look before I begrudgingly let my arm go limp. "Does it hurt?"</p><p>"No, it's—it's fine. Don't pull my sleeve up."</p><p>She gives me a hard look, but she lets go of my sleeve. Instead of pulling it up, she slips her hand inside it as far as it will fit, rubbing her cool fingers and the bands of the ring on her finger against it. I watch her hand for a moment, my shoulders dropping.</p><p>"His used to hurt," she says coolly. "The first few months he had it, it would ache often. It went away after a while, just as I'm sure it will for you."</p><p>I falter. I suppose that means my body will get used to having it—having the Mark, having the Dark Lord's magic deep inside me. The thought makes my gut twist.</p><p>"You've been hiding from me, Draco."</p><p>"I don't <em>hide</em>."</p><p>"What you don't do is <em>write</em>. You couldn't find an ounce of time all of term to send me a letter?"</p><p>"Tasks tend to to be time consuming, Mum."</p><p>"Well—"</p><p>A slight scuffle right outside my door makes us booth whip our heads to the side just in time to see Celeste approach my doorway, a distracted frown on her face as she struggles to tuck a loose curl into the side of the satin scarf she wears over her hair. Her eyes dart up and land on me first, and then they slide over to see my mother.</p><p>I curse under my breath when I drink her in. She's wearing a matching silk pajama set—a tank top and shorts, both in a deep, wine red and with a lacy trim. Her jaw drops when she sees my mother, and instantly she grabs the black robe she wears and pulls it tightly over herself.</p><p>Celeste's eyebrows dart up, and then she smiles tightly and says, "I'll come back."</p><p>"Don't bother," Mother calls out coolly right as Celeste ducks away, and I shoot her a soft frown before turning to see her coming slowly back into the doorway, a mildly confused expression on her face. "It's getting late. I should be leaving now anyway."</p><p>"Oh, well, don't hurry because of me," Celeste laughs easily, her hands holding the doorframe. "Take your time, Mrs. Malfoy."</p><p>Mother smiles softly while I lift my eyebrows and glance between the two. She then says, "That's considerate, but I do need to get back to the manor now." Mother turns back to look at me, slipping her hand out of my sleeve to cup the sides of my face. She tugs my head down, and I shake my head slightly while bending down so she can press a chaste kiss to my forehead. "Goodnight, love. Get some sleep—the Express leaves early tomorrow morning."</p><p>I glance at Celeste through the corner of my eye, my ears starting to burn. "Goodnight, Mother," I clear my throat, straightening up and lightly rubbing my forehead.</p><p>She smiles and gives my cheek a slight pat before turning around to walk towards the door. "I love you, Draco," she sings out, a mischievous tease in her voice that makes my eyes widen slightly and Celeste's jaw drop.</p><p>"Right, I—I'll write, M—"</p><p>"Won't you say it back, dear?"</p><p>I look at her, inhaling and exhaling deeply. She's stopped at the doorway right next to Celeste, her head turned over her shoulder and something between a smirk and a smile on her face. Her blue eyes twinkle at me, and I shake my head.</p><p>
  <em>Was once not enough?</em>
</p><p>My cheeks burning slightly, I murmur, "Goodnight, Mum. I love you."</p><p>She smiles at me, and then she's disappearing into the hallway, leaving behind Celeste who is now leaning against the doorframe, dark eyes alight and arms crossed loosely. And when my mother's footsteps fade away, I clear my throat and scratch the back of my neck, turning around to avoid her intense gaze while busying myself with the few clothes left to pack.</p><p>Celeste.</p><p>The last three days have been... odd to say the least. Despite sleeping, eating, and breathing in the same manor, despite being in the same rooms smoking with and talking with the same people, despite running into each other every morning when we open our doors to go down for breakfast at the same time, we haven't talked.</p><p>Not <em>really</em>.</p><p>There have been a few "pass the salt"s down at the dinner table (or "pass the joint"s in Blaise's room) as well as "excuse me"s when one of us is blocking the other's way, and even one "watch out" when Celeste nearly tripped onto her Chicken.</p><p>Other than that, we haven't talked.</p><p>My lips tingling with the memory of Christmas night, I clear my throat, grab my ties, and I ask, "Can I help you, Celeste? Or do you intend to just watch me pack."</p><p>Celeste exhales humorously behind me, and then I tense when I hear her take a few steps into my room. When she speaks, her voice is low and silky, yet somehow raspy at the same time, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up in alert. "I didn't peg you as a last-minute packer."</p><p>"I'm full of surprises."</p><p>"Right," she laughs dryly, and I jolt when she's right next to me. Snapping my head to look at her, I watch her lift her eyebrows at me. Her hands are behind her back, and she's a little jittery like she's had coffee. She's bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, eyes scanning me like they'll burn if they settle on one spot for too long. "You're jumpy."</p><p>"You snuck up on me," I say distractedly, my eyes caught on her plump lower lip.</p><p>It isn't painted with her typical plum, as she's clearly about to go to sleep dressed in silk and with her hair up in a scarf. When I realize what I'm doing, my eyes flash up to hers, and I know I've been caught from the way her dark brown eyes are trained hard on mine. A blush creeping up the sides of my neck, I turn back to my trunk.</p><p>"I'd apologize," she says, and her voice crawls up my spine, "but I don't feel very apologetic."</p><p>"You're honest, at least," I say with a dry smirk, glancing at her briefly through the corner of my eye. <em>What is she doing here?</em> Not that I particularly mind that she's here.</p><p>"I didn't know your mother would be here," she then says breathlessly, reaching up to tuck that loose curl back into her scarf, "otherwise I wouldn't have looked such a mess coming here."</p><p>I glance at her again. My mouth goes dry as I look at her lacy neckline, trying not to linger on her cleavage for too long, and failing at this very venture yet again when I spot her thighs. "I think you look perfectly fine like this," my mouth moves without my brain's consent, and instantly my eyes close while heat crawls back up my face. <em>Go jump off a cliff, you bloody bellend</em>. "I-I meant—"</p><p>"I know I look <em>fine</em>," she laughs softly, a laugh that's a bit higher than her typical octave, "I-I meant, well, maybe more <em>decent</em>."</p><p>"Right," I murmur, opening my eyes to continue packing.</p><p>"Well, anyway, I came to bring your scarf back," she says quietly, and then she's pulling it out of the pocket of her robe. "I kept forgetting about it—"</p><p>"Didn't I say you could keep that?" I frown, glancing up between her face and the scarf in her hands.</p><p>"Yeah, but I just assumed you were just being polite or..." Celeste laughs dryly, "or <em>gentlemanly</em>. Here. I have my own scarves."</p><p>"I said to keep it," I say quickly, gently pushing it back towards her while my ears go so hot, they quickly turn numb. "I have far too many scarves, and it isn't even anything special. Just one of many Slytherin scarves." I then frown. "Don't you own a Slytherin scarf?"</p><p>"Yeah," she says, still holding the scarf.</p><p>"How did you know which one was mine?"</p><p>When Celeste doesn't respond for several seconds, I look up from the shirt Im folding to see her gnawing on her lower lip, eyes lowered to my hands and posture slightly closed.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>"Oh, I just—I just knew," she says. "Look, do you want it back or not? I need to go to sleep soon."</p><p>"I said you could keep it," I say with a shrug, giving her an odd look. "No, but how <em>did</em> you realize? Is there a hole or something? I don't want to give you a scarf with a <em>hole</em>, unless it's <em>your</em> scarf that has a hole, in which case you should really keep mine—"</p><p>"It smells like you, alright?" Celeste interrupts with an irritable huff, shoving the scarf back into her pocket before crossing her arms. "So... shut up."</p><p>I stare blankly down at my trunk, and then I slowly turn my head. She looks indignant—<em>furious—</em>and she isn't looking at me. Her stony eyes are directed down at my trunk, and the light from my ceiling is caught in her locket and the ring next to it so a slight glare bounces off of it.</p><p>"It... smelled like me?"</p><p>"Isn't that what I said?" she mutters.</p><p>"You know what I smell like?"</p><p>"Well—I—Who else smells like bloody <em>apples?!</em>"</p><p>Biting back a smirk (unsuccessfully), I turn back to my trunk—suddenly grateful that I already packed my briefs and hid them behind some of my sweats—and continue folding, though my hands are shaking in some sort of odd excitement and aren't doing the job so neatly as they typically do.</p><p>"I see that smirk, Malfoy, and I'm not afraid to slap it clean off," she says in a low, threatening voice. "It shouldn't be too difficult to hurt a Mummy's Boy like you."</p><p>My jaw drops. "Take that back!"</p><p>"I refuse to take back the truth!"</p><p>"It's not tr—"</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>, Mum, I <em>love </em>you, I <em>miss</em> you, won't you let me fall asleep in your lap?" she mocks me, her eyes wide and bright, her hands clutched to her chest as she spins slightly. "Oh, Mum, don't leave me with the scary girl, please—<em>please!</em>" she squeals slightly when I give her arm a push that's slightly too rough, making her stumble backwards. Her leg hits the side of my bed, and she falls onto it with her cheeks rounded from a wide grin she tries to swallow back. "Dickhead."</p><p>"<em>Witch</em>."</p><p>"That's not an insult, it's what I am," she says pointedly, glancing over at my trunk. "Do you need any help?"</p><p>I give her a brief glance, my eyebrows rising while the burning in my face starts to subside. "What, with packing? No, you just sit there and keep looking pretty—" <em>Malfoy, once you and I are alone, I'm going to murder you</em>, "—I don't have much left, anyway."</p><p>"Oh," her voice is high and quiet. "Alright."</p><p>My <em>chest</em> burning with the vicious fire that licks at my skin, I pray that she isn't looking at me and can't see just how red my neck and ears must be by now. Clearing my throat, I gather the last of my clothes, folding them one by one, when memories of only two days ago flood back to me. With a frown, I glance up at Celeste to see her playing with the tassels of my—her—scarf peeking out from her pocket, her lower lip caught between gnawing teeth.</p><p>"Celeste," I start hesitantly.</p><p>"Mm?"</p><p>"You... You're alright, aren't you?"</p><p>She pauses. "What?"</p><p>"That day, back in my manor, you nearly collapsed when he... when Nagini began..." Talking to her, speaking to her, and apparently, she could understand some of it. "I'm just asking if you're fine. Since then."</p><p>"Oh," she clears her throat, tugging her robe to cover her thighs. "Yeah, I'm—I'm whatever, I'm fine now. I think I just hasn't had enough to eat or something that day," she says casually, coolly, laughing as if she's said something funny. "Besides, there was a fucking serpent in my face talking about <em>blood</em>. Who wouldn't almost pass out?"</p><p>"Right. Didn't know that you know Parseltongue," I say casually, throwing her a cautious glance while I fix my slightly slanted stack of slacks.</p><p>"I didn't either," she shrugs, running her hands up and down her thighs while pressing her slipper-clad feet together and extending them out in front of herself. "I mean, I'm <em>not</em>. I don't think I am, I couldn't understand most of it. Maybe I'm just... good with languages..."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>"And you? You're fine, aren't you?"</p><p>I know exactly what she's referring too, but I say, "What do you mean?"</p><p>"You were—I mean, I'm not even sure what happened to you," Celeste murmurs cautiously, sighing heavily. "You looked like you saw a ghost or something. Frightened, and I think a bit in pain."</p><p><em>That's embarrassing</em>.</p><p>"Fine," I say, forcing a tight smile while that jolting pain needles it's way up my arm and straight to my skull, "I'm alright now. Just a bit of a migraine, and he—" I hesitate softly. "Migraine. I took a potion for it, though."</p><p>I then look up to see her looking at me. We both watch each other silently for several long moments, not a single word passing our lips. Right before my own, her eyes go from dark brown to a deep black. I've always wondered why sometimes her eyes are so brown and sometimes so black, and then I realize all of a sudden her pupils are dilating so far they make her irises appear so Stygian.</p><p>She frowns softly while she stares right back at me, lower lip pouting. We don't speak—not a single word—but the message is clear.</p><p>The both of us are lying.</p><p>"Aren't you cold?" I then say, turning away from her.</p><p>"Cold? Goodness, again with you and my body temperature!" she huffs after a sigh that might be of relief.</p><p>I shrug, my lips twitching slightly. "Well you're <em>always</em> freezing, and yet here you are in—" I glance at her. Her robe has slipped open and down her shoulders, revealing the deep expanse of her neck and collarbones, teasing at her cleavage, displaying thigh thighs. The silky material strains slightly at her wide hips. Quickly, I turn my head away, my neck and ears undeniably red by now. "That. In that."</p><p>"I'm not cold," she scowls, rubbing her arms.</p><p>"I'm starting to think you really <em>are</em> just fishing dor my clothes," I say smoothly, smirking in satisfaction when her eyes widen.</p><p>"Oh, you're being ridiculous. That's it, I'm going to sleep," Celeste snaps with a scowl, standing up so abruptly that the thin strap of her top slides down her shoulder.</p><p>I eye it, looking back at her face when she fixes it to see her biting on her lower lip.</p><p>"Goodnight, then," I say softly, feeling her gaze in my back while I close my trunk and fiddle with the latch.</p><p>There's a pause, and then I hear from my doorway, "Right. Goodnight, Malfoy. Sleep—Sleep well."</p><p>"Yeah?" I grunt as I heave my trunk down from my bed, setting it down near my nightstand and then dusting my hands off on my shirt while straightening up to look at her leaning against my doorframe again, her eyes scanning my frame. "You too."</p><p>She nods, turning around to leave.</p><p>"Hey, Celeste?"</p><p>Celeste freezes, and then she turns her head over her shoulder to look at me inquisitively. She squints. Stubborn, blind brat.</p><p>I hesitate, my ears heating up, and then I run a hand through my hair while blurting, "Blackberries."</p><p>Her brows furrow. "Blackberries?"</p><p>My lips twitch. "You smell like <em>bloody blackberries</em>," I mock her, dragging my thumb over my lower lip.</p><p>She tilts her head at me in confusion, and then her eyebrows dart up in realization. Her lips twitching, Celeste eventually lets them give way, her head dropping as a soft laugh shakes her frame.</p><p>"You're an idiot. Go to sleep," is all she says, a glittering look in her eyes as she gives me one last shirt wave before disappearing down the hall.</p><p>It isn't until I'm laying in my bed with the lights off in just my sweatpants with the silk sheets kissing my skin that I realize just what Celeste meant when she said she was dressed more <em>decent</em>. There is a <em>very</em> good chance that my mother saw Celeste dressed in <em>silk and lace</em> and assumed she was coming over to my room <em>late at night</em> for activities unfit to discuss in front of one's mother.</p><p>The thought keeps me up at night. I'm just not sure whether it's a nightmare or a daydream.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what are your biggest pet peeves with fan fictions ? draco fan fics specifically ? and what are some things you like to see ? again, draco fics specifically as well ?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0078"><h2>78. I WON'T TELL IF YOU WON'T</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>last day of the year!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>December 31st, 1996</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>DECEMBER 31st, 1996</b>
</p><p>With most of the Slytherins gone for the holidays, the common room holds only twenty or so students.</p><p>From our year, there's only Draco, Maxon, and me. Maxon's trip in France got cut short when, according to him, his father got into a nasty spat with his uncle and decided that there was no need for their stay to extend the full holiday. They took a Portkey home, and Maxon was on the same Express ride to the castle as Draco and I.</p><p>The two of us are currently sitting side by side right on the floor against the arm chair next to the fireplace. Behind us on the armchair is Cheeky who hisses and claws at anyone who makes any attempt to move him so they can sit there instead. After several bandaged arms and even a few spilt tears from a fifth year who decided to return to their dorm, it became decided that Cheeky would keep his throne.</p><p>Maxon's arm is swung loosely around my shoulders, and I use as a makeshift pillow while leaning into his side. He's holding a bottle of Butterbeer in his hand, and occasionally the cool glass brushes against my arm and makes me shiver even through the sleeve of my shirt.</p><p>None of us really bothered to get too dressed up. Normally, I'd find this atrocious, as I think any chance to dress to the nines should be seized by its ass, but I find myself grateful to be wearing sweatpants and tight black shirt I found in the corner of my closet.</p><p>Draco, though, despite being dressed similarly in sweatpants and a simple shirt, manages to look echelons above the rest of the Slytherins scattered around the fireplace. Maybe it's the way he lounges so lithely across his armchair, one leg sling over the arm opposite that which he leans against and his other foot planted firmly on the ground. His one arm is folded under his head and the other holds a bottle of Firewhiskey.</p><p>"Are we just gonna sit around drinking, then?" Verona huffs from where she sits on the top of the sofa, her feet on the seat with Pandora to her left—and right next to Draco's arm chair, coincidentally—and her hand twirling her wand. "It's the last day of the bloody year, and I feel like I'm gonna fall asleep hanging 'round you boring morons!"</p><p>"Why don't you come up with something clever, then?"<br/>Adrian Pucey huffs while struggling to light the joint propped between two of his fingers. "Not like I'm having the time of my life listening to you griping and groaning..."</p><p>"I don't <em>gripe</em> and <em>groan!</em>"</p><p>"Is that not what you're doing right now?"</p><p>"Fine! Then... how 'bout a round of truth or dare then, huh? A classic?" Verona scoffs, lifting her hands up with a shrug while glancing around the room.</p><p>She's met with an almost unanimous groan, making Maxon laugh softly near my ear.</p><p>"We play truth or dare every time, Ver," Pandora says with a slight wince while giving Verona's thigh a sympathetic pat. The small smile on my face drops when Draco snorts humorously at this, and Pandora glances over her shoulder to give him a small smile.</p><p>"Oh, so suddenly it's too boring for us?" Verona mutters sourly, resting her cheek in her palm.</p><p>"Yeah, a little," Adrian deadpans, receiving a couch cushion right in the face. "Fuck you!"</p><p>"I'm taken, sorry!" Verona snaps back sarcastically, managing to duck out of the way before the pillow he sends soaring back can deck her right in the face. "You've got officially shit aim for a Quidditch player, Pucey. You saw that, Warrington?" This time when Adrian throws the empty box in which our drinks came it, it bounces off the top of her head. "Oh, I am <em>so</em> gonna <em>kill</em> y—"</p><p>"Verona!" Pandora yelps when Verona gets up to leap towards Adrian, instantly wrapping her arms around the rose-haired girl's leg. "Sit down, now!"</p><p>"But—!"</p><p>"I'll tell Pansy!"</p><p>"You think that scares me?"</p><p>"I'll tell her you went to see The Weird Sisters without her," Pandora says with a smirk, making me scowl softly at her.</p><p>Verona pales, and then she sits back down. "I'm gonna tell her," she huffs, her chin resting in both palms. "Fine, so we don't want to play truth or dare. What do you geniuses suggest, then?"</p><p>I sink lower into Maxon's side, carefully prying his Butterbeer out of his hand. I shoot him a quick glance, unable to bite back my small smile when I see him quirking an eyebrow at me and watching me with a dangerous smirk. He gives me a playfully warning look as I lift the mouth of his bottle to my lips, but then I just tip my head back and take a small sip of the fizzy liquid while he gasps softly.</p><p>"There are unopened bottles right there, Zabini," he admonished me, yanking the bottle right out of my hand to take a sip himself. "No need to steal from me."</p><p>I shrug slightly, licking my lips to catch a lingering aftertaste of pumpkin. "Sharing is caring though, right?" I say sweetly, giving the side of his face a light pat while he glares at me lightly. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Maxie. You're so much prettier when you're smiling," I tease him, yelping softly when his hand dips down to tickle my side.</p><p>"Oh—<em>Merlin</em>, your elbows are sharp," he groans when I spasm slightly in response to his tickling, getting him good in his ribs and nearly knocking his jaae. "[I surrender! Put your elbows down, please]!" he chuckles playfully, his hands coming up in front of his face. He then clears his throat and straightens himself out in a comically dignified manner, making my lips quirk up into a slight smirk. There's an odd sparkle in Maxon's brown eyes as he glances at me with a lowered head, his hand reaching into the inside of the jacket he wears.</p><p>"What are you looking for?" I sigh, prying his bottle back out of hand to take another sip despite the eye roll he gives me.</p><p>"Your Christmas present," he says coolly. "I got yours, by the way, though you delivered it to the neighboring chateau—" I wince slightly, "—not ours. Where'd you get it from?" he chuckles. "I've never seen a Snitch like that."</p><p>I grin to myself—I got him a Snitch alarm clock, but not the typical kind that just opens its wings up and blares like any other clock will. It gets up and flies around while screaming at the top of it's lungs, and the only way to get it to shut up is—of course—to catch it. "I have my ways," I say slyly, taking yet another sip. "Well? What did you get me? Is it socks? I could really use some nice, thick socks, cause all of mine—"</p><p>"Celeste, <em>mon bijou</em>, respectfully shut your mouth so I can give it to you," he says in a low voice, the smirk on his lips and the way his eyes focus heavily on mine making my ears burn while I roll my eyes.</p><p>"Dickhead."</p><p>"Yeah? Look what I found when I was back home."</p><p>I look down to see him holding a small velvet box in his hands, and my breath hitches as for a moment I almost think it's the same box that Draco gave me that Portkey in. I look up at this memory to see him already looking at me, and I still. Draco's still lounging casually on his arm chair, leg swinging slightly. He's holding his Firewhiskey near his face, forefinger pressed to his lower lip and rubbing it lightly. His eyes are sharp silver daggers, lifting up and down my frame and leaving my skin burning where they linger. And then they flash over to Maxon.</p><p>"You remember that bracelet all that time ago?" Maxon nudges me lightly, and I look back over to him.</p><p>"Yeah, I lost it," I say with a small frown, my gaze dropping back to that box in his hands. And then my eyebrows dart up. "That's not—?"</p><p>"Turns out," he says with a soft laugh, "you left it in my room. I got you something else, don't worry, but—" He opens the box, and with a careful finger he lifts the delicate chain, and my jaw drops slowly. "I thought you might like this back. And I've learned from my past mistakes—I've charmed it to look gold, not silver. The charm should hold."</p><p>"Maxon," I laugh shortly under my breath, putting the bottle down to sit up straighter. "How..? Gosh, I looked <em>everywhere </em>for this."</p><p>He chuckles softly. "[Give me your hand]."</p><p>I hold my left hand out for him, watching as he picks the familiar bracelet up. It's thin and simple, lined with interspersed diamonds that glint in the light. He clasps it carefully, and when he lets go, the chain dangles from my wrist in all its now <em>gold</em> glory.</p><p>"This is a shit ton better than a fucking alarm clock," I murmur under my breath, earning a soft laugh from him. He adjusts the bracelet so the clasp is at the bottom of my wrist, and then he slyly wraps his right arm back around my shoulders while gripping my hand, making me roll my eyes while he smirks mischievously. "<em>Flirt</em>."</p><p>"I'm not a <em>flirt</em>. And who are you to speak?" he snorts while I glance back up at everyone else in the common room, finding them <em>still </em>arguing over what to do.</p><p>"Yeah, whatever," I roll my eyes, smiling softly down at my bracelet.</p><p>When I glance back up, my eyes automatically snap to the boy sitting in the armchair across from me, but this time, his silver eyes aren't on me. He's looking over his shoulder, an easy-going grin on his face while he says something that makes—to my complete and utter surprise—Pandora laugh. My eyebrows narrow as I watch her lean towards him, swampy green eyes bright like he's just the <em>funniest guy in the world</em>, and her lips—painted a simply <em>ridiculous </em>shade of pink—move to say something that make Draco laugh audibly. My stomach twists at the noise.</p><p>"You know what, Pucey? If you don't have any bright ideas, you can shut right up," Verona huffs, clearly still peeved.</p><p>"At least <em>truth or dare</em> isn't the only thing I can think of," Adrian snaps back, getting up to walk across the space to grab another drink, making me frown and turn my head when he blocks my view of the blonde <em>couple</em>.</p><p>"Oh, go drown yourself in the Black Lake!"</p><p>Suddenly, all the conversation in the room stops.</p><p>—</p><p>"Aw, Celeste, don't tell me you're too <em>shy</em> for skinny dipping!" Verona teases from across the dock.</p><p>"Not shy—I just don't want a UTI," I snort back, shivering loudly while I pull my shirt up over my head. "Merlin, my hair isn't gonna like this," I murmur, inching over to the edge of the dock to look down at the dark murky waters of the Black Lake, where I can see the reflections of the dim lamplight lining the dock and the full-faced moon above head.</p><p>"Your hair will live."</p><p>I glance over my shoulder to see Maxon coming up from behind me, just as almost-naked as I am with his shirts and pants off and nothing but a pair of briefs on. We both stare pointedly at each other's faces, his lips twitching just as violently as mine with the effort to both not stare at each other's <em>junk </em>and not break out laughing.</p><p>"It's—uh—it's cold," I snort, my face hurting with the intensity of the grin that splits my face as I turn back around to face the water. "Think we'll get hypothermia in there?"</p><p>"Maybe a mild case, but I think we'll be fine," he sighs, casually slinging an arm around my shoulders while walking up to stand beside me and stare dubiously at the rippling reflection of the moon. My teeth clatter with my shivering, and I press myself into the warm side of his torso while his hand rubs my arm. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."</p><p>"Verona thought of it—<em>Obviously </em>it isn't a good idea."</p><p>"I heard that," Verona all but cackles, a habit she's picked up from spending so much time with Pansy, clearly. "I never said this is a <em>good</em> idea—just a fun one. Now, are we jumping in there? Preferably before the year ends?"</p><p>I roll my eyes and toss my shirt to land in the pile of clothes that the few of us that decided to come out here made. It's Verona, Pandora, Adrian, Maxon, Tracey, Draco, two of the fifth years, and of course myself. I glance over to see Draco still fully dressed, my jaw clenching when I notice him talking to a not nearly as <em>much </em>dressed Pandora.</p><p>"Hey, Celeste."</p><p>"Yeah?" I ask distractedly.</p><p>"Hold your breath."</p><p>I snap my head back to Maxon. "Wh—?"</p><p>Without a warning—or, well, without a warning that I have time to comprehend—he wraps his arms around my hips, lifts me up over his shoulder, and he tosses me out into the freezing cold water like I'm nothing more than a sack of flour.</p><p>Unfortunately, I'm unable to heed his warning, for I fall in screaming at the top of my lungs, and when I plunge several feet deep into the water, I instinctually take a deep breath. When I resurface, I instantly reach for the dock, pulling myself up to rest my forearms in the wood while I choke up the water from the lake, feeling a hand pound against my back to help me out.</p><p>"Alright there, <em>mon bijou?</em>"</p><p>Still choking up water, I glare up to see Maxon crouching at the very edge of the dock, a smirk on his face. It splits into a grin when he sees the indignant look on my face, and he reaches down to pinch my cheek.</p><p>"You—" I cough, "—are <em>so</em> fucking d—" I wrench my face out of his hand to choke into my elbow, "—dead!"</p><p>"You're such a sweet girl, you know that?" he chuckles, his hand pushing my now wet curls out of my face.</p><p>I pause, and then I grab Maxon's hand in mine, feeling a grin slick over my face when I grunt and use all my body weight to pull him with me into the water. He only has time to curse before he comes crashing down, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me underwater with him. When we resurface, he still has me trapped against his chest, playfully cursing me out in my ear while I thrash and laugh hard enough that my ribs hurt.</p><p>"That's what you get!" I shiver to him when he lets me go, turning around in the water to lightly push at his chest.</p><p>He only grins, moving backwards to bring his arm about in a sweeping motion right at the surface of the water, sending a great wave cascading over my head. I gasp, my eyes closed and a few of my curls now drenched and plastered to my face, and when I open my eyes, he's smirking at me cockily.</p><p>"Maxon!"</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"Watch out!"</p><p>We look up and manage to swim backwards just in time before Adrian cannonballs right into the water, sending a big spray of water that goes up my mouth <em>and</em> my nose and sending <em>me</em> into yet another coughing fit that has me gripping the side of the dock for dear life. I hear Adrian laugh, throwing him a dirty look, and then when I'm finally back to breathing normally, the two fifth years leap into the water one after another.</p><p>After a couple minutes of chaos, we all end up gathered by the dock. The two fifth years, Niamh and Ulysses, sit up on the doc with their feet dangling in the water and sharing a towel under which they shiver while talking with Tracey. Pandora and Draco are also sitting up on the dock, Pandora wrapped in two blankets with her blonde hair stuck to her cheeks. Draco is still fully dressed, wrinkling his face up in disgust at every insinuation that he join everyone else in the water.</p><p><em>Prude</em>.</p><p>Maxon and I as well as everyone else are still in the water, though I've got my arms wrapped around the corner of the dock and propped up on the flat surface of it, Maxon behind me using my head as an armrest despite all my protest. He shut me up by snapping my bra strap like the dick he is.</p><p>"Oh, get in here, Malfoy," Adrien groans, splashing water in Draco's direction, though he just casually waves his wand to make it evaporate in midair. "Bloody spoilsport. It won't <em>hurt</em> you, you prissy little princess."</p><p>I snort, Draco throws me a harsh glare.</p><p>"C'mon, it's not even that cold in here anymore. It get's warm after a few minutes."</p><p>"Oh, yeah, and that's why Celeste's shivering her arse off," Draco scoffs.</p><p>Maxon's arms slip off from the top of my head, his hands sliding down to lightly touch my hips. I shiver again at this, turning my head over my shoulder as he lowers himself to my ear. "Cold?" he whispers, hands sliding back up over the water to slowly rub over my arms.</p><p>"A little," I murmur back, reaching underwater to grab my locket. It hasn't come up from over my head yet, but I'm anxious the water will snatch it away.</p><p>He chuckles softly. "And now?" his voice drops half an octave as his hands slide all the way up my arms to loose hold onto my wrists, pulling his chest up against my back.</p><p>"...A bit less."</p><p>He presses a chaste kiss to my temple that makes my eyes widen, but then he just picks his head up to continue talking to Adrien. I clear my throat, glancing over to see Verona pulling herself up onto the middle of the dock. She catches my eye while slicking her rose-colored pixie-cut hair back, and she gives me a shit-eating grin before holding a finger up to her mouth to gesture for me to stay quiet.</p><p>I give her a confused smile, trying to ignore how good Maxon's paneled abdomen feels against my back with every breath he takes while I watch her slowly creep up so she's right behind Pandora and Draco, and then my eyes widen when she, without warning, pushing Pandora into the water.</p><p>Pandora yelps, slipping off the dock and into the water. Maxon and I both instinctively back away, his hand gripping my arm and pull me back. Verona cackles, earning laughter from everyone else around the dock, and moves to take Pandora's spot a <em>respectable</em> distance from Draco.</p><p>A few seconds pass, and Pandora hasn't resurfaced. The laughter is replaced by awkward clearing of throats, and right when I wonder if I would be concerned if I were a better person, she breaks the water with a loud gasp.</p><p>Pandora makes quick work of gripping the other corner of the dock, but she doesn't laugh or scream at Verona or even pull herself up. She's gasping, choking up water and looking back down at the murky waters behind, her body jerking as if something has a hold of her foot and is trying to pull her down.</p><p>"Grab my hand!" Verona is quick to shout, and she and Draco both get to their feet and hold their hands out for Pandora to grab.</p><p>"Ver—Verona!" Pandora gasps, choking up more water. She doesn't reach for either of their hands, her own slipping from around the corner of the dock as whatever it is pulls her down.</p><p>Frowning, I pull away from Maxon. He moves to grab my arms and pull me back away, shouting something in my ear about climbing back up on the dock, but I manage to slip away even as he, Adrien, and the others move quickly to slip away from the waters.</p><p>Taking a deep breath with my heart pounding, I pull myself underwater, forcing myself to keep my eyes open despite how harshly they sting in order to confirm my suspicions.</p><p>Just as I expected, there are three merpeople at the bottom of the dock, two of them having hold of Pandora by her legs and the third having its arms wrapped around her waist. They all three tug with their reptilian arms to bring her down into the depths of the lake, and honestly its a miracle that they haven't succeeded. Perhaps its adrenaline that keeps Pandora up, but I know it will only work for so long if she's up against three merpeople.</p><p>It's a good thing I know Mermish.</p><p>Before any of them can notice me watching, I quickly resurface, taking a deep gasp of air. I push my drenched curls out of my face, spitting out what little water managed to slip into my mouth while blinking up at the dock. Maxon is crouched at the edge, his eyebrows furrowed as he shakes his head at me. Draco, still standing beside Verona with his hand stretched out to Pandora, is looking at me as well, and when our eyes lock, his shoulders drop. He glances at Maxon who has his hand stretched towards me, clenches his jaw, and looks away.</p><p>"They're mermaids," I gasp out to Maxon as I swim towards the edge of the dock, pushing his hand out of the way.</p><p>"Great, so blast them with some magic!"</p><p>"No!" I yelp right as he and Adrien reach to grab their wands from the pile we've made, my eyes widening and my pulse jumping. "Merlin, do you two dipshits know absolutely <em>nothing</em> about merpeople? That's a fucking <em>death</em> wish."</p><p>"Then what do you prop—"</p><p>"I can't believe I'm about to do this," I mutter under my breath before saying to him, "I'm gonna talk to them. Just let me handle this."</p><p>"Wh—?"</p><p>Quickly, I dive back underwater. It's been quite a while since I've had any reason to put my Mermish to use, so I pray for my sake and <em>somewhat</em> for Pandora's that it hasn't grown dusty in whatever crevice of my brain it's been festering in.</p><p>Bracing myself, I swim down towards the edge of the dock. This time, one of the merpeople notice me. I try not to wince when I see him with his wild, green ropes of hair, glowing yellow eyes as big as my fist, broken yellow teeth, and the ropes of pebbles he wears as a necklace. He hisses, darting out into my face in a split second, but before he can grab me with those thin, long-nailed hands, I blurt—</p><p><em>Hello</em>.</p><p>He stops an inch from my face, tilting that garish head of his.</p><p><em>I'm Celeste</em>.</p><p>The merman ducks his head over his shoulder to look at his friends that are still tugging at Pandora's legs, and then he turns back towards me.</p><p><em>You're ugly</em>, he says.</p><p>I clamp my lips together, reminding myself that merpeople will have exponentially different beauty standards than witches and wizards, and then I say, <em>Do you mind letting my friend go?</em></p><p>I never knew how difficult it is to say "friend" in Mermish.</p><p><em>No</em>.</p><p>My lungs starting to hurt, I smile tightly and use the very last of my air to say, <em>One moment, please</em>.</p><p>Quickly, I propel myself up to the air, gasping rather dramatically when I break the surface. My hand slaps with painful power against the top of the dock, but I ignore the sting while shivering and taking a few deep breaths in and out. I nearly gag when I feel something touch my foot.</p><p>I briefly lock eyes with a silver pair before inhaling deeply and dipping my head back down just enough that I will only have to tilt my head back to breathe.</p><p><em>I'm back</em>.</p><p>The merman, who had turned around to watch his friends pull at Pandora, whips back around at the sound of my voice, his yellowed teeth bared with a powerful hiss. He sees me, though, and then he closes his mouth and tilts his head.</p><p>
  <em>How are you speaking Mermish? You do know that we can be understood underwater. You could be speaking English.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm multitalented. Look, can you let go of my friend? We kind of need her.</em>
</p><p><em>She shouldn't be here</em>, he responds in his deep cadence, gesturing very widely. The upset is clear in his voice. <em>None of you should be here. We have an agreement with Dumbledore that these water are strictly ours after sunset</em>.</p><p>I curse silently. I didn't know that.</p><p><em>Look, I'm sorry</em>, I force out, really feeling less sorry and more irritated.<em> This won't happen again. We didn't know</em>.</p><p>
  <em>You humans and your excuses...</em>
</p><p>Groaning softly, I tilt my head up to gather a greedy gasp of air before going back under again to see the Merman giving me an odd look. Well, a look more odd than his natural face.</p><p><em>The thing is, this is the last day of the year</em>, I say, glancing over at where Pandora's been pulled down further where her head is almost completely submerged, her face tilted up to continue breathing the air and one of her arms trapped by.</p><p>
  <em>You think we don't know?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We just want to end the year with some fun. Can't you—?</em>
</p><p>Choking lightly, I quickly push my head back up above water and take two deep breaths before going back under.</p><p>When the merman speaks, he sounds almost amused. <em>You have very limited lung space, young human. Do you not do enough cardio?</em></p><p>Biting back a scowl, I say, <em>Is there any chance you can excuse a few young teenagers for one night? It won't happen again.</em></p><p>
  <em>No can do.</em>
</p><p><em>Can you at least let her go? Maybe? Dumbledore won't be happy.</em> His name sounds like venom on my tongue.</p><p>The merman pauses, and then his eyes drop to my bra. I frown, my free arm wrapping around it. I know merpeople have zero to no attraction to humans, but I don't exactly appreciate being eye-fucked by a half fish.</p><p>
  <em>What is that you're wearing?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Underwear..?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh. Looks kind of cool. I want it.</em>
</p><p>Choking again, I pull myself back up over the water. This time, I give myself about half a minute to compose myself, my eyes spilling over with tears from both exposure to the water and because a merman wants my fucking bra.</p><p>"Celeste?" Maxon asks.</p><p>"Just give me a moment," I croak, inhaling deeply before going back under, wondering if a bimbo like Pandora is really worth all this effort.</p><p>
  <em>I'm back. Again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Give me your underwear. I want to try it on.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No! I kind of need it!</em>
</p><p><em>Just the one on top. Please?</em> The merman gives me something akin to puppy eyes, but it just makes me recoil.</p><p><em>I'm not going to—</em> Wait. Oh. Oh, no. Biting my lip, I ask hesitantly, <em>If I give it to you... Will you let my friends and I stay here just for the night?</em></p><p>The merman takes his sweet, sweet time responding, and right when I think I'll need to resurface for another fill of air, he finally says, <em>Deal</em>.</p><p><em>Let her go first</em>.</p><p>I pull myself up before he can respond, unsure if the water drops streaming down my cheeks are just from the lake or my tears, because my eyes burn like all hell. I give myself some time to catch my breath, glancing over in time to see Pandora suddenly jolt upwards, and I know the merpeople have let her go. Pandora quickly clambers up onto the dock, falling right into Draco's arms. He looks startled, but he just awkwardly pats her back while Verona eases the wet towel off of her and replaces it with a dry one.</p><p>And then a hand grabs my ankle, pulling me back down before I realize it's happening.</p><p><em>Can you be just a little patient? </em>I huff when I grab my bearings and see myself surrounded by three hideous merpeople. <em>I'm giving you my bra, calm down!</em></p><p>The merman pouts. <em>Hurry, I want to see if it fits me</em>.</p><p>Scowling, I turn around before reaching behind my back to unclasp it while shaking my head. When I woke up this morning, I didn't think I'd be giving my bra to a merman in order to save the life of a stupid, attention-seeking seventh year, and yet here I am doing exactly. I slip the straps down my arms and hold the bra out behind me while wrapping my arm over my breasts, cursing the cold water as it nips at my—well—<em>nipples</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Thank you!</em>
</p><p>He grabs it right out of my hands, and I look over my shoulder to see the three beasts zipping away while arguing over who gets to try it on first.</p><p>Sighing as best as one can while underwater, I slowly bring myself up so it's just my head above water. I first make eye contact with Maxon, and as solemnly as possible, I ask, "Can you get me a towel?"</p><p>—</p><p>Ten minutes later I'm shivering my ass off while sitting up on the dock, my legs swung over the edge of the side of it. I have two towels on me, one wrapped around me like I've just come out of the shower to keep myself the decent, the other draped over my shoulders by Maxon.</p><p>As soon as I had gotten out of the water and was properly covered, Pandora had launched herself at me, sobbing like she'd just witnessed a murder right into my neck. I stood rigid while she held me and wailed her thanks into my ears, Verona rubbing her back while biting back laughter at the entire situation.</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, Pandora, you're totally welcome. I'll give a merman my bra to save your life any time any day, you name it.</em>
</p><p>And now she and the others are back to playing around in the water as if that didn't just happen. In their defense, the merpeople did say they would leave us alone—at the expense of my dignity—but I can't help but scowl as Adrien lifts Pandora over his head and throws the squealing blonde across the water. Maxon offered to stay up on the dock with me while I wait to dry enough to put my clothes back on. I pushed him back into the water and told him to shut up, though.</p><p>"Whose genius idea was it to go swimming in the lake in December? Look at you, you're frozen."</p><p>I close my eyes when I hear that familiarly sarcastic voice. "Why so sour, Malfoy? It's not as if <em>your</em> underwear got stolen by an underwater beast," I snap as I feel another towel be draped over my shoulder before sensing someone dropping down to sit beside me.</p><p>"At least he let you keep your panties."</p><p>"It was a matching set. A <em>good</em> one."</p><p>"Then I'm glad I got to see you in it before he took it."</p><p>"You're <em>not</em> funny," I huff as I watch him pull his wand out of his pocket.</p><p>"I wasn't joking," he says with a small smirk, his silver eyes dragging up and down my frame. I swallow thickly and pull my towels tighter around myself while he moves to point his wand at me, murmuring under his breath, "<em>Incalfaer</em>."</p><p>Instantly, from the tip of his wand emits a great stream of hot air, and I nearly moan as it washes over me and makes my towels warm and dry. I can feel it make my hair go from soaking wet to damp, and I wince knowing I'll have to wash it if I don't want it to look like a wreck. Besides, the lake water couldn't have been good for it.</p><p>"Thank you," I murmur, looking down at the dark waters, my shivering substantially quieter and lessened. "Where are my clothes?"</p><p>"Here," he grunts softly, leaning backwards to reach towards the opposite side of the dock. He pulls his arm back with my shirt and my sweatpants in them. "You gonna put them on now?"</p><p>"Yeah," I shiver, carefully taking them from his hands. When my fingers brush against his, warmth spreads from the tips of them all the way up to my shoulder, and my ears burn slightly as well.</p><p>Today's the last day of the year, and it was supposed to be my last day of pretending relaxation is an option for me before going back to the task—back to my <em>life</em>. It was supposed to be my last ounce of relief before days of spending hours in the Room of Requirements trying to mend the Vanishing Cabinet, hours avoiding Pansy and Blaise to avoid all their questions, hours in the library reading up on everything else I have to worry about, the runes. I frown, realizing I have so much more to worry about. So much that was revealed to me only days ago from those few words I could understand from the hissing pet snake of the Dark Lord's, so many suspicions I need to get to the root of, suspicions I pray won't prove to be true. And, of course, there's my mother, but there is no understanding nor fixing that. Only dealing with it.</p><p>And Draco.</p><p>I mean, there's nothing there. Nothing to understand or fix or deal with—well, maybe deal with <em>him</em>, as he can be an absolutely irritating little pain in my arse. Except for the fact that there is nothing I <em>do</em> understand when it comes to him, including why the way he leans back on his arms is so attractive, or why I really like how his arm brushes against my back from over all my towels, or why my neck is burning all of a sudden when I realize all too late that <em>he's</em> the one that's draped a third one over my shoulder.</p><p>I turn my head to look at him, and with a startle, I see him already looking at me.</p><p>Except he's looking at my <em>lips</em>, not me. The world is dark in the night, but somehow, the moon is shining its silvery light right on him. His eyes are dark grey storm clouds, and they churn with the intensity of his gaze fixated on my lips. Suddenly so conscious of them, I press them together and lightly lick my lower lip, finding my own gaze slipping to look at his mouth.</p><p>Such soft, sweet, perfectly crafted pink lips. I'm not sure how someone with a voice dripping with venom and words like daggers could have such pretty lips. Maybe that one hit of the Alihosty I had an hour back is finally settling in, because I find myself resisting the urge to reach a hand up and touch them.</p><p>The last time we kissed—as well as the first time we kissed in <em>months</em>—was far too chaste for my liking.</p><p>It wasn't chaste by itself nor relative to other kisses. In fact, it had to have gone on for <em>minutes</em>. But I think I would have liked it to have gone on for far longer.</p><p>He'd grabbed my hips and pulled me up against him like I was the one thing anchoring him to the earth. Or maybe it was like I was the one thing letting him fly. He was greedy, so deliciously greedy, with his hands sliding up and down me, squeezing my coat, massaging into my muscles, making sure I couldn't escape him. He'd tasted like sugar, sweeter than anything I'd ever had in that bakery, but he was kissing me like I was ambrosia. It wasn't fast, it wasn't hard, but it was heavy. Our lips were slumberers, lazy against each other, and yet it was a perfectly coordinated slow dance. They never left each other, not for even a moment. He'd been my air, and yet when he'd groaned against my mouth, I'd forgotten how to breathe for an entire minute.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>My eyes snap up to his. His cheekbones are pink from the biting cold, and seeing the red tip of his nose makes me shiver with the reminder that <em>I'm</em> freezing too.</p><p>"You disappeared for a moment there," he murmurs, scanning me again in that infuriatingly nerve-wracking way he does, and it takes more effort than it should not to squirm. "So. You really <em>do</em> know Mermish."</p><p>I nod, smiling dryly. "Wish Blaise was here. Maybe he'd finally believe me."</p><p>"That was cool. What you did."</p><p>"Yeah, no shit. Pandora fucking owes me," I scoff, shivering again despite my body being dry.</p><p>My hair's still a little wet, though, and I can feel it slowly soaking the towels wrapped around me. Sighing softly, I shrug the two towels off, shuddering when my shoulders and arms are revealed to the biting air. I can feel Draco watching me, making the side of my face heat up, but I choose to ignore him as I pick up my shirt and straighten it out to put it on. It's as I'm about to raise it to slide it over my head that Draco's hand suddenly darts out to grab my wrist, making me gasp softly.</p><p>He lifts my hand up closer to his face, and I frown at his face, seeing it twisted in concentration. And then I realize what he's so focused on. He brings his other hand up to pick the bracelet on my wrist up with one finger, examining it in the moonlight.</p><p>"Maxon gave it to me," I say before I can stop myself, instantly closing my eyes while wondering <em>what</em> exactly happened to me that's made me such a bloody idiot lately. Was it dying? No, this has been a more recent reoccurrence.</p><p>"It's silver."</p><p>My eyes snap open. I frown, and then I ease my hand out of his to peer down at the chain. Sure enough, it's silver rather than gold. "Oh..." I murmur, glancing back up to see Draco's hardened face watching me, unreadable with the icy mask he wears.</p><p>"You don't wear silver."</p><p>"No, I know, I—"</p><p>The Black Lake is filled with magic, and it must have something that wipes all the charms off a person as soon as they leave its waters.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>I look back down to my arm, turning it slowly. And when I catch the slightest glimpse of the dark, black, writhing snake on my skin, I gasp and quickly turn my forearm back down to press tightly to my thigh.</p><p>"What?" Draco tilts his head to look at me, his oddly warm and pale hand coming up to brush against the back of my wrist. "Alright, Celeste?"</p><p>"I—um—" I grab at my sweatpants with my free hand, dropping my shirt next to me in the process, and I pat at the pockets in an attempt to find my wand. "<em>Shit</em>," I curse under my breath, closing my eyes and closing my fist tightly around the material of my pants. "Fuck. I left my wand in my dorm."</p><p>"...What do you need? I have mine right here," he says easily, but there's a slight edge in his voice, like he's confused. I'm sure he is.</p><p>"The lake washed all my Concealment Charms away," I say hesitantly, and then I curse again rather loudly when I realize I have two more to worry about than just the stupid Dark Mark that's currently aching on my inner left forearm. "Fuck. <em>Fuck</em>. I—I need to go, now, I need to get to my dorm."</p><p>"Celeste—" Draco cuts himself off as he watches me quickly pick my clothes up to hold them to my chest.</p><p>In the process, I sneak a glance down, and sure enough, the Raido rune is sitting right there on my sternum. Thankfully, since my skin is dark and so is the night, it isn't so noticeable, but the last thing I need is to sit here waiting for people to notice the Dark Mark and the two runes sitting on my skin.</p><p>"Celeste, I <em>have</em> my wand, I can cover your Mark."</p><p>"No, Draco, you can't," I say breathlessly, my eyes starting to sting. <em>Fuck. I've been crying too often lately</em>. "Just—I just—tell Maxon I went back."</p><p>He pauses. "I'm not letting you go alone."</p><p>"Shut up, Malfoy," I murmur under my breath, my hands trembling slightly. I have to leave—<em>now</em>.</p><p>"It's <em>late</em>, it's almost midnight, who knows what's lurking out here? I'm coming with you," he says firmly.</p><p>"Fine, I just—I need—I should—"</p><p>Draco grabs my shoulders and pulls me in towards him so I'm hardly a foot a way, ducking his head down so I can look at him. I swallow thickly, hugging my clothes tightly to my chest, purposefully slipping my right hand underneath the flopping sleeve of my shirt to hide the Nauthiz rune on my forefinger.</p><p>"Celeste," he says lowly, squeezing my arms, "<em>breathe</em>."</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but he gives me a sharp, stern look that has me slowly closing my lips and letting my gaze drop to where the collar of his sweater grazes his neck. One of his hands slowly slides up my arm and over my shoulder to lightly cup the side of my neck, and he presses his thumb against my pulse. It only makes it shudder a bit quicker, but as I focus on nothing other than inhaling and exhaling the scent of the Black Lake mixed with <em>him</em>, it starts approaching normalcy.</p><p>"Alright?" he murmurs.</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"You <em>know</em> I can just use my wand, right?"</p><p>I ignore him. "I should my clothes on," I whisper.</p><p>He sighs heavily, like he wants to say something more, but all he says is, "I agree."</p><p>His hands drop from, and I open my eyes just in time to see him turning away from me. He busies himself with gathering all the discarded towels in the dock, and I watch him for a few seconds before slowly with hands that still tremble slightly slipping my shirt on over my head. I wait until it's secure before I unknot my towel at my chest, sliding it out from under my shirt. Glancing down, I see the neckline of my shirt is low enough to reveal the rune on my chest, but it's placed right under my locket, and I hope that nobody will be looking hard enough to notice it.</p><p>Quickly, I slip my sweatpants on, and when I look back up at Draco, I finding him standing with his eyes on the water and his hands shoved into his pockets. He seems to sense me looking at him and turns his head to look at me, grey eyes instantly scanning. I become even more aware of my lack of bra when his eyes falter on my chest, cheeks tinging a little pinker than they already were from the cold.</p><p>He's quick to rip his eyes away, Adam's apple bobbing lightly while he gestures for me to come with him.</p><p>"Did you tell Maxon?" I ask, my stomach flipping when he wraps his arm around my back and pulls me closer to him.</p><p>"You know he's not your father, right? He doesn't need to know about your whereabouts all the time," Draco responds dryly without looking at me as we walk off the dock and back towards the castle, and I sigh heavily at his response.</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>"I told Verona, and she said she would tell him."</p><p>"<em>Draco</em>."</p><p>"What? You don't think she'll tell him? Fine, we can turn around and you can tell him yourself," he says, abruptly turning on his heel and tightly gripping my arm to pull me with him.</p><p>"Stop," I sigh heavily, grabbing him by the back of his sweater to urge him to turn around. He stops moving and looks at me from over his shoulder with a quirked eyebrow. I roll my eyes, letting go of him to push all my hair out of my face. "Whatever. If you <em>insist</em> on escorting me to the castle, let's just go. Alright?"</p><p>"Thank you," he says in a voice completely void of gratitude, his hand coming down to the small of my back.</p><p>Goosebumps popping all up over my skin, we both walk briskly back to the castle. Luckily enough, sneaking in and out of the castle is quite easy if you're a Slytherin seeking to go to the Black Lake. It's just south of the castle, right in the same direction as the dungeons, and there's a secret passage behind a tapestry in the common room. Normally there are professors patrolling it up until midnight, but it seems they've all taken a break for the holidays.</p><p>Once we're in, I all but run to my shared dorm with Pansy where I find my wand sitting on the dresser. Cursing myself out under my breath, I make quick work of replacing my washed away Concealment Charms. I then change into thicker, warmer, and less damp clothes, pulling tights onto my legs before slipping into an older and trustier pair of sweatpants as well as Blaise's Quidditch sweatshirt that I stole from him. It says <em>my</em> name on it too.</p><p>The new year has come all too soon, and I don't think midnight has even struck yet.</p><p>When I leave my dorm and step out the hall into the common room, I find Draco sitting on the floor in front of the common room. He's pulled the coffee table up closer to it so he can lean against it, his arms wrapped around his knees and his hand holding his wrist in front of them. In one hand he's holding the metal stoker, occasionally shifting a piece of wood or paper inside the fireplace.</p><p>Quietly, I make my way over to him. He doesn't look at me when I sit down right next to him against the coffee table, but he leans over wordlessly to grab something from on top of the arm chair beside him. I startle slightly when he's suddenly tossing a blanket onto my lap.</p><p>I look up at him blankly, but he's just watching the fire. Furrowing my eyebrows, I unfold the thick, sherpa-lined blanket, wrapping it around my shoulders and snuggling it up against my chest. As soon as I do, I sigh and close my eyes to bask in the firelight. I hadn't realized just how cold I was.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>Draco turns to look at me, and my breath hitches. He looks... both godly and <em>un</em>godly with the firelight hitting his face the way he does. He is the embodiment of silver. He is silver in his eyes, silver in his hair, silver in his skin. Still, gold looks so lovely on him, casting shadows underneath his lifted cheekbones, making the soft pink tinge on his cheeks from the fading cold look warmer, making all his harsh features just a bit more boyish. Even if he is so ridiculously attractive, he looks far too mature, far too tired for a seventeen year old. In the fire, though, he looks as he should.</p><p>His voice is tired, though.</p><p>"You saved a life today, Celeste. You know that?"</p><p>I frown at him, glancing between his eyes. They're naturally grey, but the color they turn under gold light is indefinable. They can only be described as mesmerizing.</p><p>"I'm not sure I would say that. I don't know if she would have <em>died</em>. Maybe injured, permanently at that..." Suddenly I'm wondering why I didn't just leave her to fend for himself.</p><p>He shakes his head. "They're carnivorous, and when they're angry, you know they have no qualms with consuming humans. You saved her life." He then furrows his eyebrows, scanning me. I wonder how ridiculous I look with my fifteen layers and a blanket on top of that. "Are you trying to be modest?"</p><p>I glance away.</p><p>"I don't think so... Modesty doesn't come easy to you."</p><p>I open my mouth to snap back, but he speaks up quickly.</p><p>"I suppose we're similar that way," his voice is soft, low, thoughtful. I sense him turn his head back to the fire, and I watch as his stoker pushes a piece of newspaper laying off to the side into the flickering flames. "You're just denying it, aren't you?"</p><p>"Why would I be denying it?" I scowl lightly, but I suddenly find myself too tired to speak with any malice.</p><p>"You saved a life, Celeste. Look at what we have to do by the end of this year."</p><p>Take one.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>I frown, sinking a little lower against the coffee table. Something small inside of me flares up. Maybe it's the version of me when I'm not tired, when I'm thinking clearly, when I haven't had a long night. It tells me to bite back, to tell him off for being an idiot, to get up and walk away. Instead, I sigh softly and wonder what he would do if I put my head on his shoulder right now.</p><p>"Do you mind sharing that?"</p><p>"What?" I blink, looking up at him.</p><p>My heart skips a beat when I do. I didn't realize how close we're sitting, but now I do. He's leaning towards me just a little, a few strands of his soft blond hair falling over his forehead, the rest all ruffled atop his head. And his eyes keeping flicking between mine and my lips, and his own look so nice with his lower lip pulled between his teeth.</p><p>"The blanket, Celeste," he says gently, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Do you mind sharing it?"</p><p>"Oh," I say, pulling it open. Normally I'd say I <em>do</em> mind, but— "Come closer," I say, my ears burning as soon as the words leave my tongue. I hear him laugh under his breath, but he does exactly that, shifting closer to me while I open the blanket and drape one side over his broad shoulders.</p><p>He shifts his arm behind my back, and I pray he doesn't notice the way my breath hitches as he pulls me closer to him so we can close the blanket around the two us properly. His hand lingers at my side, inadvertently tickling me slightly. It makes me shiver, and he interprets that as a sign that I'm still cold.</p><p>He pulls me to all but sit on his lap, pressing my back against his chest while turning so his side is leaning against the coffee table. This time, when I gasp in surprise, I <em>know</em> that he hears it from the way fails to stifle a short laugh. My face absolutely on fire, I let my stiff body relax, my eyes threatening to fall shut from the way his torso emanates pure heat even warmer than the flickering flames in front of us. The side of my thigh is pressed tightly to his, and it doesn't help that his arm around my waist is now loose so that his hand rests in my lap.</p><p>"Is this fine?"</p><p>His whispered words right next to my ear make me jolt.</p><p><em>Stop being so fucking jumpy, Celeste. This isn't like you. You're suave. You're... </em>cool<em>.</em> <em>Stop acting like a fucking dork</em>.</p><p>"Yeah, this is fine," I exhale casually, my own hand dropping to sit on his thigh. We both freeze at this, and my eyes widen as I wait for him to react.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I should move my hand.</em>
</p><p><em>No, it literally doesn't matter. You've done bolder things, that too </em>intentionally<em>, that too to </em>him<em>.</em></p><p>
  <em>Yeah, but this feels different.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's only different if you make it different.</em>
</p><p>"You missed midnight, by the way."</p><p>I gasp softly, turning my head back to look at him to see if he's serious. His face is close to mine when I do, making my eyebrows dart in surprise. He tilts his head down to look at me, and maybe I'm imagining it, or maybe the firelight is playing tricks on my eyes, or maybe the pink tinge on his cheeks grows.</p><p>"Did I actually?" I frown, moving my hands to grab his that sits on my lap.</p><p>My neck burns slightly at this, but I ignore it, lifting his hand up from out of the blankets to look at the watch that sits on his wrist. I tap it once, cursing when I read 12:17 on its hands.</p><p>"<em>Shit</em>," I mutter, squeezing his hand. "Oh, crap. I made you miss it, didn't I? You could've been out there with everyone."</p><p>"It's fine," he shrugs, his voice a little husky and his gaze intense on the back of my head. "Most of the people I'd even care to celebrate it with aren't even here, anyway."</p><p>Most.</p><p>Pandora is here.</p><p>Sighing, I almost drop his hand, but then I hesitate before tapping it twice so that little silver, green, and purple dragon returns. It dances in its confines, twirling up and down and nudging its nose against my fingertips, the Draco constellation glowing in its body.</p><p>A thought flashes over my mind.</p><p>"I haven't missed my New Year's kiss in <em>years</em>."</p><p>As soon as the last word leaves my mouth, I close my eyes calmly and inhale deeply, wondering when I got so stupidly forward.</p><p>No, I've always been this forward.</p><p>For some reason, I'm just so much more conscious about it around <em>him</em>.</p><p>Draco eases his hand out of mine, slipping it back under the blanket to rest on my lap again. His other hand glides up my right arm, fingertips trailing against my skin through my sweatshirt and leaving goosebumps in their wake.</p><p>His hand comes up my shoulder and to my neck where he pushes my messily dried hair out of the way, suddenly making me aware of how <em>horrible</em> I must look dressed in my oldest comfort clothes and with my hair like <em>this</em>. His fingers trail up the side of my neck, and then they lightly clasp my jaw and ease my head to turn to look at him again.</p><p>I open my eyes, inhaling deeply to smell the mix of the Black Lake and his cologne. His eyes are kaleidoscopic and unreadable, but it is clear there's something heavy and intense in them.</p><p>"It can still count if it's seventeen minutes late, can't it?" he rasps lowly, his thumb gently dragging over my lower lip while my stomach erupts into a horde of owls.</p><p>"It's supposed to be at midnight," I say lowly, my eyes dropping to those perfectly pink lips. <em>Merlin</em>, do I just want to bruise them with mine. I want to kiss them until they're a little less perfect and a little more mine.</p><p>"Yeah?" he murmurs, his thumb pressing against my lip before slipping just the tip into my mouth to graze my teeth. "Nobody else is here. They wouldn't know that we cheated the rules."</p><p>My hands move on their own, rising to clasp the front of his sweater and fist the material. "That's true," I say distractedly, my eyes threatening to close as I take another deep breathe and imbibe his intoxicating scent.</p><p>"I won't tell if you won't..."</p><p>His head dips closer to mine. My neck is starting to ache from the way I have to twist around to look at him, but I don't care, because he's leaning in, and I'm whispering "deal," and I can feel his lips brushing against mine, and—</p><p>The tapestry hiding the secret passageway shifts, and suddenly my ears are met with the loud clamoring of all the other Slytherins coming back from the Black Lake.</p><p>Draco and I don't pull apart, but we both pause. His hand is still on my face and both of mine are still on his chest, and our lips are less than an inch away from kissing.</p><p>And then we pull away at the same time, Draco quickly slipping the blanket off himself right as the others come close enough to see us. The fire is still bright and burning, but I'm cold again for so many reasons.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what is your favorite quote from the entire harry potter franchise and why?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0079"><h2>79. THE RIGHT NAME</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>January 11th, 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>"Do you want to switch? You've been at it for a while."</p><p>I glance over my shoulder, my hand holding my wand faltering when I see Celeste.</p><p>She's sitting on the ratty old sofa with the springs spilling out of one of the seats right across the Vanishing Cabinet, a spilt pile of textbooks beside her and one open right on her lap. Her curls are piled at the back of her head with her wand holding them together, a hairstyle I've always liked on her. She's dressed in her uniform without the robes, long legs revealed underneath the standard skirt, though she wears her knee-high socks.</p><p>"If you don't mind," I say, giving my wand a quick twirl before turning around to face her fully. I gave her a quick scan, at which she quickly averts her gaze and fumbles to push her textbook off her lap.</p><p>"So how close to mended do you think we are?" she asks with a slight grunt while getting up, walking over to stand beside me.</p><p>I turn so we're both looking at the cabinet, doing my best to ignore the way her arm brushes lightly against mine. "Halfway, maybe? There's no real way of knowing until we test it out on something. Maybe a book, or something we don't care about." I sense her turn her head to look at me, and I add, "Just in case what happened to Montague happens to whatever we put in there."</p><p>Celeste snorts humorously, prompting me to turn to her with a quirked brow.</p><p>"Oh, sorry," she shakes her head, lips twitching while turning back to look at the cabinet with crossed arms. "I kinda forgot about him. Montague."</p><p>I smirk. "You were fucking him all of last year."</p><p>"Yeah, but he wasn't anything exceptional. He didn't..." Celeste clears her throat, moving her fingers to tuck her hair behind her ears despite it being bound behind her head. "He didn't stand out in comparison to my other conquests."</p><p>I bite down on the inside of my cheek to hold back the shit-eating grin that wants to take over, patting her back lightly and murmuring something about reading the books before turning to take her previous spot on the sofa. As I drag a textbook onto my lap and open it up to the last chapter I recall being on, I glance up just in time to see Celeste pull her wand out of her hair. Her curls come spilling down and out like a gorgon's reptilian mane, and I watch blankly as she gives them a good shake before promptly continuing with the mending charms I was using before.</p><p>And so we descend into our typical routine. One of us sits on the sofa pouring through textbooks, occasionally reading them out loud so that the other can hear and in case the other catches something they don't. The other circles the Vanishing Cabinet, spewing mending charms and praying silently that they're actually holding.</p><p>I'm not sure if there really is a solid way of figuring success, at least not without using test subjects. We've, as stupid as it sounds, mostly been going based on feeling. Magic detects magic, and dark magic most <em>certainly </em>detects dark magic, so I suppose being exposed to it and wearing it right on our forearms must help. I can tell we're getting <em>somewhere</em>, but I'm not sure somewhere is close enough.</p><p>Eventually, after maybe a little over an hour, I hear Celeste sigh heavily followed by a thump.</p><p>With a frown, I lift my gaze to see her sitting against the cabinet, her eyes closed and her head tilted back to rest against it. Her wand is loose in her limp hand, and her plump lips are tilted with a small frown.</p><p>"Alright?" I ask casually, flipping a page.</p><p>Celeste groans with frustration.</p><p>"Tired?"</p><p>Another groan, though this one is weaker and makes my lips twitch with the urge to laugh.</p><p>"I need a coffee," she murmurs, lifting her hands to rub her eyes.</p><p>"I brought a thermos."</p><p>"You couldn't have told me sooner?!"</p><p>"Ask me nicely, and I'll let you take a sip."</p><p>There's a pause.</p><p>"Can I have a sip?" she asks in a small voice.</p><p>I quirk an eyebrow, lifting my head to look back up at her. Her lower lip is stuck in a natural pout, but her dark eyes glare at me when they spot my smirk.</p><p>"<em>Please?</em>"</p><p><em>Don't say good girl</em>.</p><p>"<em>Good</em> girl," I drawl sarcastically, pushing my textbook off my lap to reach for my bag sitting down next to my feet.</p><p>I hear Celeste clear her throat as I rifle through it until I come up with the metal thermos, glancing up to see her eyes fixated very intensely on the coffee. They flicker up to mine, her tongue licks her lips, and then they're back to the thermos like she's a bloodthirsty predator and I'm holding her prey.</p><p>I slip down to sit on the floor against the sofa, extending my legs out in front me. The space between the sofa and the cabinet is small, and so my right brushes against hers. I ignore this, though, opening my thermos to take a quick sip of the hot liquid.</p><p>"I drink it black," I remind her in a warning tone while leaning forward to pass it to her.</p><p>"Yeah, yeah," she mutters under her breath, snatching it from my hand. "I can't believe you kept this from me," she says with a harsh glare before tilting her head back to take a sip. As soon as the coffee touches her tongue, her face twists with a pained, pinched expression. Celeste's dark eyes lift to mine, wide and frantic, and she makes a helpless noise before swallowing thickly.</p><p>"Like the taste?"</p><p>"How do you <em>drink</em> this shit?!" she coughs violently, sitting up a bit straighter. "It's hot, bitter hell!"</p><p>"That's how I like my hell."</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>. You don't have any sugar with you? Or milk?"</p><p>I furrow my eyebrows at her in confusion, but the corners of my lips tilt up at the scowl she wears. "You think I carry milk and sugar around?"</p><p>"You carry <em>hell</em> around," she spits sourly, giving my thermos a hard look.</p><p>"Well, if you don't like it, you can give it back to me," I say pointedly, holding my hand out for extra effect.</p><p>"Shut up," Celeste mutters lowly, bringing the thermos back up. She hesitates softly before taking another sip, this time managing to keep her wincing reaction quiet. "You want a sip?"</p><p>"You're offering it like it's yours."</p><p>Celeste rolls her eyes. "You know what I meant."</p><p>"Yeah, give it here."</p><p>She grunts softly, struggling to reach the thermos over to me, making me snort slightly.</p><p>"Might be easier if you sit here," I say simply.</p><p>Celeste pauses, and my ears heat up. She glances down at the space to my right, and then she says, "Fair enough," before getting up onto her knees and shuffling over beside me. I shift over to give her some more room, my arm propping up onto the sofa so that when she leans back, her shoulders brush against it. Celeste holds the thermos out for me, and our fingers brush when I take it for her.</p><p>I think hot, bitter hell tastes good.</p><p>It's as we're sitting there side-by-side passing my thermos back-and-forth between each other, Celeste grimacing with each sip and me biting back groans of satisfaction, that I'm struck with how much this reminds me of that night I found her up on the astronomy tower.</p><p>She was wearing a red dress. It was simple, but I think a girl like her looks best in simpler clothes. The way she carries herself, the way her hair coils, the way her eyes are so dark, they all carry enough complexity in themselves. I'm attached to green, as typical as it may be for a Slytherin, but red had never looked better fitting so perfectly to dark skin and teasing against thick thighs with the cold breeze.</p><p>"Celeste," I say as she takes the thermos from my hand, her cool fingertips gliding over my knuckles, "I have a question."</p><p>"Ask away," she sighs before taking a sip from the thermos, making a muffled noise when she tips it a bit too far back and more of the hot liquid pours into her mouth than she's ready for. "Fuck."</p><p>"Do you remember that night we were up on the astronomy tower?"</p><p>Celeste pauses for a moment as she's bringing the thermos down, her brows knitting together. "Yeah," she says, shooting me a chaste look, "of course. Why?"</p><p>"I was just wondering why you were up there."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"Slughorn's party wasn't over, not to my knowledge, and from what little I saw of it, it didn't seem like too horrendous a bore. You had Blaise there, too."</p><p>"Both true," she shrugs softly. Her back leans away from the sofa for a moment as she reaches behind herself to scratch the middle of her back, and when she leans back, she's slouched slightly and the back of her neck is resting right on my arm.</p><p>When she doesn't respond even moments later, I just nod slightly before reaching over to pry my thermos from her hand. She quickly pulls it away, responding to my light glare with a small, mischievous smile. Celeste takes another sip from it before pressing it to my hand and wiping at the corners of her mouth with the side of her thumb.</p><p>As I'm taking a long sip from the thermos, she turns to grab the open textbook from the sofa, heaving it down and curling her legs up beside her to drop the book onto both our laps. I jolt slightly, nearly spitting coffee all over myself, but I manage to swallow it down while I watch her hand gently trace the pages so she doesn't lose the line she's on. I know can't feel her hand through the thick book, but somehow goosebumps appear on my thigh where her fingers leave trails.</p><p>"I'd pulled Slughorn aside to talk to him," she says quietly, and it takes me a moment to remember what our conversation was just minutes ago. "Just to ask for a favor from him. A pass into the restricted section. Obviously, I can't use it until break ends, but I figured you should know I have one. And there's the Felix Felicis... You <em>do</em> intend to use that on the task, don't you?"</p><p>I nod, glancing at the side of her face. "Nothing wiser to use it on. There isn't a lot, though. He diluted it before giving it to me, so there's maybe three hours worth in it."</p><p>"We'll be careful not to use it until we absolutely have to, then," she says firmly, blindly holding a hand out for me to place the thermos in. I do just that, and she takes a long sip from it while narrowing her eyes down on the textbook. "Mm," she hums, swallowing quickly, "write this charm down. Looks good."</p><p>"Yes, ma'am," I mutter under my breath, and she gently knocks the end of the thermos against my chest while I reach into my bag to grab the little journal I've been jotting my notes down in.</p><p>"Cute diary."</p><p>"It's not a diary, and you know it."</p><p>"Is that where you write your feelings down?" she mocks in a sugary voice, giving me big puppy eyes while her lips twitch. "Dear Diary, today Celeste insulted the way I take my coffee. It's my fault that I'm a big, tasteless half-giant with stupid spider legs and—" Celeste interrupts herself with a slight scream when I grab one of the ratty cushions from the sofa above and slam it down on the top of her head, making her tip over slightly and hold her arms above her head. "Malfoy! St—<em>Stop!</em>"</p><p>"It's not a diary!"</p><p>"Fine, it's not a diary!"</p><p>"Thank you," I huff, pulling ink and a quill out to quickly jot down the name of the charm.</p><p>"<em>Dear diary</em>," I hear her mutter sourly under her breath, making me halt my writing, "today I finally got that <em>stick</em> taken out of my—<em>Malfoy!</em>"</p><p>"I can hear you!"</p><p>"Put that pillow down!"</p><p>"Why? Using it to smother you to death is looking like <em>quite</em> the wonderful option right now."</p><p>Celeste pouts, and all my indignant resolve crumbles. With a huff, I toss the cushion aside and blow on the journal so that the ink dries, hearing her stifle her laughter.</p><p>And then she flips the page, and we both quiet back down while reading from the same textbook and drinking from the same thermos. It's magically enhanced, so it holds triple the amount of liquid that it looks like it can. Some days, however, I'll get through nearly two of these from the sheer amount of energy it takes to just get up out of bed.</p><p>Whatever energy we just shared between us fizzles away within minutes as it's back to flipping pages, every black word written on white paper a reminder of the task that will bear its weight on our shoulders as long as it is unfinished and even for time afterwards.</p><p>Celeste then inhales suddenly, as if she has something to say. I pick my head up to look at her, seeing her lips parted and her dark eyes staring blankly off to the side. She then exhales sharply through her nose, turning her head away slightly and looking deep and thought.</p><p>"He then—After I asked him for a pass to the Restricted Section—he told me he wanted to ask about something," Celeste says, and I furrow my eyebrows. She's still thinking about Slughorn.</p><p>"And..?"</p><p>"And..." She hesitates softly, looking down at her open palms, and I look down with her to see her pulling the sleeves of her sweater up over her fingers, making her neckline dip down to the crook of her shoulders. "And he told me there was a <em>rumor</em> going around. He was drunk, though, so I don't know if he was using the right words. Cause, if it was a rumor, I would have heard it by now, right?"</p><p>"Right. I think."</p><p>"Maybe he just heard it from <em>one</em> person, like gossip, and he just mistranslated what it was into a rumor."</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>"Whether it's a rumor or not, it's true."</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>"I didn't tell him that, of course."</p><p>"<em>Cel</em>—"</p><p>"He asked me if it's true that I died."</p><p>I freeze.</p><p>She's looking at me right in the eye, blinking occasionally but never faltering in her gaze. Her eyes are wide and a rich, gleaming shade of dark brown, and she's gnawing on her lower lip while she's watching me.</p><p>"Potter," I spit.</p><p>"Obviously."</p><p>"He and his friends and whoever—whoever else was at the Ministry with you that day, they're the only ones who could've known," I say, turning my head away from her. I'm stilling holding the quill in my hand, though I'm squeezing it tightly that I know the feather will be ruined. I don't care, though, I don't think I could let go from how quickly my body shakes. "It <em>has</em> to be him."</p><p>"I <em>know.</em>"</p><p>"Fuck, I mean—It couldn't be anyone else, right? Who would they tell that would believe them? I mean who that <em>matters</em> would they tell? Do you think he went and told the school? Bloody bastard... probably ran out of stupid stories of his near-deaths and decided to get the attention back by telling <em>yours</em>. I mean, yours wasn't <em>near</em>, but I suppose that only heightens the thrill of the tale," I snap, and with my voice, so does the quill.</p><p>Celeste gently reaches for my hand, prying my fingers open and plucking the two broken pieces from my palm.</p><p>"I don't think they told anyone that didn't already know," she murmurs softly. "You're bleeding."</p><p>I look down at my hand, furrowing my eyebrows when I see two little pricks of blood where the broken quill managed to lodge itself into my skin. "How do you know they haven't?"</p><p>"Have you heard anything about it?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly as she coaxes my hand, which curled back up into a fist, to straighten out again. Her fingers pick at the bits of quill stuck in the two little wounds in my palm. "I mean, <em>I</em> haven't. I haven't heard a word from anyone insinuating that I ever—you know—<em>died</em>," she says with a short, dry laugh, but there isn't an ounce of humor in her voice. "And Pansy and Blaise would have told me."</p><p>"I'm gonna <em>kill</em> him."</p><p>"Have you? Heard anything?"</p><p>"<em>No!</em>" I spit, throwing her an incredulous look she doesn't react to. "You don't think I would've told you?"</p><p>"I'm just asking. Don't get all pissy on me."</p><p>"I'm <em>sorry</em>, I just—<em>Fuck</em>, I'm gonna—"</p><p>"Kill him?" she interrupts, sounding wholly unimpressed while putting my hand down to rest on our shared textbook. "I feel like he'd have to be back from his holiday for you to just up and murder him, Malfoy."</p><p>"Celeste, just because none of <em>us</em> have heard anything, doesn't mean the rumor isn't spreading."</p><p>"Yeah? I bet if any of the Slytherins heard something like that, they'd tell me. They probably wouldn't <em>believe</em> it, but they'd tell me. I've had time to think about this, Malfoy. It's fucking <em>stupid</em> and I'm praying that Slughorn sobered up and realized how <em>ridiculous </em>the notion is—" She pauses. "I mean, it did happen, so I guess it is pretty ridiculous... My point is, there's no need to kill anyone." She pauses again. "Except, obviously, Dumb—"</p><p>"You really think that a group of suicidal, glory-seeking Gryffindors would go and blab to <em>Slytherins</em> to spread a rumor?" I deadpan, feeling her hand—which is still on mine—curl up at this.</p><p>"Well, <em>no</em>, but it would've gotten to us <em>eventu—</em>"</p><p>"Yeah? Name one—<em>just</em> one—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, <em>or</em> Ravenclaw that would go and tell a Slytherin."</p><p>"...Someone could have overheard."</p><p>I give her a hard look. She's still, frozen like ice or perhaps like a statue. Maybe I'm imagining it, or maybe her skin is a little paler, and maybe her eyes are darting between both of mine because she's worried, and maybe she's picking at her fingers because she's anxious, and maybe—just <em>maybe—</em>that's a little bit definitely my fault.</p><p>"Celeste," I deflate slightly, feeling my pulse thump beside my throat.</p><p>She glances away, her hand slip away from my still open palm. I reach for her again, careful not to get any blood on her sweater when I touch her sweater, and then I almost gasp when that one touch all but tugs me into her mind, like it's practically begging for me to traverse it.</p><p>It's like I'm seeing her memories through her, and I see her standing in Slughorn's office. It's all disoriented and wrong, dizzying with the way the walls spin and the colors change and smear, but the one thing that's vividly clear is Slughorn and the whiskey wafting off his breath. And his voice, his voice when he leans in close, nearly falling over in his drunken stupor, and asks her if it's true—</p><p>
  <em>That day in the Ministry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Is it true you died?</em>
</p><p>The image flickers, and it turns into that of Nagini right in her face, the Dark Lord a blurred figure a few feet ahead. I frown, seeing with my actual eyes Celeste's head dropping and her hands tugging at her sweater.</p><p>It changes again, and it takes me a moment to recognize she's sitting in a bakery—likely <em>the</em> bakery—though it's painted all white and across from her is, if I remember him correctly, her father taking a sip from a piping cup of coffee.</p><p>Once more, it warps into an entirely different scene. I'm looking through Celeste's eyes at one of the hallways of the Zabini manor, and I can hear some faint talking, but really what captures me is her reflection in the mirror she's staring into with a haunted expression. She's pulling the neckline of her top down to reveal a mark on her chest.</p><p>I knew it.</p><p>I knew I saw something on her skin that night. It was just too dark to tell if my eyes were playing tricks on me.</p><p>Her mind all but wraps around mine, luring me in deeper, but I pull myself out to see Celeste with her eyes closed. She's breathing in and out steadily and audibly, fiddling with the bracelet on her left wrist.</p><p>Silver. Still silver. She doesn't wear silver.</p><p>Unless it comes from Carlier, I suppose.</p><p>"Hey."</p><p>Her eyes snap open. "What time is it?"</p><p>"I'm..." I've been saying this far too often.</p><p>"Have we missed dinner?"</p><p>"Look at me."</p><p>"I need to see your watch."</p><p>"<em>Look</em> at me."</p><p>She turns her head to look at me searchingly, dark eyes wide and a little shiny.</p><p>"It doesn't matter if the rumor has spread," I say slowly, seeing her eyebrows drop. "It doesn't. Cause what are the chances they'll believe it? Honestly, it's unbelievable for me, and I—" I inhale sharply. "I <em>saw</em> you."</p><p>She frowns. "You saw me?"</p><p>"They let us see you for a minute before putting you in the..."</p><p>Celeste grimaces. "The morgue."</p><p>"Right. See? Now who in their right mind would truly believe that you <em>died</em> in the Ministry—not to mention that you stole Potter's Firebolt to get there, according to the Ministry worker filling your mum in—" I say, forcing a corner of my lips to turn up and watching hers twitch, "and woke up in a bloody morgue? It sounds like a tall tale you tell your children to scare them into shutting up. It's ridiculous, honestly."</p><p>"Right," she murmurs, glancing down at my hand. "But... But I mean, what if they do? Believe it."</p><p>"They won't. They didn't even believe Potter and old Dumbledore when they said that the Dark Lord was back at the end of our fourth year. But never mind that. Say that they do," I say, ducking my head down to make her look at me, "what's the worst that could happen? You think they'll imprison you for it? Put you in some facility and run tests all over you?"</p><p>Celeste's mouth opens and closes. "I don't know," she says, eyebrows furrowing.</p><p>"Please. You see Potter? Boy-who-<em>fucking</em>-lived? Worst that happens to him is getting harassed by the public for some autographs, which, I may add, he gives out gladly. So you have to sign a few headshots. Make sure you look nice in them, and keep a quill on you at all times."</p><p>Celeste bites back a smile, shaking her head at me. "You're so fucking stupid, you know that?"</p><p>"Yeah? Don't act like you wouldn't like being begged for autographs. It's probably a kink of yours, knowing you."</p><p>Her eyes widen. "Malfoy!"</p><p>"Oh, scream my name all you want, doesn't change the truth," I say, cracking a smile at her while leaning back casually and propping both my arms up on the sofa. "Alright? Don't worry yourself. It's stressful, I get it, but nothing's gonna hurt you, <em>chérie</em>."</p><p><em>Oh, nice. Sure. Pull the bloody 'chérie' out, then. You're practically begging to be slapped back-handed</em>.</p><p>Celeste just exhales humorously, glancing away. She then presses her arms up in the air to stretch them out, head falling back and back arching while my eyes threaten to drop to look at the way her chest pushes up in the air. She sighs in satisfaction, opening her eyes to look up at the ceiling while resting her head on my arm.</p><p>"I just don't want them to know."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"Not just what happened to me..." Celeste's hand drifts up to pick her locket up, her thumb rubbing over the face of the gorgon's skull before moving to fiddle with the ring.</p><p>"As soon as Potter is back—"</p><p>"You will do <em>nothing</em>," she interrupts sharply, picking her head up to throw me a fierce glare. "If you're not an idiot, you won't do <em>anything</em>. He already suspects it was you behind the necklace, and maybe you got lucky and had an alibi, but the last thing you need is Potter running along to McGonagall or Dumbledore crying that you've bashed his face in and broken his leg."</p><p>I clench my jaw. "You're just gonna let him get away with it?"</p><p>"Is there a better option? It's either forgetting about it or completely ruining the task. What do you prefer?" she says, tilting her chin up to give me a stern look. "Be rational."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"He—"</p><p>"<em>No</em>."</p><p>I glare at her, but she just rolls her eyes and looks back down at the textbook. My heart thuds in my chest as I watch her—watch one of her curls fall down to kiss her cheek, watch her eyelashes bat as she reads the page, watch her gnaw lightly on that lower lip of hers.</p><p>And I smirk. "You think I'd win?"</p><p>"Hm?" she hums distractedly, running her locket up and down her chain.</p><p>"You said I'd bash his face in and break his leg. You think I'd win? In a fight with Potter?"</p><p>Celeste just snorts. "Have you seen how twiggy he is? You'd snap him in half easier than you did that quill."</p><p>I wince when my hand flexes, reminding me that those two little punctures are still in my palm. I glance down to see that they've stopped bleeding, though there are little red stains all on my skin. "Yeah?" I ask, my eyes darting to steal another glance. "And Carlier?"</p><p>Celeste pauses. "What?"</p><p>"If you hadn't blasted that crater in the floor, who do you think would have won?"</p><p>Celeste blinks. She inhales shakily, and then she asks, "Where's the coffee?"</p><p>With a roll of my eyes, I pick the thermos up from my side, carefully not to press my palm against it while handing it over to her. "Answer me."</p><p>"Shut up," she says simply.</p><p>"<em>Answer</em> me."</p><p>"Hell, no. Whether my answer inflates your ego or shatters it to pieces, both those possible reactions are <em>far</em> too dangerous," she huffs, shooting me a sly glance and a small smirk while closing the textbook and turning to place it back up on the sofa.</p><p>"<em>Excuse me?</em>"</p><p>"I'm not wrong. Your ego is a lot like glass," she says in a superior voice, pursing her lips and scanning me with amusement. "You can blow it up rather far, but it shatters very eas—<em>hey!</em>" she shrieks over dramatically when I give her shoulder a light shove, making her nearly tip over.</p><p>She grabs the front of my robes to pull herself steady, muttering, "See what I mean? Fragile, just like gl—Malfoy, <em>stop</em> it!" Celeste interrupts herself again when I give her another light push, her hand tightening around the front of my robe and pulling me down with her.</p><p>I manage to catch myself before I crush her entirely, hearing her breath hitch. Celeste's eyes widen for a moment, and then she relaxes and lets her head drop to the floor with a dry laugh. "Wow, Malfoy," she says ironically, her eyes following her other hand as it comes up to rub my arm, "way to be forward. If you <em>really </em>want me that badly, you can just ask, you know."</p><p>"<em>Please</em>. You're the one that pulled me down," I smirk, choosing to ignore how my heart thunders against my chest and Celeste would only have to move her hand an inch to feel it.</p><p>"<em>You</em> pushed <em>me</em> down," she laughs easily, brushing her hair out of her face. Her teeth catch her lower lip for a moment while her eyes scan my face.</p><p>"Same thing."</p><p>"Gonna let me up?" she asks in a low, thick voice, letting her hand fall limp to the floor and tangle with her hair.</p><p>I exhale crisply, extending my arms out so I'm propped up a bit higher. "I don't know," I say, feeling her hand on my robes tighten, "do you want me to?"</p><p>Celeste's hips shift slightly. Her hand twists its grip on her robes, and then she's suddenly pulling me back down. My breath hitches softly as I'm forced to place my weight on my knees and my forearms, seeing a smirk form on her lips.</p><p>My mind can't stop flashing to that night in the common room, the night I <em>almost </em>kissed her.</p><p>"I'm comfortable."</p><p>A thrill passes down my spine, but I just match her smirk, my right hand smoothing down her left arm until I find her wrist and pin it down against the floor next to her head, feeling her pulse moving at a rapid pace against my thumb. I do the same with my left hand up to her right wrist, though when I pull her hand away from my robes, I find her sleeve stuck to the buttons.</p><p>I mutter under my breath while she lets out a humorous puff, yanking her hand away from my robes without any concern what threads she rips or buttons she breaks, her hand burying in my hair and pulling my head down to hers.</p><p>Celeste makes a muffled noise when my lips press against hers neck. She pulls on my hair, gasping when I wrench it away to pin it down with her other, holding onto both her wrists with my left hand. My other buries in her hair, careful to stay close to her roots when I tug on it so I don't break any of her curls. She groans lowly, sending my heart into a frenzy while my tongue brushes against her pulse.</p><p>Her legs are to my left, and when she shifts her left one slowly to move to be on the other side of me, I pull away from her throat to give her space. Her knee briefly brushes against my crotch, eliciting a muffled groan from me that she laughs at.</p><p>"Something funny?" I murmur, leaning back forward to brush my lips to hers while she shifts her legs on either side of me.</p><p>"Shut up and kiss me," Celeste snaps softly, tilting her head up in an attempt to catch my lips. Her eyes are closed, chest already heaving with her breaths while her hand twist and writhe to come free of my left one. "Malfoy..." she murmurs warningly when I chuckle lowly at how her eyebrows twist together as I let my lower lip just brush hers.</p><p>"Wrong name," I rasp against her lips, my free hand pulling her lower one down.</p><p>"What?" she whispers, frustration written all over her face.  </p><p>"Call me by the right name, princess, and I'll kiss you all you want."</p><p>There's a pause where she looks at me blankly, and the next thing I know, she's tightening her thighs on either side of my hips and pushing us to turn over with a grunt, my head hitting the floor with a dull thud that makes me groan softly.</p><p>I let go of her wrists instinctually, and she takes the chance to free her hands. They slide up my torso, up to my chest until she's bending down, her hips hovering just over mine. I take the liberty to slide my own hands up and down her thighs, teasing the skin just under the hem of her skirt while she nudges my head up with her nose and presses pecks down my neck.</p><p>"The <em>right</em> name, huh?" Celeste tangles her fingers with my hair, forcing me to tilt my head back as far as it can go while finding a sweet spot under my jaw. She sucks on it harshly, eliciting a hiss from my lips while I pull her hips down so she's fully straddling me. "What's the <em>right</em> name, Malfoy?"</p><p>"It's not that," I managed to mutter under my breath, praying to whatever or whoever is above that Celeste can't feel my pulse against her lips. My hips roll upwards in a constant motion, occasionally ushering a pretty but muffled noise from her mouth. Adrenaline courses through my veins, making my hands tremble with energy, making my pants suddenly all too tight.</p><p>"What is it then? Hm, Pretty Boy?"</p><p>"Not quite," I murmur dryly, giving my hips a sudden thrust that makes her cry out in the crook of my neck. She curses softly, giving my hair a powerful pull while latching her lips around my pulse point and sucking softly. "<em>Fuck...</em>"</p><p>"No?" she asks breathlessly, muffling a moan when my hands slide up to grip her arse and give it a tight squeeze. "Is it—Is it <em>baby </em>boy, then?"</p><p>"You think you're funny, don't you?"</p><p>Her hand hand slides down my chest, and before I realize what she's doing, it's between my legs and cupping my crotch. A gasp rips through my mouth, followed by a groan when she gives my growing erection a squeeze, my hips lifting off the floor.</p><p>"You tell me," she whispers in my ear, nibbling softly on the shell of it, "<em>Ferret Boy</em>."</p><p>"I'll give you a hint," I say hoarsely, rolling my hips again to grind against her hand, though she slips it away just as quickly as she placed it there, sitting back down over my crotch. "There's no <em>boy</em> in it."</p><p>"Mm..." she hums, grinding her hips down on top of mine while I lightly massage her arse. "No 'boy.' Got it. Then... don't tell me it's <em>princess. </em>That would just be—"</p><p>Celeste interrupts herself with a sharp gasp when I turn the two of us back over with ease, my hand cupping the back of her head so she doesn't hit it against the hardwood. Her lips part as I slot myself back between her thighs and press my covered erection there, watching her eyes roll to the back of her head while I grind slowly against her. My head drops into the crook of her neck where I grunt and let my heavy breaths wash over her skin, feeling her hands fumble to unbutton my robes and slip inside to claw at my back from under them and over my shirt.</p><p>"Mm... H-<em>Hah</em>," she moans breathily, ankles locking at my tailbone and pulling me closer to her. "<em>Kiss me</em>."</p><p>I don't say anything, slipping my hand out from under her head to trail it down her shoulder to her breasts. I briefly pull out of her neck to look at her face, waiting for her to open her eyes so I can ask, but then she slips her hand out of my robes to grab mine, forcing it under her sweater.</p><p>Dipping back into her neck, I smooth my hand over her soft stomach, the rest of my movements ceasing spare for my lips suckling a small bruise under her jawline. She makes an indignant noise, trying to roll her hips up against mine, though the friction isn't the same. When my hand moves to grasp her breasts from over her bra, though, her breath hitches and her nails dig into my back.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," Celeste whimpers softly, arching her back into my hand as I knead one of her breasts and continue placing bruise along her neck. "Dray—Draco—"</p><p>A loud shriek makes me jump back.</p><p>The two of us stare at each other in horror, her having sat up quickly and me almost having fallen onto my back, our legs tangled.</p><p>And then I look to the side to see where the persistent screeching is coming from, cursing under my breath when I see a bird bouncing in and out of the mouth of an archaic cuckoo clock, screaming at us that it's eight o'clock.</p><p>—</p><p>Even after sitting through dinner, I'm brimming with unsatisfied energy as I storm through the library prepared for a night studying Transfiguration to be prepared for classes starting next week.</p><p>After that stupid clock went off—which has <em>never</em> happened before, so I curse it for choosing <em>that</em> moment to make its presence apparent—Celeste had quickly scrambled her belongings together and muttered something about meeting up with—naturally—<em>Carlier</em>.</p><p>I slam my books down on a table with a huff. It's not my usual one in the back, but I can't be bothered to go all the way back there. Anyway, it's still the holiday, be it the end or not, so I doubt I'll be disturbed even in the Transfiguration section.</p><p>And yet after maybe thirty minutes of pouring through my textbook and taking a few notes from it, I sense through my peripheral vision a figure coming up to the shelf in front of me.</p><p>I choose to ignore whoever it is, however, aggressively flipping a page in my textbook to continue jotting down some sparse notes on human transfiguration and its complexities as well as nuances. This only lasts so long, however, when I hear the person start grunting in effort.</p><p>I briefly close my eyes to collect myself, willing my hand not to rip my wand out of my pocket and <em>Stupefy</em> whoever it is to acquire just some peace and quiet. Instead, I inhale and exhale deeply, open my eyes, and turn to look at whoever it is.</p><p>Pandora stands in front of the bookshelf, her schoolbag tucked under her arm. She jumps to reach for a book far above her reach, making an aggravated noise when she doesn't even skim it with her fingertips.</p><p>Slowly, I push my chair out from under the table.</p><p>The noise alerts her to my presence, and she instantly whips her head over her shoulder to look at me. Pandora's green eyes widen, and her hands move to compose herself, tucking her hair behind her ears and fixing the little ducktail her shirt formed at the back of her skirt where it came untucked.</p><p>"Oh. Hi, Draco," she says, offering me a small smile as I walk around the table to approach her. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."</p><p>"No worries," I shrug, still feeling that adrenaline from earlier coursing through my veins. I really just want to tell her to turn around and find a different section of the library to grab a different book from, but I just as badly need to work this energy out so I can forget about it—forget about <em>Celeste</em>. "Which book are you looking for? I can help you grab it."</p><p>"Oh, don't worry, I can grab it my—" Pandora's breath hitches softly when I place my hand on her hip and ease her to turn around, my lips twitching with a small smirk. "Myself. I can get it myself. I—I don't mean to disturb you."</p><p>"You're not disturbing me," I say softly, moving closer to brush my lips against her ear, noting how her spine straightens at this. Good. "Which book is it?"</p><p>Pandora steps back up to the bookshelf, her hand clasping one of the shelves as she moves up onto her toes and reaches up to try to tap one. "It's th—oh," she whispers when I come up from behind her, nonchalantly pressing against her back and reaching a casual arm up to easily pull the book out from its shelf.</p><p>Even as I bring it down, I don't bother pulling away, looking at the side of her face which slowly turns pink. "This one?" I murmur near her ear, holding a book entitled <em>Transfiguration: Supplemental Studies for the Striving NEWT Student</em>.</p><p>"Yeah," she laughs breathily, her hand slowly lowering. "That's the—That's the one. Thanks, Dra—"</p><p>"Come sit with me," I urge, knowing I'd allocated this time strictly for studying, but I haven't really been able to concentrate anyway, and maybe this—Pandora—is exactly what I need to clear my mind.</p><p>"Are you sure? It looks like you were studying," she says in a hesitant voice, though she walks alongside me more than willingly. "I don't want to impose."</p><p>I give her a pointed look, watching her cheeks flush pink. "Impose, Pandora?" I chuckle smoothly, knowing a little sweet talking is exactly what it takes to get her malleable in her clutch. "You? You could never impose."</p><p>"Oh?" she quips.</p><p>And a few minutes later, she's sitting up on the table, her legs spread just enough to fit my head between her thighs, long nails scratching my head from how her fingers are tangled in my hair, both pushing me closer to her and away at the same time.</p><p>We've placed a <em>Muffliato</em>, of course, and so she moans freely. They're high-pitched, sugary noises, punctuated with gasps as she grinds her hips forward against my mouth, thighs trembling from how harshly I suck on her clit. My eyes flash open for a moment to see her bringing a hand back to lean on, her other slipping from my hair to palm at her breasts.</p><p>I close my eyes once more, and the image changes. The position doesn't—it's still me kneeling on the floor eating a girl out while she massages herself—but the girl does. The thighs pressing in on either side of my head are thigh, soft, and suppler under my squeezing fingers. The high-pitched moans turn into lower groans and whimpers, and the voice that whispers my name while hips grind against my face is silky, smooth, seductive.</p><p>And then when we sneak out of the library and into the empty classroom right next to it, it's not her I'm seeing on my lap while I take a seat on one of the chairs.</p><p>It's not Pandora unbuckling my belt and undoing my pants with fumbling hands, nor is it her bracing herself with her hands on my shoulders. It isn't her slowly sliding onto me, her face tipping back and mouth dropping at the size, and it <em>definitely</em> isn't her whimpering my name in my ear when I starting thrusting up to meet her bounces.</p><p>It's Celeste that I see when she pulls her sweater up over her head and pulls her bra down to her waist, Celeste's breathy laugh when her straps almost get tangled with her hands. It's Celeste's dark, soft skin, Celeste's breasts that I kiss and suck on while she grinds down against me, tugging on my hair. That rune I now know sitting between the top of her breasts, her locket dangling and occasionally hitting her skin when she bounces or when I thrust.</p><p>That rune. I hadn't been able to see it so clearly in the dark. For all I knew, I was only imagining it. But seeing it in Celeste's mind, I know it's there. Raido. If all those hours I spent with her studying Ancient Runes, my absolute least favorite subject, paid off, then that is most certainly Raido.</p><p>What is she doing with a rune sitting on her chest? I hardly doubt it's an acquisition from a stupid, drunken night.</p><p>All thoughts of runes fly out of my head when her hands—<em>Celeste's</em> hands, in my head—are undoing my shirt, scratching my shoulders while I whisper sweet, meaningless words.</p><p>I wonder if Pandora knows that I only use her. I think she's smart. I think she probably knows. I think she takes what she can get, even if that means the things I say to her are all lies.</p><p>"Fuck, you look so perfect," I gasp out, my head falling back while I watch her bounce on me. Lie. She'd look perfect if her blonde hair suddenly turned dark and curly.</p><p>When we're done, we silently walk back into the library. Pandora packs her things up and leaves, though not without giving me a smile and telling me in a soft voice she'll see me later. By that point, curfew is approaching, and so I pack my own things up as well.</p><p>It's as I'm slinging the strap of my book bag over my shoulder and pushing my chair back towards the desk that I notice the glint of silver on the floor.</p><p>I almost ignore it, but when it catches my eye again as I'm pushing books back into the shelves they belong to that I give in. I crouch down right next to the table, frowning when I see the little bracelet sitting on the dark blue carpet.</p><p>I pick it up with one finger as if it's carrying an infectious disease, bringing it up closer to my eye. It's a delicate silver chain with a few small diamonds interspersed on it, and it most <em>definitely</em> is Celeste's. It must have gotten caught on me while we were in the Room of Requirements.</p><p>I wonder if she's noticed that it's missing yet.</p><p>I glance over my shoulder to see if I have any company, standing up straight to walk out while slipping the little chain into my pocket.</p><p>I'll decide what to do with it later.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: what's your scariest memory? happiest?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0080"><h2>80. THE UNEXPECTED COMES LATE AT NIGHT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>CELESTE ZABINI<br/>February 14th, 1997</p><p>"Maxon, <em>where </em>are we going?!"</p><p>"Telling you would ruin the surprise."</p><p>I practically growl under my breath, crossing my arms tightly. He's clearly <em>very</em> committed to this surprise, so I'm going to be <em>very </em>angry if it doesn't live up to all the hype he's built around it. He went as far as having <em>Pansy</em> get me dressed appropriately, because <em>she </em>gets to know where he's taking me and <em>I</em> don't.</p><p>"Carlier."</p><p>"Yes, <em>princesse?</em>"</p><p>"Is it a coincidence that your little <em>surprise</em> lands on the same day as Valentine's day?" I huff, shivering under my breath as the cold bites at me. I'm assuming this surprise is indoors, because I doubt Pansy would dress me in my leather skirt and knee-high boots otherwise.</p><p>He laughs dryly. "This isn't a <em>date</em>. It just so happens that our surprise takes place this Friday. Not a date, unless you want it to be one," he says sarcastically, tightening his grip on my hand continue leading me since—of course—he blindfolded me for the sake of keeping his surprise a surprise.</p><p>"Most dates don't end with the guy buried in a ditch, so yeah, not a date in my book," I mutter under my breath, rubbing my arms as best as I can while stumbling to blindly keep up with him. He gave me his coat to wear on top of mine and even wrapped his thick scarf around my neck so it covered my ears and half my face, but no amount of layers could protect me from the February chill.</p><p>"I promise you won't want to murder me," he says easily, letting go of my arm to wrap his over my shoulders and pull me into his side. "I think you'll like this."</p><p>"I <em>better</em>."</p><p>We continue trudging through Hogsmeade—that's how much he told me—which must be quite a sight to everyone else seeing two people dressed in black, one even blindfolded. I smirk slightly at the thought, realizing that <em>maybe </em>the fact it's Valentine's day adds a certain something to the image we're giving off.</p><p>The thing is, though, this surprise is <em>very </em>late at night.</p><p>It's maybe 10:00 PM now as we continue walking, Maxon laughing off all my half-joking threats to castrate him and hide his dead body in a pile of snow.</p><p>"We're here," Maxon says when we suddenly stop.</p><p>I frown, glancing around despite my ability to see being hindered. It's loud wherever we, and over the clamor of people talking and shouting around us—as well as bumping into us and making me grimace with someone smacks the side of my arm—I can hear muffled music.</p><p>"Where exactly is <em>here</em>, Carlier?"</p><p>I sense him step behind me, his hands reaching up to the back of my hair to undo the blindfold. When it falls away from my face, I open my eyes slowly, wincing when bright, colorful lights from a sign on the outside of the building we stand at blur in my vision.</p><p>"You know the Hobgoblins?"</p><p>"Duh. I love their music."</p><p>"You know how Stubby Boardman, their lead singer, left?"</p><p>"Yeah. Only the biggest tragedy of the twentieth century."</p><p>"You know how they got back together recently?"</p><p>"Who doesn't?"</p><p>"You know how tickets to their shows sold out within a week of their announcement?"</p><p>"...Maxon."</p><p>"How much do you love me?"</p><p>"You're <em>kidding</em>."</p><p>"I'm not," he cracks a small grin, the red light from the sign casting over his face while he shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at me sheepishly.</p><p>"<em>Shut up!</em>"</p><p>"I won't!" he laughs, eyes widening slightly. "I'm not kidding, Cel, <em>J'ai des billets pour nous </em>[I got two tickets for us]."</p><p>"I—You—" I stumble over my words, looking at him in pure in utter shock while he watches me in fond amusement. "<em>How?</em> I mean—Their tickets were sold out this <em>summer</em>. This must have been pretty last minute, so how did you—?"</p><p>Maxon shrugs, laughter in his voice when he says, "My aunt is pretty big in the business. I asked her for a favor, and she delivered."</p><p>"Can I kiss your aunt?"</p><p>"I'd prefer you don't."</p><p>I laugh shortly, my face feeling warm as a grin splits it. "Can I kiss you? Don't answer, I'm doing it anyway," I say with a mocking air of irritability while stepping up to grab him by the front of the white shirt he wears, hearing him make a muffled noise of surprise when I tug him down to slam my lips against his.</p><p><em>Tickets to see The Hobgoblins</em>.</p><p>Pansy is gonna be <em>so</em> jealous, though maybe not as much as she was when she found out Verona saw The Weird Sisters without her.</p><p>Before I know it, we're inside the club, crammed in with a room full of at least a hundred others and colored lights flashing over them while The Hobgoblins play all their classics. I could go without the screaming in my ear, but I also couldn't care less as I myself scream the lyrics word for word at the top of my lungs, my hand on top of Maxon's that's planted firmly on my waist to make sure he doesn't lose me.</p><p>
  <em>I think Felix paid me a visit</em>
</p><p>Maxon turns me around to face him, and I reach up to loop an arms around his neck and shout the lyrics with a grin.</p><p>
  <em>Because I feel lucky with you tonight</em>
</p><p>"Isn't this song about eating a girl out?!" Maxon laughs in my ear.</p><p>"Yes!" I shout back, looking over at the stage where The Hobgoblins are performing. "Nothing more magical!"</p><p>
  <em>Just a few sips of your Firewhiskey</em>
</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, the things I would do to spend a night with their drummer," I groan to him while squinting at the blurred figure of the drummer, Ashwick, feeling Maxon's fingers tangle with the mesh shirt I wear over the bralette Pansy all but shoved me in.</p><p>"He's old enough to be your <em>parent</em>," Maxon laughs incredulously, pulling me closer to him while we dance.</p><p>
  <em>And I'll be tasting your tonic on my lips</em>
</p><p>"And? He's <em>hot</em>. Don't tell me you haven't thought about him taking you from behind," I smirk, pressing closer to him to loop my other arm around his neck as well and dance against his hips.</p><p>Maxon hesitates, his eyes gliding from mine up to Ashwick on the stage. And then an uncontrollable grin spreads across his face and his head shakes as he says, "Fine, so the drummer is hot, but have you seen their bassist? I'd pay to suck h—"</p><p>
  <em>Nobody's else is here tonight</em>
</p><p>"Who, Caleb?"</p><p>"Yeah, have you seen his hair? I'd kill to pull on it."</p><p>
  <em>Not even Merlin's watchful eyes</em>
</p><p>"Sure, but look at Persephone. I'd be willing to bet she's good with her hands, the way she handles that fucking guitar."</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>. I've never wanted to be a guitar before."</p><p>
  <em>You have your drink baby</em>
</p><p>"Yeah, well there's two guitarists!" I grin, my hands tangling with Maxon's long brown waves and pulling his head back, hearing him groan softly. "I get Persephone, you get the other."</p><p>"Her name is <em>Val!</em>"</p><p>"'Scuse me if Persephone's hands make it hard to remember <em>Cal's</em> name."</p><p>
  <em>You'll be my Butterbeer at midnight</em>
</p><p>"Oh, fuck," Maxon groans, "speaking of hands..."</p><p>"You're looking at the keyboardist too, aren't you?" I say lowly, eyeing his hands as best as I can with all the monstrously tall people blocking my view and my own blurred vision.</p><p>
  <em>There's no need for Alihosty after dark</em>
</p><p>"Shit, I can hardly see," I huff with a slight pout, gripping Maxon's shoulders. "What's the point of going to a The Hobgoblin's concert if I can't even—?!"</p><p>"Back or shoulders?" Maxon leans in to shout in my ear.</p><p>
  <em>I get high off the smell of your skin</em>
</p><p>"What?!"</p><p>"Back or shoulders?!"</p><p>"Back?"</p><p>Without another word, Maxon is stepping in front of me, bending down slightly and grabbing me by the back of my knees without warning. I yelp, instantly locking my arms around his shoulders while he heaved me up and tucks his arms under my calves, officially carrying me piggy-back.</p><p>"Oh!"</p><p>"Better?!" he shouts over the music, turning his head to the side.</p><p>I glance up at the stage, grinning when I see I have the perfect view of the keyboardist—Romulus—and his beautiful hands. Looking back down at Maxon, I tilt to the side, grab his jaw, and press my open mouth to his, earning a soft grunt before his tongue moved to brush against mine.</p><p>
  <em>Let me into the sweet of your kingdom</em>
</p><p>"I'll take that as a 'thank you,'" he laughs easily when we pull away, readjusting his grip on my legs.</p><p>"<em>Thank</em> you," I sing, tightening my arms and tucking my chin on his hand. "Now dance for me, bitch-boy."</p><p>
  <em>And take you into celestial bliss</em>
</p><p>Maxon snorts softly, but he continues dancing as best as he can with me on his back, all while both of us shout the rest of the lyrics to the song—Alihosty After Dark. It's hot in here, and half the time I can't hear the drums over the screaming of every other person around, but my heart is beating so fast it could just as easily be flatlining. I'm wearing a skirt, and I'm sure half my ass is on display with the way my legs are wrapped around Maxon, but I couldn't care less.</p><p>He took me to see The <em>Hob</em>goblins.</p><p><em>Draco took you to France</em>.</p><p>The slimy, somewhat Celeste-sounding voice at the back of my head makes me freeze. Where did that come from?</p><p><em>When he apologized, he took you to France. Maxon's apology-surprise is a concert. Cute</em>.</p><p>I swallow thickly, feeling a bead of sweat roll down my temple as the lead singer leans into the bassist to sing the chorus with him.</p><p><em>Yeah, well, Maxon got into a petty fistfight. He didn't Imperius me or fuck the dignity out of me or even inadvertently get me tortured. Not to mention he started apologizing the very next day, not half a year later</em>.</p><p>"Hey, where's your bracelet?"</p><p><em>Oh, fuck</em>.</p><p>"What?" I shout back in his ear, praying that I heard him wrong.</p><p>"Your bracelet!" Maxon taps my left wrist where the dainty chain is indeed missing.</p><p>"Oh, it—" I falter. "It kept getting caught in the sleeve of my shirt—y'know, cause it's mesh—so I took it off!"</p><p>He nods, giving me a half smile.</p><p>I've been praying for the last two weeks that he doesn't notice Im not wearing it—at least until I find it, that is. For all I know, I lost it <em>more</em> than two weeks ago and just didn't notice. All I remember is sitting in Draco's room arguing with him about the feasibility of a plan he'd come up with—for the execution day, of course—when suddenly I lifted my hand up, my sleeve came down; and my wrist was so painfully bare.</p><p>Inhaling deeply, I shake my head before pressing my lips to Maxon's ear to ask, "Can you carry me to the bathroom?"</p><p>"<em>Je ferais n'importe quoi garder ma princesse heureuse </em>[I'll do anything to keep my princess happy]," he responds sarcastically, earning a light smack on his arm that makes him jokingly loosen his grip like he'll drop me which, naturally, earns him another light snack, though this time on his head.</p><p>"You're not funny," I grumble as he makes his way out the thick crowds, jolting when a girl, in an attempt to reach for her friend, smacks my ass. "Think you can walk a little faster?"</p><p>"Excuse me if I'm not at my typical pace when I'm carrying—"</p><p>"Are you calling me fat?"</p><p>Maxon groans while I grin and laugh softly in his ear, gripping his shoulders tighter and squeezing my thighs around him as he does manage to speed up a little, making it a somewhat bumpy ride for me.</p><p>Eventually the music and cheering starts to fade as we find the hallway with the bathrooms. Maxon carries me all the way over to the witch's restroom before standing in front of the door.</p><p>"Here's your stop, ma'am," he says ironically, glancing over his shoulder.</p><p>"Well? Are you gonna open the door?"</p><p>"What, you need me to open it for you?"</p><p>"Isn't that what I just said?"</p><p>Sighing heavily, Maxon stifles a soft laugh, his hand reaching for the handle. It unlocks, indicating that it's so conveniently vacant.</p><p>"Alright, there you are. I'll be waiting right out here," he says as I slide off his back, my hands moving instantly to straighten out my skirt.</p><p>"No you won't," I chirp with a small grin, grabbing his hand and yanking him in behind me into the bathroom.</p><p>"Wh—?" Maxon cuts himself off as he stumbles in after me, whipping his head over his shoulder when I push him up against the door, effectively closing it shut, grab him by the front of his shirt, and press myself against it, finding his lips to lock to mine. "Mm—" he moans in surprise, his hands instantly going to my lips and pulling me further against him.</p><p>I slide my hands up, smirking against his mouth while pulling on his waves. He groans lowly, but when I push him against the door again, he quickly pulls away with a gasp.</p><p>"<em>Ow</em>."</p><p>"What's wrong?" I pant softly, frowning at him.</p><p>"Door handle," he winces, shifting a few inches to his right to reveal the silver door handle. He reaches first it, quickly locking it before giving me a winning smile and murmuring, "<em>Ca c'est mieux </em>[That's better]..."</p><p>"Right, where were we then?" I murmur back distractedly, my eyes falling to his pink lips. I vaguely register him chuckling at me before I leap back forward, feeling his hands go to squeeze my ass while I bite down on his lower lip, earning from him a guttural noise.</p><p>"Thought you had to use the bathroom," he says in a drunken voice against my lips.</p><p>"Mm, I did," I whisper back, tugging at his leather jacket to tell him to take it off, "just not the way you expected."</p><p>"Yeah? You sure this is how you wanna spend your night at a Hobgoblins concert?"</p><p>"Are you complaining?" I pull away.</p><p>"No," he snorts with a roll of his eyes, quickly tugging his jacket off. He hangs it on the hook beside the wall while giving the floor a mildly disgusted look, at which I fish for my wand stuck between the side of my bralette and my skin to nonverbally cast a few Cleaning Charms around the bathroom.</p><p>"Good," I say firmly, sliding my hands up the inside of his white shirt. "<em>Fuck</em>, you should have worn your leather pants. You look fucking <em>good</em> in leather pants."</p><p>"Yeah?" he laughs shortly. "I'll be sure to wear them next time..."</p><p>"Next time? You planning on taking me to more concerts, Carlier?" I murmur, feeling the hard panels of his torso flex underneath my palms while I lean in to suck lightly on his jawline.</p><p>"Considering this is how you're thanking me..."</p><p>"Oh," I laugh softly, "good idea. Maybe I should thank you..." I smirk at me, slowly lowering myself to the ground, thankful for the Cleaning Charm I've already placed and my high boots when my knees touch the tile floor. Maxon let's his head fall back to lean against the door, his hand gripping my chin and tilting my face up so he can see me.</p><p>"You can just <em>say</em> it."</p><p>"Oh, but won't this mean so much more?" I tease, finding his belt with my fingers and quickly pulling it out of the loops.</p><p>Yes, I think thanking him is exactly what I want to do right now—thank him for the tickets, and thank him for the one chance this past month I've had to take a break from long hours spent studying and working on the Vanishing Cabinet. Not that he knows that, of course.</p><p>Besides, I feel a little guilty for losing the bracelet for a second time now.</p><p>Maxon's hand grabs mine right as I pull his zipper down. His other tightens on my chin, and it only loosens when I frown and drag my eyes up to meet his. He scans my face, his eyes darker and lips redder than usual, and he says, "I just wanna check to make sure you know you don't <em>have</em> to thank me. Y'know, <em>this</em> way."</p><p>I cock my head at him, a smirk spilling slowly over my lips. "Maxon, honestly, I don't suck dick unless I want to."</p><p>He smirks softly, shaking his head at me before moving his hand on my chin to carefully lace with the roots of my hair and dropping his other from my wrist. The music from outside the bathroom seems to shake the floor, sending vibrations up my legs. I hear Maxon groan softly as I drag the heel of my palm against his still covered and growing erection, followed by the dull thud of his head falling back against the door.</p><p>His hand tightens in my hair, the other one coming back up to cup the side of my face and gently stroke my cheekbone as I continue palming him from over his briefs, my head tilted up to greedily catch every expression on his face. His lips are parted, the tip of his tongue teasing at his lower one.</p><p>"<em>Je ne voulais pas être non reconnaissant, Céleste</em> [I don't mean to be ungrateful, Celeste]," he pants out when I grab his erection and give it a squeeze over his briefs, his face twisting with pleasure, "<em>mais tu ne peut pas me remercier un peu plus vite</em> [but can't you thank me a little faster]?"</p><p>"<em>Où est le plaisir dans tout ça </em>[Where's the fun in that]?"</p><p>"<em>Celeste</em>," he groans in a warning tone while I pull his pants down lower around his upper thighs, shifting from sitting on my heels to a little higher so I can hold his hips and press a lingering kiss against him.</p><p>"Mm... maybe if you <em>beg</em>..."</p><p>"That's what you want, Celeste?" he laughs dryly, hand tightening in my hair and pulling me closer to him. "<em>Tu veut m'entendre supplier</em> [You want to hear me beg for you]?"</p><p>"Yeah. Don't tell me you're too <em>tough</em> to beg," I laugh smoothly, seeing his eyes peel open to watch me heavily. "You can beg for me, can't you? If that's what a girl wants?"</p><p>"I just don't think it's fair if I have to beg for a <em>thank you</em>."</p><p>I shoot him a sharp glare, seeing a small smirk teasing at his lips. "You <em>blindfolded</em> me and didn't even let me physically dress myself. You deserve a catch."</p><p>He laughs softly, but it quickly turns into a soft groan of irritation while his head falls back against the door. I quirk an eyebrow at him, rubbing him slowly though with firm pressure, watching as he shakes his head.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," he laughs dryly, not sounding amused at all while his jaw clenches. "Please, Celeste..."</p><p>I hum softly to the music playing outside, my fingers slipping into the waistband of his brief and slowly moving to drag it down. I hear his breath hitch in anticipation, and then I let it go to snap back against his skin, making him startle slightly.</p><p>"Please, <em>what?</em> Tell me how much you want it, Maxon," I say softly, my teeth catching the flesh of my lower lip as his hand comes up to run raggedly through his hair.</p><p>He exhales heavily, hand in my hair slipping away to stroke the side of my face, index finger tracing the line of my jaw. "So badly, darling. You have such pretty lips... <em>Tu ne va pas les utiliser contre moi</em> [Won't you use them on me]?"</p><p>"You can do better than that," I chide lowly, pulling his briefs down again. This time, when I let them go to snap against his skin, I let his length spring out first before letting the band go against his thighs. He hisses, hips jolting forward and his hand tightening on the side of my face. His fingers grip at my neck, loosening after a moment.</p><p>"Let me... Let—<em>ahh</em>," he moans softly as my hand wraps around his base, slowly pumping him up and down. I don't apply nearly enough pressure to be satisfying, only just enough to make his nails dig into the side of my neck and his thumb drag down my cheekbone. "<em>Putain </em>[Fuck]. Please, Celeste, let me cum in your mouth," Maxon pants.</p><p>I only laugh softly before tightening my hold on him. Something twists deliciously in my gut when he lets out something between a whine and a whimper as I drag my thumb over his tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had collected there. His eyes flash open at the motion just in time to see me lean in and pop my thumb into my mouth, licking it clean.</p><p>"That's a <em>bit</em> better."</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, Celeste, what do you want to hear?" he curses under his breath, his hand squeezing the side of my face before dropping and tightly fisting the side of his distressed jeans. "<em>Please</em>, just let me fucking—" He shakes his head when my tongue swipes up the side of his tip. "Just... Just... I'll do <em>anything</em> for you, I swear, just..."</p><p>"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," I hum softly, swaying where I'm seated on the heels of my feet to the beat of the music playing outside.</p><p>"<em>Je ne les jamais fait</em> [I never do]," he mutters back, one of his hands going up to grip the top of the doorframe and dig his nails into it.</p><p>I pause for a moment, scanning his face, and then I lean in to wrap my lips around his tip. Maxon gasps instantly, his free hand finding the top of my head. His fingers tense there, pulling lightly on my hair. He doesn't put enough pressure to force my head to stay where it is, but I can feel him itching to push me all the way down on him, making me smirk softly.</p><p>Something I've always liked about hooking up with Maxon is how unafraid he always is to make noises. Neither of us have bothered placing a Silencing Charm, though I doubt that matters considering how loud the music is outside. Still, he doesn't hold any of his sweet, low moans back, whispering my name and incoherent pleas under his breath</p><p>"Just like that," he groans, his hips slowly moving forward. "<em>Fuuuck...</em> <em>Juste comme ça</em> [Just like that]..." I slide my free hand up his leg, slipping it to lightly cup his balls, earning from him a ripe moan. "You're doing <em>so</em> well, Celeste..."</p><p>My face flames slightly at the praise, and I swirl my tongue over his tip while keeping my eyes open to watch his expressions. My one hand pumps him up and down faster, naturally picking up the beat of the music that thumps against the door he leans on, the other tightening its hold on him and massaging him lightly. His eyebrows rise up and mouth tips open, head tilting back and hips lifting off the door while a choked noise escapes those pretty lips.</p><p>When I pop my lips off of him, he opens his eyes to look at me lazily. I lick my lips before leaning back down to lick a wet stripe up his length, earning a muttered curse while his nails scratch my scalp from how his fingers tighten their hold on the top of my head.</p><p>"<em>Est ce que tu sais à quel point tu est belle comme ça</em> [Do you know how pretty you look like this]?" Maxon pants softly when I slip my mouth back around him, this time taking a few more inches of him and willing my throat to stay open. "<em>So</em> beautiful. You're gonna let me cum in your mouth, aren't you, <em>princesse?</em>"</p><p>I nod as best as I can, smirking around him when a twist of both my hands around the base of his cock and his balls elicits a sudden gasp from him. He then laughs breathily, his hand carefully fixing my hair before dropping to hold the side of my neck.</p><p>His thumb grazes over my throat, feeling the way it moves to accommodate for him while I move to take an inch more of him, my tongue dragging up his underside. Maxon half-moans and half-laughs, squeezing the side of my neck.</p><p>I make a muffled noise, my eyes fluttering shut and both my hands moving to hold onto his hips while I prepare myself to take all of him in my mouth. When his tip hits and presses into the back of my throat, my throat flutters around him. I hear him whimper, completely unashamed of all his noises, while I furrow my eyebrows in an attempt to keep my stinging eyes from tearing up.</p><p>"Celeste... I don't know how long I can hold back for..." he groans, hips bucking forward lightly. "<em>Merlin</em>, I just wanna fuck your pretty little face."</p><p>I open my eyes, stilling my motions. He catches this, a small smirk lifting his parted lips. His hand strokes the side of my face, thumb wiping at my cheekbone.</p><p>"You want that, <em>princesse?</em>" he asks softly, and I give him a small nod, keeping my gaze firm an unabashed despite the burn spreading over my ears and cheeks. "Yeah? You'll hit me to stop you, won't you?" I give him another nod, earning me a fond smile and a murmured "good girl."</p><p>His hand cups the back of my head, the other firming its grip on my face. He gives me one last careful look, and then he starts slow thrusts into my mouth. I choke softly, my eyes flashing shut and eyebrows knitting together while he murmurs praise to me, hips picking up the pace when I remember how to breathe through my nose. It doesn't matter how tightly I close my eyes, tears manage to slip past my lashes and land on his thumb.</p><p>My fingers dig into his jeans as his speed only picks up to match that of the song that's currently playing, and though I feel constantly on the verge of choking around him, I couldn't care less. Not when his moans are a song of their own, so hot and lewd and blessing my ears, and certainly not when between them he's telling me how pretty I look taking him in my mouth like this.</p><p>When his legs go rigid with an incoming orgasm, he pulls out of my mouth until it's just his tip resting on my tongue, his hand pumping himself to coax all of him onto my tongue. I swallow it back quickly, pushing his hand away to replace it with both of mine. He hisses softly as I squeeze tightly, dragging my hand along from base to tip while managing to open my blurred eyes to look at him.</p><p>Maxon stays leaning against the door with his eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. I smirk softly, zipping him back up for him and clumsily looping his belt back through his jeans. He groans softly when I'm a little rough on him, his hand rising to lazily caress my cheek.</p><p>When I stand up, straightening my skirt out, his eyes flash open and his hands grab me before I can register what's happening. I moan in surprise when his lips press to mine and he turns us around to press me up against the door. His hands squeeze and massage at my thighs and behind, tongue greedy in exploring mine, and then he pulls away just to lean in to whisper in my ear.</p><p>"Your turn to beg."</p><p>Maxon drops to his knees in front of me, pulling one of my legs over his shoulder.</p><p>—</p><p>It's well past two in the morning when I get back to the dorm, and yet Pansy isn't there when I burst through the door and all but fall onto my bed, giving Maxon a halfhearted wave when he laughs at how tired I am and tells me to sleep well before closing my door.</p><p>I wonder what she and Verona are up to.</p><p>I really hope they don't barge in here in ten minutes and kick me out so they can fuck.</p><p>After a few minutes of enjoying the way the bed feels against my sore muscles, I force myself up, wincing at how sore my feet are despite the fact that Maxon was carrying me for half the time even after we left the bathroom.</p><p>Still, I lug myself to the bathroom to clear my makeup off with my wand and with remover just to get rid of the little bits that the spells aren't refined enough to clean away. I scowl at the disarray my hair is in, though my wash day is tomorrow anyway.</p><p>And then I force myself back into the room, nearly moaning when I kick my knee-high boots off and pull my tight skirt down to my feet. I'm quick to peel my mesh shirt and bralette off as well, opting to wear a Quidditch jersey I think I accidentally stole from Graham last year. Too bad he's graduated and it's too late to return it. I slip some sweatpants on as well, and right as I'm pulling my drawer open to grab my Sleeping Draught, my eye catches on the blue box sitting beside my nightstand.</p><p>I pause.</p><p>I've avoided looking at those memories ever since I saw that last one of my parents in the Room of Requirements.</p><p>How does she always manage to do this? Ruin everything for me? It only took take one moment in which she admitted what I've feared all my life: that she never wanted me, and that she still doesn't. Just one moment, and now all my father's memories are even bitter than they were before.</p><p>But I can't help but wonder how he spent his Valentine's Days. Did he go to concerts? Was he serenading women, trying to pretend he didn't care they weren't her?</p><p>I glance at the Sleeping Draught in that old brown bottle sitting in my drawer.</p><p>It's been working miracles, all but putting me in comas. It's taken some time to figure out exactly how much to put in my water if I want to wake up on time for class, but since I have, I haven't had a single dream in months. Not a nightmare where I'm buried alive or watching a monster tear into my father's carotid artery, nor even a simple, uneventful dream that I'd forget about minutes after waking. I know that people dream constantly, even if they don't recall doing so, but I don't think even that has been happening. It's as if the draught drops me into a temporary state where my existence simple pauses.</p><p>And I love it.</p><p>My hand itches to grab it, to let two and a half drops fall into my class of water, to gulp down the tasteless solution, to fall into my bed and wake up what will feel like only a second later. Pansy tells me my pulse still beats when I sleep, but I wouldn't care even if it didn't.</p><p>Begrudgingly, I roll my drawer shut and bend down to pick up the box of his memories.</p><p>As soon as I open the latch, it opens up, revealing all its sections magically enhanced to fit in the small box, the little vials holding silvery-blue memories clattering. Quickly, I grab my Personal Pensieve as well, feeling my hands tremble slightly. A <em>good</em> memory, one I can smile thinking about when I go to sleep tonight.</p><p>My fingers skim the surfaces of the vials, waiting to find the perfect selection.</p><p>
  <em>February 14th, 1979</em>
</p><p>Perfect.</p><p>Before I can truly register what I'm doing, I uncap the vial and pour it into my Pensieve with shaky fingers, and as soon as I set the little glass down, the memory is pulling me into its grasp.</p><p>I land on marble floors with a sharp gasp.</p><p>The first thing I register is the rain. It's hard and violent, slamming down on the outside of whatever building Im in like angry bullets. I hear it rattle the windows, prompting me to look up and around to realize Im standing in the foyer of a manor, though not one that I recognize. Not the Zabini manor, not the Malfoy manor, not the Parkinson manor.</p><p>It's regal and old in the way most manors are, like it has been passed through the hands of Pureblood heirs for countless centuries. But it feels desolate. It feels like it has no heir to continue taking care of it, that even if one did, it would one day crumble anyway. The end of a bloodline has already approached or is fast arriving.</p><p>The rapid, panicked knocking on the elegant front door makes me jolt slightly. I frown, peering at the tall oak structure, hearing the knocker slam into it over and over. The rain almost drowns it out, but then it comes back louder, echoing through the foyer.</p><p>Footsteps barrage down the staircase, grabbing my attention in another direction. It takes me a moment to realize it isn't an a stampede making it's way down, but a sole pair of feet and it's empty echoes accompanying it.</p><p>With a startle, I realize it's father making his way down the stairs of this jarringly hollow manor. It's adorned with expensive, regal decor, yet it is so empty and dreary.</p><p>Except for him.</p><p>The walls are painted grey with the darkness outside and pebbled with the shadows of the rains drops accumulating on the windows, and the only color around is the stark hazel in his excited eyes.</p><p>He's older than the last memory I saw him in—five years, to be exact—and I see that he's earned one of his scars now. It's the one that drags upward from the left side of his jaw, barely scraping his cheekbone before ending.</p><p>I watch him skip the last few steps, leaping over to the door and quickly unlocking it and pulling it open. He doesn't pause to greet whoever is behind it. Instead, he reached an arm out and pulls them inside the foyer, slamming the door shut and proceeding to rub his hands up and down their shivering and heavily cloaked figure, murmuring something I can't here.</p><p>Blinking myself out of my mildly bewildered trance, I take a few steps forward to hear more clearly, and in that moment, the figure drops the hood of their cloak to reveal a mane of snake-like curls.</p><p>While my jaw drops in surprise, Father doesn't look the slightest shocked. He looks relieved, if anything, and maybe a little hopeful.</p><p>"Take your cloak off, Corinne," he says softly, his hand finding the small of her back to lead her into the manor, "it's soaking."</p><p>"I'm alright," she says in a trembling voice, and something in me cracks. Mother is stoic, firm, a stone or a boulder. She is unmoving and unmovable, reliable in her steadiness, strength, and devotion to her stance. She doesn't tremble, and she doesn't waver.</p><p>"You'll catch a c—"</p><p>"I'm alright," she says sharply, that familiar cut in her voice returning. And then she inhales and exhales deeply, eyes closing. "I'm alright, Alaric," Mother repeats herself in a gentler voice, bundling up the front of her loose, ill-fitting robes and cloak. "Thank you."</p><p>"Alright," he says hesitantly, rubbing a hand over his now short hair. "Alright," Father repeats more firmly, hastening his pace into the manor while I follow behind them. "I did my best to prepare something when I got your Patronus," he says, his voice echoing off the walls. "Don't expect too much, though. As I'm sure you know by now, I've let all the House-Elves go, as—"</p><p>"What?" Mother interrupts suddenly, her face pinched in confusion. "Why would you do that? How do you expect to maintain a manor without them?"</p><p>He pauses. "I don't."</p><p>"Alaric?"</p><p>"I'm the last of my bloodline, Corinne," he says simply, leading her into the dining room while I follow. "<em>Both</em> of them. The very last Batiste and the very last Maddox, and I do not intend to be reminded of that every time I wake up alone in a massive manor I do not need. An apartment will suffice."</p><p>"The very—The very <em>last?</em> You can't make more?" Mother asks in an absurdly timid voice.</p><p>"There is no one I desire to make an heir with," he says, and then he pauses, looking away from her. "Not really."<br/>And then Father presses a tight smile to his face, beckoning for my mother to sit at the dining table. Rather than the two head chairs, Father had placed two plates of food down across each other in the very middles of the table so they can sit closer. "Sit, Corinne. Again, I made it myself, so it won't be very—"</p><p>"I won't complain," she says curtly, taking a seat and waiting for Father to do the same. "After all, I am the one that sent you a Patronus at such late notice—and in such horrible weather. It cannot help that we haven't spoken in..."</p><p>Father glanced up at her as he opens a bottle of wine, and I glance between them, faltering when I see Mother's eyes downcast.</p><p>"Six months," he finishes for her, looking down to where he pours the red wine into his cup. His voice isn't condescending nor patronizing nor bitter. It's peaceful. But it's a little strained. "We last spoke at Jin and Dae Parkinson's gala, when they announced their pregnancy."</p><p>"Briefly, at that."</p><p>"Yes, briefly. I don't suppose we've held a decent conversation that hasn't been about the Department of Mysteries in..."</p><p>"At least a year," Mother says, her shoulders dropping but her chin rising as a remnant of her defiance. Her dark eyes watch Father set the wine down.</p><p>"Wine, Corinne?"</p><p>She inhales deeply. "No, thank you, Alaric. Just water for me, tonight."</p><p>He nods, instead pouring a pitcher of water into her cup. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to remove your cloak? It's practically soaked through past your robes."</p><p>"I'm sure, Alaric," Mother says gently. Her eyes then lift to look at him. "So. The very last Batiste-Maddox."</p><p>"In the flesh."</p><p>"I... I am so sorry about your father," she says in a gentle voice, her eyebrows knitting together and head tilting. "I know it's late to express my condolences... I'm sure they don't mean much to you, but—"</p><p>"Thank you, Corinne," Father interrupts calmly, picking up his fork and knife and gesturing for her to do the same, "but I would rather not discuss my father's passing right now. It is what it is. He will be missed by many. Instead, I'd prefer to discuss why you sent me a Patronus so suddenly and so late and without much context."</p><p>Mother presses her lips together, looking down at her food with her utensils in hand.</p><p>"Not that I mind, of course," Father adds gently, cutting himself a bite of food but faltering when he sees she hasn't began eating. "I've never been averse to your company, and I doubt even years apart could change that."</p><p>Her lips flicker. They turn up briefly, and then they tilt down.</p><p>"I'm being unfair to you," she says hesitantly, still staring at her food before suddenly looking up at him, a stone churning in her eyes.</p><p>Father frowns inquisitively. "Is that so?"</p><p>"Barging in like this—"</p><p>"I'm always happy to accept you as a guest. Even if you became a permanent one, I'd have no qualms. You know this, Corinne."</p><p>She shakes her head, dark eyes sporting a soft shine. "And that's why this is so unfair to you," she speaks softly. "You always are—always <em>have</em> been—so ready to help, so ready to drop everything and inconvenience yourself to please me. You—You've always wanted children, and yet you were so willing to give that up for <em>me</em>."</p><p>"You were—<em>are—</em>worth it," Father murmurs, but his eyes fall and his eyebrows twist in a semblance of pain while a stabbing feeling jolts through my gut, forcing me to look away from him.</p><p>Mother laughs shortly, but she doesn't sound even slightly amused. "I couldn't let you do that. Just because <em>I</em> couldn't let myself have any didn't mean I had to subject you to the same fate. I didn't want to hold you back."</p><p>"You? You free me, Cor."</p><p>"Please don't say such things..."</p><p>"For a woman that demands honesty, you seem to dislike it from out my mouth."</p><p>Mother stares at her food in silence for some time longer. She brings a bite up, but as soon as it's within an inch of her face, she turns her head away and puts her fork down.</p><p>"You're too kind to me. Too kind for a woman that doesn't deserve you."</p><p>"You deserve <em>everything</em>," Father responds quickly, his voice rising just slightly for the first time. Mother doesn't seem phased.</p><p>"I should go."</p><p>"<em>Don't. </em>You think it's unfair I always help? Is that why you're here? To ask for help?" Father's features soften. "Ask, Cor. Theres nothing wrong with asking. I want to help, whatever it is."</p><p>"But it's not <em>fair</em>. I—I said no to you, and I've been avoiding you like a bloody plague for <em>years</em>, and it's not fair for me to just come to you all this time later because I need—" Mother's voice breaks suddenly, and her head darts to the side off her shoulder while her hand rises to cover her mouth. I watch in shock as her eyes develop a glittering sheen before she closes them tightly and blinks it away.</p><p>"You need help."</p><p>"I..."</p><p>"You're a woman with pride," Father whispers, his hands twitching as if they want to reach over and just pull her into his chest. "Im sure you've already had this argument with yourself ten times before sending me that Patronus and ten times after. You wouldn't be here to ask me for help unless you had no choice. So ask. Ask me. What is it, Corinne? What's wrong?"</p><p>Mother shakes her head.</p><p>"And you've hardly touched your food. Is it that horrible? It tastes fine to me, but I've been eating my own cooking for days, and that may have eroded my tastebuds..." Father mutters under his breath, that familiar glint appearing in his eyes the way it always used to whenever he was trying to make someone feel better.</p><p>I wish he could hold me.</p><p>The rain patters louder, rattling the windows that line the south side of the dining room. Mother flinches as what sounds like a rock rebounds off one of the windows, and Father's hand darts across the table as if to reach for her. He quickly retracts it, however.</p><p>"I'm sure it tastes wonderful," she exhales, eyes closed, "I'm just afraid I don't have enough of an appetite to confirm it for you."</p><p>"I see."</p><p>A silence between the two of them persists. It's filled with the heavy rainfall, the occasional crack of lining out the window accompanied by a roll of menacing thunder. Even I flinch when it sounds out of nowhere, and though I can't do much more than see and hear in this memory world, I can almost feel the humidity creeping it's tendrils in and suffocating me.</p><p>And then Mother slowly pushes her chair out, coming to a stand.</p><p>Father frowns at her, slowly putting his utensils down and removing the cloth napkin from his lap. He moves to stand up, but my mother placed a single hand out to stop him. Just like that, he pauses. It's as if her words are gospel, even the silent ones. He's bound to her, forever, even after years of separation.</p><p>And it makes me wonder how—just <em>how—</em>my father devoted his life to studying death and my mother hers to studying love when it is so painfully clear who out of the two of them is truly capable of love.</p><p>Mother removes her cloak. She unbuttons it slowly, and then she drapes it over the back of her chair, revealing the loose robes she's wearing. Father frowns, but he doesn't speak, watching as she removes these as well, leaving her in a simple black dress.</p><p>She stands there, waiting. Her eyes are more fearful than I've ever seen them, striking me with an odd, twisting sensation. I don't like seeing her like this—face taut with anxiety, anticipation, trepidation. It isn't like her.</p><p>Then Mother turns so it's her side facing us, a small drop escaping her left eye as she smooths her dress down.</p><p>It's hardly noticeable at first, and then it becomes so painfully obvious not a moment later. The subtle curve of her abdomen, one unlike the gut of someone that's been eating a few extra meals or has been sedentary for months. It's a rigid curve, one that will only grow, one that makes me so nauseous and queasy.</p><p>"I'm pregnant," she whispers softly.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: how would you describe your aesthetic in five emojis?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0081"><h2>81. PLAY YOU A PIECE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>celeste is drunkie</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>February 15th-21st, 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>FEBRUARY 15TH, 1997</b>
</p><p>The keys don't feel the same.</p><p>I don't typically like touching them more than I have to. The ivory is old and one of a kind, and though magic can restore it, there is nothing like an original set, and there is nothing like greedy fingers that can tarnish it. I don't let my fingers drag, I don't press harder than necessary, and I never touch them if I'm not playing them.</p><p>But they don't feel the same, and so I stroke each key, play them over and over again, feel the demarcations between them, and I wonder what has changed.</p><p>Because not only do they feel different, they sound different. I can still feel the noise my piano emits wrapping it's tendrils around me—tangling with the crevices of my heart, interlocking with my magical core, tugging on every fiber of my being—but it isn't so full of life. I used to feel life pouring from my fingertips and translating into the melody, and the notes would fuel right back into me through my ears, but ever note played is flat and dead. And yet, I can't stop playing. I play softly, but I play without pause, eager for the moment it returns back to normal. I didn't have this beautiful, regal instrument transported to my dorm for <em>this</em>.</p><p>It's only a knock at my door that makes me stop.</p><p>Normally I'd ignore it. I couldn't care less about which first year forgot to skip the second step and has a broken leg at the bottom of the pit or whatever Prefectoral duties Im being summoned for. There's Pansy they can bother for that as well as the two fifth year and two seventh year Prefects.</p><p>But it's half past three in the morning. Who could need me at three in the morning?</p><p>And so my hand pause right where they are on the keys, trembling slightly with the thick, tense power that flows back and forth between the ivory and my fingertips. It wants to tie me there, bound forever and sentenced to a lifetime of playing melancholy music and wondering when the life to it will return, but I pull away and come to a stand.</p><p>I glance at the back of the armchair in front of my piano before turning on my heel and walking to the door. I open it to reveal Celeste standing there, though she's looking down the hall with a tentative frown.</p><p>My eyebrows furrow instantly. I give her a quick scan, taking in the baggy sweatpants she wears, the worn out Quidditch jersey, the state her hair is in, and the red veins on her eyes. And most importantly, the massive bottle of Firewhiskey in her hand.</p><p>"Celeste," I urge when nearly a minute has passed and she hasn't looked at me.</p><p>Celeste hiccups in response, turning her head. Her face then flashes with confusion, as if <em>I</em> knocked on <em>her</em> door at the dead of night.</p><p>"Can I... help you?"</p><p>She frowns softly. "Help me?" Celeste echoes.</p><p>"You knocked on my door," I say, glancing down the empty hall while my finger starts tapping on the doorframe—an anchor to keep me patient. I've had a few drinks, though they've had time to settle and fade away, and I haven't slept in too long.</p><p>"Oh," she says, going up on her toes peering into my room from over my shoulder.</p><p>She brings the bottle up to take a sip from, wobbling slightly. Celeste nearly loses her balance, her breath hitching as she stumbles forward. She manages to catch herself, though, with her hand holding the Firewhiskey pressing to my chest and her other grabbing the doorframe.</p><p>"What is that smell?" she asks bluntly, her eyes, pupils blown wide, focused right on my sweater. "Is that your cologne?"</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"You just smell really good."</p><p>"You smell like <em>alc—</em>"</p><p>"I need to pee," Celeste quips suddenly, pulling her hand off my chest and settling back onto her heels. She's looking over my shoulders again, reddened eyes wide and distracted.</p><p>I blink at her. "Okay?"</p><p>"I'm gonna use your bathroom."</p><p>"Oh—"</p><p>Celeste pushes past me, stumbling slightly, though she manages to walk into my room uninjured. I glance at the armchairs again as she wobbles her way towards the bathroom door, disappearing behind it with a soft slam. There's some fiddling as she apparently struggles with the lock, but it eventually clicks.</p><p>"Okay," I sigh heavily, rubbing a heavy hand over my face.</p><p>I give myself fifteen seconds to stand there and collect myself before striding past my piano and over to the armchair by my bookshelf facing the glass wall partitioning my room from the Black Lake.</p><p>Curled up inside it is a half-naked Pandora. Neither of us had much to do this Friday night, and we naturally found each other. She fell asleep there after I was done with her. I suppose coming five times in a row tends to knock a girl out, and she sleeps quietly, so I let her stay there. I wasn't expecting company, after all.</p><p>"Wake up," I murmur quietly but firmly, my hand giving her shoulder a shake. "<em>Wake up</em>."</p><p>Pandora rouses after a few seconds, her face twisting with confusion and her hands rising to rub her face. She slowly peels her green eyes open, tilting her head up to peer at me with confusion.</p><p>"Draco?" she whispers, though it quickly transforms into a stifled yawn while her hand comes up to cover her face.</p><p>"It's late. You should return to your room."</p><p>"What?" Pandora murmurs tiredly, slowly slipping her legs down to plant her feet on the floor and sitting up straighter. She startles when I grab her clothes from off the ground and toss them onto her lap.</p><p>"Get dressed and go," I order simply, glancing up at the bathroom door and then back down to the blonde.</p><p>"Fuck," she exhales under her breath, giving her eyes a short rub before pulling her light pink sweater over her head. "What time is it?"</p><p>I lift my left hand up to check my watch, my foot tapping impatiently on the floor. "3:49. <em>Hurry</em>."</p><p>Pandora's hair falls in her face as she slips her feet into her jeans, standing up to shimmy it up her hips and leaving it unbuttoned and unzipped. She turns around to grab her wand and her coat, and when she straightens back up, she falters.</p><p>I raise an impatient eyebrow at her. Her lips part as if to say something, green eyes searching in my face.</p><p>"What?" I snap after a moment. "Spit it out."</p><p>Pandora's chest swells with a deep breath. Her eyes drop to my lips and then drift off to the side. "Nothing. Never mind," she says, hugging her coat to her chest and ducking her head when she sidles past me and scampers over to the door. "Goodnight," I hear her murmur, and then she shuts it gently behind her right as the bathroom lock starts jiggling.</p><p>My head turns to look at the door, my pulse jumping. And then it swings open, Celeste walking out with her brows furrowed deeply and her lips clamped tightly around the mouth of the nearly empty bottle while her hands hold her jersey out from her torso, a dark green stain in the middle where it seems she managed to have gotten water all over herself.</p><p>"Mmph," she makes an irritated groan, stumbling over to the piano.</p><p>I wince when she plucks the bottle form her mouth and sets it down on my piano bench, quickly making my way over to grab it and walk around the piano to set it down on the coffee table. When I turn back around, Celeste is bunching the Quidditch jersey up, and all too late, I realize what she's doing, because she's already pulling it up over her head.</p><p>"Celeste!" I yelp, holding my hand out in front of me and snapping my head to the side with my eyes already shut, though I do so half a second too late, and my pulse has already erupted into a horde of owls in my gut at the sight of Celeste's breasts spilling out of the green material.</p><p>"What?" I hear her huff in a mildly irritable voice.</p><p>"You can't just... <em>do</em> that."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Get <em>naked</em>."</p><p>"Well, it was wet and sticking to me, I didn't like it," she huffs like a child. And then Celeste giggles—<em>giggles—</em>and I hear her come up to me. "Please. You're acting like you've never seen a pair of tits before."</p><p>I curse under my breath when her hands push mine back down to my side. Her own then trail up my front despite my fingers finding her wrists and grasping them tightly. I freeze them in place, but she just fiddles with my sweater.</p><p>"Do you want to feel them?" she asks curiously, and my eyes snap open.</p><p>"No, thank you, Celeste," I muster out in the calmest voice I can manage, turning my head back to face her and keeping my eyes strictly above her lips, though her arms are pressed to her torso and covering anything I might mistakenly glance at.</p><p>"Why not?" she presses, tilting her head at me curiously. And then her plump lips spread into a smirk, eyebrows narrowing deviously. I almost—<em>almost—</em>fall away at that look, but one glance in her eyes reminds me just how intoxicated she is. "Are you shy?"</p><p>My face burns slightly. I don't let my eyes slip below even the bridge of her nose, but my vision is very good, especially in comparison to her as she squints at me even with the minimal distance between us, and I can see the shadow of her cleavage as her arms press tightly to her front.</p><p>"I'm gonna get you a shirt," I say lowly, letting go of her wrists and turning on my heel. "And when I turn back around, you better not be dropping your pants."</p><p>"But I like being shirtless," she complains as I approach my dresser, my ears burning fiery red while I search for a shirt to lend to her. "It's freeing. How come guys get to be shirtless and girls don't?"</p><p>She was wearing a Quidditch jersey... I don't know whose it was. It couldn't have been Blaise's, as he's only just joined the team and I doubt he'd let her even steal it. I don't know if it's Carlier's or perhaps even Montague's, but the realization that she was wearing <em>someone's</em> jersey, makes my neck grow hotter. At this thought, I promptly pluck out an old jersey of mine—from fourth year, if I remember correctly—and turn back around.</p><p>Keeping my eyes on the wall behind her, I toss her the jersey. She catches it, pulling it over her head. When her figure looks distinctly green, I let myself glance at her torso. She's put the jersey on backwards, but I don't dare say a thing lest she strip in front of me again.</p><p>Pulse thumping, I walk past her and over to the coffee table, bending down to pluck an apple from the fruit bowl sitting there.</p><p>"There's water on my nightstand," I say, picking up the glass bottle. I frown when I see half a sip of the alcohol left, wondering how many of these she had before coming here—and why—while tossing the bottle into the bin.</p><p>"I don't want it," she says much like a child.</p><p>"I don't <em>care</em> what you want. You're going to have a full glass of water, and then you're going to finish this apple," I snap simply, turning around to see her sitting on my piano bench with her arms crossed and a scowl drawn across her features. I sigh heavily, closing my eyes and willing myself to count to fifteen before I yell at this drunk, infuriating girl. "Don't sit there."</p><p>"Don't tell me what to do."</p><p>"My room, my rules."</p><p>"How long has your piano been here?"</p><p>I pause, giving her an odd look. Her chin is tilted up at me defiantly, an expression she never seems to lose, even in her drunken state.</p><p>"A week," I say, walking over to her. "Give me your hand." She holds it out, and I place the apple in her palm. "Eat. Don't you dare let a single bit of it get on my piano, or I'll have you hung."</p><p>"<em>Yes, sir</em>," she mocks me crossly, taking a small bite out of the apple and glaring up at me. "You're very dramatic, you know that? You ought to write up your own show. A one-man act, perhaps. You can play out all your own inner monsters and devils and whatnot. I reckon you'd make a good sum of money from that." Celeste then pauses, a stupid grin spreading over her face. "<em>'Reckon</em>.' Funny word, isn't it? I don't think I've ever used it before." Her face lights up. "I don't <em>reckon</em> I've used it before!"</p><p>I look at her blankly. A part of me wonders if this is actually <em>my</em> tipping point, not hers. The very last test to see what it takes to drive me insane.</p><p>I turn on my heel wordlessly to go to my nightstand, ignoring the way Celeste mutters something about me being a poor conversation-maker while I pour her a glass of water.</p><p>When I return back to the piano, she grabs it from me quickly, gulping half of it down in the time it takes me to inhale one breath.</p><p>"This tastes so good," she moans into her cup, panting softly before taking one more sip.</p><p>"Good," I say dryly, taking the cup from her when she holds it out for me and wipes her mouth with the back of the hand that holds her apple. "Eat."</p><p>"I'm not hungry," Celeste says, staring down at the fruit from which she's only taken one bite. "Do you want it? I don't want it anymore."</p><p>"It's for you, Celeste."</p><p>"<em>Damn</em>."</p><p>I sigh heavily, watching her take another small bite from the apple. Her legs are bouncing rapidly and anxiously, free hand twisting at the material of my jersey. Celeste's wide, blown eyes dart around my room, and she flinches lightly when I decide it'll be a lost cause to make her move from the piano bench and instead take a seat beside her.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>"<em>Draaaay</em>," she drawls back teasingly, flashing me a toothy grin. It crumbles away quickly, however, and with it my flash of annoyance at that nickname.</p><p>"What are you doing here, Cel? It's late," I say quietly, too tired to raise my voice any higher.</p><p>Celeste's eyes settle on the piano keys as she chews on a bite of her apple. She swallows it down, taking another bite and taking her time on that one as well before swallowing that down as well to say, "Looking for Maxon."</p><p>My gut twists. I tear my eyes away from her and towards the sheet music sitting on my carved piano. "He's not here, if you couldn't tell. His room is down the hall."</p><p>"I know," she says, and I hear her crunch into the apple.</p><p>"What were you doing looking forward him at this hour? And drunk? Why are you <em>drunk?</em>"</p><p>"I'm not drunk."</p><p>"You indignant little..."</p><p>"I wanted company," she shrugs, her arm brushing against mine as she tilts her head up to look at the green hue the Black Lake casts onto my ceiling. "Maxon makes really nice company."</p><p>"You were looking for a fuck."</p><p>"A friend, actually," she sighs lightly, reaching out to brush her finger against one of the keys. I quickly pulled her hand away, earning a scowl. "Pansy wasn't back yet, because she's off doing what taken people do on Valentine's Day nights."</p><p>"Right," I clench my jaw. "If I'm not mistaken, you spent tonight with Carlier."</p><p>Celeste is quiet for several long moments. I feel her eyes burning into the side of my face, but mine are on the sheet music while I read the notes in my head, the voice reading it growing louder with each second that passes while I attempt not to blow up.</p><p>"You sound jealous," she then says softly.</p><p>My head snaps to look at her while her hand comes up to play with a string on the sleeve of my sweater, her body swaying slightly. She leans into me, grunting softly with the effort to straighten up.</p><p>"I'm not <em>jealous</em>," I snap, my blood rushing and my pulse echoing in my ears.</p><p>"Stop acting like it, then."</p><p>"Fine," I respond curtly, shoving her hand off my arm and bringing the one holding the apple back up to her face. "You were looking for Carlier, then, weren't you? I suppose you ought to find him, then," I sneer under my breath, my mind flashing to her little silver bracelet. It's been sitting in the drawer of my nightstand untouched for a month now.</p><p>"Well, I changed my mind," she says like it's obvious, and I can practically <em>hear</em> her eyes rolling in their sockets. "I'm not <em>that</em> drunk, y'know, so I realized I'd probably wake the boys up, and I don't want Blaise wor—worrying."</p><p>Her hand comes up to my sleeve again, this time fiddling with the cuff, her fingertips brushing against my wrist. My gaze drops to watch, her hand looking darker next to mine.</p><p>"So I turned back around. Was gonna go back to my dorm."</p><p>"Why didn't you?"</p><p>Celeste hesitates, her nails digging into the skin of the green apple. "I could hear you playing," she murmurs softly, fingers sliding down my palm to touch my rings. "And I... I wanted to listen."</p><p>I watch her closely, the way her eyelashes bat with each blink, the way they're damp and clumped together for the same reason her eyes are red. Her skin looks so impossibly soft, making it difficult to resist the urge to reach up and test that theory. There's no need to test it, however. It's been a while since I've last touched her like that, but my fingertips can't forget the way she feels the same way they can't forget how to play these keys.</p><p>"Eat," I order firmly, clenching my jaw when she rolls her eyes.</p><p>"You're <em>annoying</em>."</p><p>"I'll play you a piece if you have it."</p><p>She pauses, a flash of irritation passing those dark eyes of hers. "A good one?"</p><p>I click my tongue at her in irritation, shaking my head. "Who do you think I am? Do I strike you as the type to play anything that <em>isn't</em> good? Do you not know me at all?"</p><p>"Oh, my <em>gosh</em>, just <em>play!</em>" Celeste huffs irritably, getting in my face pointedly while taking a bite out of the apple, a bit of juice trickling down her lip.</p><p>My eyes catch on it, as her lips are only really inches from mine, and it takes more willpower than I want to admit to not lean in and capture her mouth with mine—clean that bit of juice off for her. I catch a whiff of the Firewhiskey still on her breath, however, and that's all it takes to remind me exactly why I can't, among other reasons.</p><p>Instead, I bring my hand up to her face, fingers cupping the side of her jaw. Celeste's breath hitches, the noise making my stomach twists and head feel slightly light. Her constricted eyes are stuck on mine, but mine are on her lips, watching as my thumb drags against her lower one and her chin, collecting that bit of juice.</p><p>"If you get a single <em>drop</em> on my piano, Celeste—" I start threateningly, but she quickly interrupts.</p><p>"You'll—" she hiccups, "—skin me alive, I <em>know</em>, just <em>play</em>."</p><p>I glare at her. She glares back just as ferociously, but when I remove my hand from her face and pop my thumb into my mouth to suck the sweet juice off, her face drops.</p><p>"<em>Hang</em> you, actually," I correct her, wiping my fingers on my sweater. It's a poor behavior I don't often engage in, but I think if I went to wash my hands for even ten seconds, Celeste would somehow manage to hurt herself.</p><p>"<em>Play</em>." She pauses. "Please."</p><p>Her whispered word seems to echo in my head. It rebounds off the walls as if it's empty in there—no brain, no thoughts, nothing but her not-so-sweet words and silky voice.</p><p>Celeste takes another small bite of the apple before I lift my hands, push my sleeves back, and let my fingers find their places on the keys. The piece in front of me is a relatively simple one, one that I like to revisit every once in a while. As I play it, reading the notes despite having it memorized, I wonder if there are little indents on the keys from how often I play this one in particular.</p><p>It's one of my favorites. The one Mum would play me when a story and even her lovely singing voice couldn't put me to sleep. Not quite a lullaby, but a goodbye as much as a collection of notes could emanate. A goodbye with a hanging promise of meeting again. Sometimes the promise feels empty, and sometimes rewarding. I suppose that's what she was saying to me when she played this to me—goodbye, good<em>night</em>, putting me to sleep to see me again in the morning.</p><p>Celeste's hand lifts the fruit to her mouth every once in a while. She'll take a small bite, chew on it slowly and carefully as if afraid to make a single crunching noise.</p><p>At one point, her head falls right onto my shoulder. I tense, my fingers nearly halting in the music, but she wants me to play, so play I do. She sighs heavily, her wild curls tickling my neck slightly. I want to lift a hand so scratch it, but it'll disturb her, so I just play the piece. It's short, and I've restarted it three times now, but I'm not sure if she's noticed.</p><p>Her hand holding the fruit goes limp at some point, but the other is still moving. At some point, and somehow, it ended up on my thigh, driving my nerves crazy with the way it twitches occasionally or how her fingers sometimes draw little patterns on my sweatpants.</p><p>And then when her breathing settles, soft puffs that blow against my shoulder, I let my fingers falter when they play the last notes of the song. This time, I don't replay it. I sit there for a few seconds, looking at the notes on the sheets, my fingers on the keys, and the top of Celeste's mane of curls.</p><p>She never told me why she got so drunk, did she?</p><p>A part of me wonders whether it has something to do with that rune sitting on her chest. I've been so tempted—<em>so</em> tempted—to find out more about it, whether by asking her directly, by finding some obscure books in the library, by dipping right into her mind and looking for it again, but I've held myself back. She's forgiven me, but that doesn't mean we're exactly friends now. And even if we are, it isn't any of my business. There's no need for me to worry about it, not when I have the task to think about already.</p><p>It could be nothing. A tattoo. I just wonder why she'd conceal it, then, and why she would get Raido—the rune of travel, journey—of all runes tattooed on herself.</p><p>My hands slip down from the piano keys. With the sleeves pulled up, I can see just how red they are, red and raw from the hot water that strips at them every day. They ache slightly, and when I brush my fingertips over the back of my wrist, a light sting springs up.</p><p>I wonder if maybe <em>that's</em> why it doesn't feel the same.</p><p>Not because the keys are changed, not because the piano has lost its magic, but because of my hands. They're not the same anymore.</p><p>I quickly snap out of the thought. I'm being ridiculous, I decide.</p><p>I glance down at the girl leaning on me, her curls hiding most of her face. I can't help but reach a tentative hand up to push them aside, revealing the soft expanse of her right cheek which isn't slumped onto my shoulder. The hair quickly slides back over her face as her head falls forward a little, revealing a little bit of the back of her neck as well.</p><p>I think nothing of it at first, but then I notice it.</p><p>For a moment I think it's my eyes playing tricks on me, but that's what I thought the first time. It's hard to tell, though, because her skin is dark and so is her hair. But just to be sure, I reach my left hand back up, contorting slightly uncomfortably to part her hair at the back of her neck to reveal the dark skin there.</p><p>Sitting at the base of her neck is a rune.</p><p>It's simple, and I know it isn't a tattoo because it <em>had</em> to have been new, and her skin doesn't look irritated in the slightest.</p><p>And though I don't know my runes that well, I recognize this one instantly. It's one of the easiest to remember. Isa. It's a singular line, like that of an uppercase "i" or the number one. A simple bar drawn right in the center of the back of her neck, looking at me patiently, as if to ask what I'll do about it.</p><p><em>Nothing</em>, I decide, my pulse thudding in my wrists and the side of my neck as I stare at that rune. <em>I don't care</em>, I tell myself, <em>I don't care what she's doing walking around with runes on her skin. It doesn't matter. It could be nothing. Maybe she's gotten herself involved in some psycho-archaic cult of some kind, practicing old magic. She's a big girl. She can handle herself. Maybe Pansy broke that stick-and-poke out.</em></p><p>I swallow thickly, moving her hair back to cover her skin. If I can't see it, I can ignore it.</p><p>And then I move to shift Celeste off my shoulder, as it's late and she can't just sleep right here on my shoulder all night. I'm move to gather her in my arms, maybe place her in the armchair—or, actually, the bed, as it doesn't feel so right to put her where Pandora was not so long ago, not to mention I doubt she'd take too well to waking up in the chair—</p><p>Right. Waking up. She can't sleep here, not like this.</p><p>"Celeste," I murmur, giving her arm a gentle squeeze and ignoring the sting of pain that gives my palm. "Wake up. You need to take your Sleeping Draught."</p><p>She stirs slightly but doesn't wake, a soft puff of air parting her lips.</p><p>Exhaling heavily, I wrap an arm around her back so she doesn't fall over backwards, my other hand brushing her curls out of her face so I can look at her better. She leans into me at this, all but nuzzling the side of her face into my palm while I freeze up slightly.</p><p>"Wake up," I urge, dropping my hand.</p><p>Celeste groans softly, her eyebrows knitting tightly together in frustration, indicating that she is at least somewhat awake now. "<em>Why?</em>" she moans softly, her hand dropping what's left of the apple onto the floor and coming up to rub her face. She flinches when the slight apple residue on her fingers gets on her cheek, blinking her eyes open and glancing down at where the apple sits next to my foot. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry," Celeste mumbles tiredly, slowly reaching down to pick it up.</p><p>"Don't bother," I say quickly, my hands tightening on her arms and pulling her up straight. "I'll pick it up later. You fell asleep, Cel, you need to get back to your dorm and take your Sleeping Draught."</p><p>"Shit..." she whispers, her other hand rubbing her eye.</p><p>"You gonna get back alright?" I ask in a croaky voice, my eyes starting to sting from how long I've been awake.</p><p>Celeste nods, slowly moving to get up. She almost puts her hands on the piano to help her up, but she seems to think better of it and instead grips my shoulder. I move to my own feet as well, reaching down for the apple core and tossing it over the piano and into the bin by the armchair while Celeste makes her way to the door.</p><p>"You sure? You look like you're about to fall ov—"</p><p>"I don't need you to act like my personal walking stick, Malfoy," she snaps, grabbing my doorknob while my eyebrows rise.</p><p>"Oh, look, the bitch is back," I murmur under my breath, plucking the sheet music from the piano. "Didn't think you'd sober up so quickly."</p><p>"Shut up," Celeste mutters, swinging the door open. I sense her pause, though I'm not looking at her as I make my way to my shelf to put the music away. "Malfoy."</p><p>"<em>What?</em>"</p><p>"Good<em>night</em>."</p><p>"Fine. Goodnight," I scoff back, hearing her huff softly while closing the door behind her. "Whatever..."</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>FEBRUARY 21st, 1997</b>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Draco,</em>
</p><p><em>Your father wrote to me</em>.</p><p>I choke slightly on the bite of my breakfast I'm chewing on, earning me a mildly concerned look from Pansy across the table. I flash her a tight smile, and she returns it more easily before continuing to talk to Verona next to her.</p><p>Looking back down at the letter I received from my mother, I scan that first sentence again over and over just to make sure I read it right.</p><p><em>His sentence to Azkaban said specifically that there would be no contact in or out, no means of communication for him to us</em>.</p><p>I nearly snort. With the Dementors under the Dark Lord's thumb, they managed to contact him at least once. Not so they could tell him that his family was fairing fine, but to tell him that his life now hung on his son's shoulders.</p><p>
  <em>Thankfully, however, they've revoked this part of the sentence. He is now allowed to send one letter a week and receive as many as they come. He misses you very dearly, Draco, and he said that he's thought about us every single day since his sentencing. I know he wishes he could see and talk to us in person, but for now, this will have to suffice.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He wants to know if you'll write to him. I expect that you will. I know I raised my son well, and I know that if at the very least he doesn't want to upset me, he will write to his father.</em>
</p><p>My stomach twists slightly. I'll write to him. Of course I'll write to him. I'm just not sure what I'll have to say.</p><p>
  <em>Now, I know it is only February, but your spring holiday is fast approaching anyhow. You should know, the annual debutante ball will be taking place during your two week break. The Parkinsons are hosting it this time, and I fully expect you to attend. I'll have your clothes prepared for you, I need only for you to arrive.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It is a prestigious event, and though I do not wish to make you anxious at the thought of your future, marriages, and all that these contracts entail considering all that is consuming your present, I will tell you that this ball is important. You won't be engaged for years to come, but this is a telling event in how a young man or woman's future will unfold. To not attend isn't an option, even given your circumstances.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Write back to me soon, my love.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mum</em>
</p><p>I set the letter down, giving it a brief glance before tapping it with my wand so that it burns itself up into air right there in front of me. It's a precautionary measure Celeste and I have been taking with any and all letters we receive, even the completely innocent ones.</p><p>"Who was that from?" Blaise asks from beside me, glancing me up and down while lifting a cup of water to his mouth.</p><p>"My mother," I say simply, slipping a discrete glance to Celeste who sits on Pansy's other side nodding absentmindedly to something Daphne is saying, her eyes on her fork that plays with her breakfast.</p><p>"Been a while since we talked, Malfoy," Blaise says in a light, easy voice, though I can feel his heavy eyes eyeing me carefully. He, Celeste, and really all the Zabinis have the same eyes. Same unnerving eyes.</p><p>"It has, hasn't it?" I respond, reflecting his casual voice while looking at him right in his eye, lifting a bite of my breakfast to my mouth.</p><p>"Pansy and I were talking the other day," he continues suavely, grabbing a piece of toast and proceeding to butter it up rather generously, "and she mentioned something about the Prefect's bathroom, having a smoke in there some day."</p><p>"Sounds good to me, Blaise," I murmur distractedly, my inner left forearm itching slightly as I glance again at Celeste.</p><p>She doesn't look so distracted anymore, not when Carlier has found a seat next to her. He's saying something I can't quite decipher, but all I know is that she likes it because it's making her lips turn up softly. She then tilts her head up to whisper something in his ear, making him grin broadly and nudge her playfully.</p><p>I wonder if he knows about her runes.</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>I tear my eyes away to see Blaise pinning me down with his. "What, Blaise?" I exhale tiredly.</p><p>He tilts his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowing. "Why are you staring at them, Malfoy?" Blaise asks cooly, setting his butterknife down carefully.</p><p>"Staring at <em>whom</em>, Blaise?" I crack a dry smirk at him, my pulse thundering.</p><p>"Celeste and Maxon."</p><p>"I wasn't staring at them. Must've just looked like it, but really I was dozing off listening to you blabber on and on," I say back suavely, earning from him a roll of his eyes.</p><p>"Shut up."</p><p>"Whatever."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: tell me a story using emojis</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0082"><h2>82. MAKE YOURSELF OUT TO BE A MONSTER</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>we finish the memory oui</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>March 1st, 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>FEBRUARY 15th, 1997</b>
</p><p>"I'm pregnant," Mother whispers.</p><p>Father doesn't react at first. His eyes aren't on her stomach but on her face, scanning it over and over again, reading her eyes searching desperately for the truth, whatever it is.</p><p>And then his face pales slightly. He clears his throat and sets his utensils down while I watch in shock, wondering how he hasn't passed out or started shouting at her yet. Father grabs his cloth napkin and dabs lightly at his mouth, picking up his wine with a steady hand and taking a small sip before setting it down with a crisp exhale.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she says.</p><p>He seems to change his mind, picking the glass back up for another sip.</p><p>"You owe me <em>nothing. </em>Nothing at all. And I expect nothing of you."</p><p>Another sip, this one longer. His hazel eyes flicker shut, and there's no sign at all on his face that he's hearing her words.</p><p>"I know it's unfair for me to drop this on you, not after everything I've done, after how long it's been, but—" Mother inhales shakily, her hand gripping the back of her chair tightly and her hair falling in her face as she directs her focused look down on Father's plate of dinner. "I can't—I couldn't keep it to myself any longer."</p><p>He puts the wine down, tapping his ring against it once, twice, three times.</p><p>"I haven't even told Col, or my mother. I didn't want to tell anyone, not until I at least figured out a <em>plan</em> and..." she falters, swallowing thickly and bringing a hand up to clasp her chest. "I just... I needed someone tonight. Someone to tell, cause—<em>fuck—</em>this doesn't feel like it's actually happening," she laughs dryly, and it takes one look at her face to know she's laughing so she doesn't cry, "and I need—I need to accept that it is, and..."</p><p>Father opens his eyes. His hand tightens and loosens around that cloth napkin, but still, he does nothing.</p><p>"I think I'll go."</p><p>His head snaps up to look at her in alarm, but this time, she's not looking at him. She's busy pulling her loose robes back on, fumbling with the clasp.</p><p>"I shouldn't have come here and unloaded my burden on you... It truly isn't anything for you to worry about," she says in a hushed voice, sounding like she's talking to herself. "The food was lovely. I mean, I haven't had any, but it looked lovely. And I... Thank you for welcoming me into your home. It's more than I deserve after I—"</p><p>"Stop."</p><p>His voice is cold, hard, unlike anything I've heard from his mouth, and on its command, my heart stops. I glance at Mother's face, and she looks like hers has paused too.</p><p>"What's <em>unfair</em> is you coming here, getting my hopes up that perhaps it may happen more frequently, telling me <em>this</em>, and then leaving as if I—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head while coming to a slow stand. His hazel eyes are afire, burning with that familiar passion. "As if I can just <em>forget</em> what you've said."</p><p>Mother looks pale now, as if her morning sickness may kick in at nighttime. She's holding her coat close to her stomach, watching him apprehensively.</p><p>"So that's why you haven't been to work at the Ministry these past few weeks, then?"</p><p>She nods.</p><p>"I need you to tell me why exactly you've come here," he then says calmly, the scar dragging up his jaw twitching. "You said you need help. What kind of help?"</p><p>She tilts her chin up, inhaling deeply. "I don't mean with... <em>it</em>, the baby," she says, folding her arms together. "I just need a voice of reason, and you—" She cuts herself off with a short laugh, shaking her head. "Even when we haven't even together since we were eighteen, the voice of reason in my head has always sounded like <em>you</em>."</p><p>Father doesn't say anything. His face doesn't even twitch, revealing nothing that he's thinking behind his intense eyes.</p><p>Mother then clears her throat, brows briefly furrowing with a flash of resolution. Her jaw sets tight, and she says, "I felt <em>alone</em>, and so I sought out someone who would make me feel less so." She looks at him sharply, as if daring him to ridicule her for admitting that.</p><p>He stares at her for several long moments.</p><p>"Alright," he says right as a crack of thunder makes Mother jolt. "Sit back down, Corinne."</p><p>She looks at him cautiously, as if unsure if she's heard him right, and then she sinks back into her seat while he stays standing.</p><p>"Are you hungry?" he asks gently, glancing down at her untouched food.</p><p>"A bit. I'm sure the dinner is lovely, it's just making me feel a little nauseous, and the last thing I want to do is throw up on your carpets when I've already intrud—"</p><p>"Is there anything else I can get you?" he asks simply, completely unperturbed by her rambling. <em>Rambling</em>. Mother never rambles.</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>"Perhaps something you're craving? When my mother was having me, she'd always make my father fetch for her a plate of cinnamon scones covered in <em>cheese</em>."</p><p>Mother's lips twitch. "I'm alright, Alaric."</p><p>"She had also developed a taste for lemons, if you'd prefer something a little less controversial."</p><p>"No, I—" She falters, breath hitching lightly. A mildly bashful expression crosses her face while Father's lights up in amusement. "Actually..."</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"If it wouldn't be too much of a bother—"</p><p>"It wouldn't," he interrupts, lips twitching into a smirk while she glares at him lightly.</p><p>"Some fruit would be wonderful. If you don't mind."</p><p>He nods slightly, a smile finding his lips at his apparent pleasure to be able to do <em>something </em>for her. "Some fruit for the lady, then. All the House-elves have been dismissed, so I'll go fetch it myself. I'll only be a moment," he says, pushing his chair in. It's as he's leaving the room that he stops at the door and turns to say solemnly, "Please don't leave."</p><p>Mother looks mildly stunned. "I won't."</p><p>He gives her a tight smile before disappearing behind the door, leaving my mother and I in the dining room with the rain still pattering against the window. It's grown in ferocity and intensity, the rattling louder and the thunder closer. Each stripe of lightning lights up the outside world, casting an eerie and brief glow on the room.</p><p>Mother sits in silence. Her elbows are propped on the table? hands clasped together, chin on the backs of her knuckles. She looks at Father's plate of food deep in thought while I observe her, my stomach churning.</p><p>Im looking at her, looking at what she looked like while she was carrying <em>me</em>.</p><p>It's funny how memories work. My father wasn't here to see her sitting at the table, and yet here I am. Perhaps it's because of all the years they spent together—despite the years they, unbeknownst to me before a little while ago, spent apart. Magic does that, I've heard. When two people are close enough, bits of their magic becomes the others, bits of their memories.</p><p>She stands up abruptly. I startle a little, watching as she strides around the table to grab his plate. She then walks out of the dining room to follow after Father. Quickly, I grab my bearings and follow after her.</p><p>Mother seems to know where she's going, slipping out the door and towards another. I manage to slip into that room before it slams shut, though I'm not sure if the door would be able to hit me anyway.</p><p>We walk into the kitchen, the clicking of Mother's heels alerting Father to our—her—presence.</p><p>"Corinne," he frowns softly from where he's standing at the kitchen island. "Something wrong?"</p><p>"I just couldn't sit there like that," she says, faltering when she sees the island. "Alaric..." There's a hint of apprehension in her voice, and I quickly realize why. Glancing back at the island, I see it completely covered in bowls of fruit he was going to take back to her. "I'm <em>one</em> woman."</p><p>"Carrying a growing child," he corrects her easily, seeming to see no problem with the insane amount of fruit he's prepared for her. "Besides, I wasn't sure what exactly you were craving. Is that my dinner?"</p><p>"Yes," she says faintly, holding the plate out for him to take.</p><p>"<em>Lovely</em>. Sit, Corinne, and we'll continue talking."</p><p>She takes a seat on one of the high stools, perched rather properly with her back straight and her ankles crossed. A small smile finds her lips as she glanced over at all the bowls of fruit—sliced pineapples and melons, berries and bananas, dragon fruits and citruses, plums and Passionfruit. Her hands slide closer to her a plate with sliced pear on it, carefully bringing one up to her mouth. As soon as she takes a bite, however, her expression sours.</p><p>Father wordlessly hands her a paper napkin, and she turns discreetly to the side to spit the pear back out and simultaneously push the plate away from her.</p><p>"How many months along are you?" he asks quietly, taking the napkin from her despite her quiet protests and disposing of it in the bin behind him.</p><p>Mother clears her throat, looking down at the island while her expression stifles. "Three. Three months."</p><p>He nods, his hazel eyes averted from her. A flash of pain crosses his face, and I want nothing more than to reach for him, but I remain plastered to the wall facing them.</p><p>"And... the father?"</p><p>She inhales shakily, eyes closing.</p><p>"Does he know?"</p><p>"You're the first to know," she says softly, nails tapping lightly against the countertop.</p><p>He nods lightly, shifting the pineapple over to her along with a fork. "Are you planning on telling him?"</p><p>"I wouldn't know how to contact him even if I wanted to," she says, picking the fork up and pressing it into a cube.</p><p>She doesn't eat it, though, glancing over to where Father hasn't touched his food. He seems to notice, though, quickly picking up his utensils. Mother doesn't let the fruit touch her lips until he's swallowed his first bite.</p><p>"And you <em>don't </em>want to?"</p><p>"No," she says simply. "He couldn't possibly be a father to the baby, even if I wanted him to be one. My parents wouldn't allow it. When they find out, they'll have me married off to someone," Mother continues stiffly, jabbing her fork into another piece of the fruit while Father's eyes shut, "and it'll be someone they approve of. They'll try their hardest to ensure that he has no place whatsoever in my life or the baby's—and they will succeed."</p><p>"They can't <em>make</em> you do anything," he says gently, opening his eyes watching her chew while cutting his own bite. "If you want to contact him—"</p><p>"I don't, frankly."</p><p>"But they can't make you marry someone either," he says pointedly, a bitter smile finding his lips. "It didn't work the first time they tried, and you actually loved the man they wanted you to marry."</p><p>Mother tilts her head away, swallowing thickly. "The first time, I wasn't pregnant either. You're right, anyhow. They <em>can't</em>. But I don't suppose what else I can do. It's one thing for me to be an unmarried woman in this day and age if I want to be respected, but an unmarried woman with a child out of wedlock? I'll never be taken seriously."</p><p>Father laughs dryly, shaking his head. "I pity the fool who wouldn't take <em>you</em> seriously. He wouldn't know what's coming for him."</p><p>She almost smiles.</p><p>"It's a shame the world thinks a woman needs to have a man to be worth anything," he then murmurs distractedly, twirling his food with his fork.</p><p>"Mm. Well, at a younger age, a woman's worth <em>is</em> that she doesn't have a man <em>yet</em>. And then at another age, a woman has <em>no</em> worth if she doesn't have a man. It's ridiculous."</p><p>"It <em>is</em>."</p><p>"I hate that I'll have to marry some stupid man. I'll probably have to clean the vomit out of his beard after he's had too much to drink, probably be running his business while he's off fooling around with other married women, just to take <em>his</em> name," she spits bitterly, stabbing her fork into the next piece of fruit so harshly, it makes Father flinch beside her.</p><p>"It's no wonder you said 'no,'" he exhales humorously under his breath, but his averted eyes are full of pain.</p><p>Mother frowns, looking up and shamelessly turning her head to gaze at the side of his face. "Don't be ridiculous, Alaric. You know that's not why I said no to <em>you</em>. You're the last man I'd expect to treat me like that. The only one who could make me hesitate on my stance on marriage."</p><p>I frown softly, recalling that memory I watched of his in the Room of Requirements. The music, the dancing, the proposal. The way she said "no."</p><p>He manages to look at her, failing in his attempt to smile, his brows furrowed and his hazel eyes glancing between both of hers. "I think about it a lot," he says softly, gesturing for her to have more of her fruit, "why you said no. I think it's the most selfish <em>and</em> the most selfless reason I've ever witnessed someone turn down something they wanted. I <em>think</em> you wanted it."</p><p>"Selfish?" Mother nearly spits back, her brows furrowing tightly. "Selfish? I was protecting <em>you</em>. I didn't want <em>you</em> to get hurt when a decade later I <em>still</em> wouldn't have your children, or I <em>would</em> have one and she has—"</p><p>"You were trying to protect yourself too," he says sharply, silencing her with a small glare. "I believe you wanted to protect me. I believe you loved me enough to want to spare my hurt, but you didn't love me enough to <em>trust</em> me. You were scared that <em>you</em> would get hurt—that somehow <em>I</em> would fall out of love with you. Don't lie. Don't tell me you weren't protecting yourself."</p><p>Shes glaring at him harshly, but it starts to crumble away as she turns back to her fruit. "Wouldn't you have?" she mumbles, bringing a cube to her lips. "You gave me everything. <em>Everything</em>. And you would've given me so much more. But I couldn't even give you the one thing you wanted—<em>want—</em>more than anything else?"</p><p>"<em>You</em> were the one thing I wanted more than anything else," he says harshly, turning his entire body to face her while she just stares at her pineapple. "Merlin, Corinne, don't you have any faith? In me? In yourself?" His voice sounds pained. "You said 'no' to me almost five years ago, and you said 'no' to our parents <em>four</em> years ago, and look at me. I'm still sitting here willing to bend and twist upon your every wish and whim—"</p><p>"I told you, I don't expect anything from—"</p><p>"You should. You <em>should</em>. You should expect <em>everything</em> from me, because that's everything I'm willing to give."</p><p>"<em>Merlin</em>, you say these things and—and I'm not supposed to feel bad? That you say you'd do these things and <em>actually </em>do these things, and I can't even give you one thing you want? No, not that I can't, I <em>won't</em>. I don't want to feel like that, Alaric! Like I'm taking advantage of you, like I'm not treating you how you deserve—"</p><p>"When will you <em>hear</em> me? I don't want—"</p><p>"You say that <em>now</em>, you said that <em>then</em>, but—"</p><p>"We need to stop having this argument," he sighs softly, his head hanging, "especially considering it won't actually go anywhere anymore."</p><p>Mother clenches her jaw and looks away. "Fine. You're right."</p><p>A silence falls over the two of them. I take this moment to calm my heart, but it doesn't quite work. It feels like it may leap out my throat and fall right out onto the floor while I stand there frozen against the wall. Or maybe I'll thrown up. Can I even throw up in my non-corporeal form? Will my body back in my dorm do so? I'm not sure, but I feel sick after listening to that.</p><p>"Are those blackberries?"</p><p>Father and I both turn to look at her, seeing her head tilted and dark eyes focused on a bowl of fruit across the island.</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Do you mind passing them?"</p><p>He bites down on the inside of his cheek, barely suppressing a smile while shaking his head. I can almost smell the aroma of the bitter berries as he leans over to pluck them off the island and pass it over to Mother, who takes the bowl into her hands and pops one in her mouth instantly. Her eyes close and her shoulders drop.</p><p>"Was that it, then? What you were craving? Blackberries?" Father asks, a humorous tinge in her voice.</p><p>Mother can't manage to do more than nod, another berry in her mouth not a second after she's swallowed the first. And so they fall back into silence, the occasional sound of her teeth breaking a particularly stiff berry or his utensils scraping the plate reaching my ears while I watch in shock.</p><p>"Corinne," Father starts hesitantly a few minutes later, glancing over at her.</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"You do know... You don't <em>have</em> to keep it. The baby."</p><p>She pauses, a blackberry halfway up to her mouth.</p><p>"Your family doesn't know. Nobody knows, except me. You could... without telling anyone, you could see a Healer, have it..." Father falters.</p><p>"I know," Mother says, and I nearly have a heart attack, because while I'm aware I do exist, I'm watching my parents currently contemplate my own abortion. "I could. And... I know that I should. For my sake, for her sake. Or, at least, I should try. There's a chance it wouldn't work, anyway."</p><p>"Wouldn't work?"</p><p>"If abortions worked on Zabini women, we would have died out long ago," she chuckles humorlessly. "I should. I should try to get rid of her. My future would be easier, and she wouldn't <em>have</em> a future, but at least she wouldn't be missing out on a particularly good one, but..."</p><p>My eyebrows twist. <em>At least she wouldn't be missing out on a particularly good one</em>.</p><p>"But?"</p><p>Mother sighs heavily, resting her face in her hand and her elbow on the countertop while her eyes close. "I can't."</p><p>Father pauses, his hazel eyes snapping over to her. "You can't. You <em>can't?</em>"</p><p>"I made an appointment with a Healer last week. I didn't take the Floo, and I didn't Apparate. Both of those can hurt a pregnant woman's baby. But why would I care? If I just want to get rid of it, I wouldn't care if she Splinched her arm. Does a three month old fetus even <em>have</em> arms?"</p><p>"I—I'm not sure."</p><p>"I went to the Healer's office. Even got in through the bloody front door, checked in with the receptionist. And then when he called me back, said the Healer was ready to see me, I couldn't go in. I couldn't do it. I ran."</p><p>Realization dawns on my father's face. He nods slightly and inhales deeply, a tentative hand rising up to rest on my mother's back. She tenses slightly when it touches her, but when he starts rubbing her back over her robes and pressing his fingers into her shoulders, she relaxes with a loud exhale.</p><p>"You can't go through with it," he murmurs.</p><p>"It's so <em>stupid</em>. I've known almost all my life that I <em>can't</em> have a child, I just can't. And then there I am, pregnant with some stupid one-night-stand's baby, and I can't even get rid of it. I'm so, <em>so</em> stupid. <em>Fuck!</em> I won't even take a sip of my favorite bloody wine!"</p><p>"You're not stupid," he says gently while she moves to bury her face in both her palms.</p><p>"But I <em>don't want kids!</em>"</p><p>"That's not true, though, is it? It's never been that you don't want children..." He hesitates softly, rolling his thumb into Mother's shoulder. "You just..."</p><p>She lifts her head out of her hands, and to my shock, her eyes are brimming with tears when she turns to look at Father desperately, making his lips tilt down and eyes turn somber.</p><p>"Am I selfish?" she asks softly, looking at him searchingly. "Or—Or weak? If I can't do it? Doesn't that make me selfish? If I let her grow, let her grow up to become... All because I can't stomach killing a stupid, <em>stupid</em>... She's not even a <em>child</em>, she's hardly even an <em>organism</em>."</p><p>Father puts his fork and knife down, his eyes heavy-lidded. He then turns to face my mother fully, resting his arm on the countertop on the minimal space unoccupied by fruit. Mother watches him with a small frown, and when he brings his left hand up to lightly touch her face, a soft "oh" leaves her mouth with an exhale.</p><p>"It might not be a girl," he says gently, his thumb swiping under one of her eyes. She closes them both at this, leaning slightly into his hand before reaching up to gently clasp hers around his wrist and pulling his hand away. "You could be having a boy."</p><p>She sniffs, shaking her head with a bitter smile. "She's a girl."</p><p>"You checked with a Healer? Isn't it a little early?"</p><p>"I don't <em>need</em> to. Call it a mother's intuition," Mother sighs softly, and then she freezes, widened eyes on Father's hand that she still holds by the wrist on her lap. "Oh, my Salazar. A <em>mother</em>. I'm going to be a <em>mother</em>. Have you heard anything more ridiculous?"</p><p>"Well, yes, I have," Father murmurs, a tight smile on his lip. "You're worrying yourself more than you need to. For all you know, she'll be... she'll be fine."</p><p>Mother bites down on her lip. "It isn't always the first daughter."</p><p>"Exactly."</p><p>"My mother was the first daughter, and she's still alive and perfectly... fine."</p><p>"See?"</p><p>She glances down at her lap, and though I can't see their hands, I can see their arms removing slightly. "And... Col told me today, before I came here... She told me that she and Bastien think she might be expecting. They're not sure, though."</p><p>Father's eyebrows rise. "I didn't know that they were trying."</p><p>"They weren't. Maybe they'll have a girl."</p><p>He looks at her with mild incredulity. "Well, I suppose that <em>could</em> happen," Father murmurs tentatively, his hand pulling from hers to grab that bowl blackberries and gesture wordlessly for her to have a few more. She plucks it from his grasp, placing one between her lips and chewing on it for a while before speaking again.</p><p>"I can't believe I'm hoping that my sister—"</p><p>"You're just nervous," he interrupts quickly, grabbing a berry with his own fingers and coaxing it against her lips. "You always do this, Corinne."</p><p>"Do <em>what?</em>"</p><p>"Make yourself out to be a monster."</p><p>She glances away, fiddling with a berry between her fingers. And then Mother shakes her head. "I'm sorry to keep you up so late."</p><p>"That's alright. I hadn't eaten yet anyway, as you know, and I probably would have stayed up either way. I much prefer your company to those of my library shelves, Corinne."</p><p>Mother smiles bitterly, but it drops quickly. "I just wish I knew what to do."</p><p>"You don't have to figure it out <em>now</em>."</p><p>"Don't I?"</p><p>"No. <em>Now</em>, you go get some rest, clear your mind, and then you think about this when you're ready," he says firmly, giving her a comically stern look. "You're worrying yourself over something you don't even know for sure. Your intuition is hardly wrong, I'll concede, but for all you know, you're carrying a boy—"</p><p>"She's a girl. I <em>know</em> it."</p><p>"—and even if she's a girl, there's a chance she will turn out <em>fine</em>. Stressing yourself out like this will only hurt you, Cori, and I don't like seeing you like this," Father murmurs gently, his hand briefly brushing against her arm. "Now, unless there's more you have to say or want to get off your chest, I suggest we both sleep."</p><p>"Oh," she says softly, swallowing the berry she was chewing on. "No, of course," Mother smiles tightly, slipping off her high stool. "I'll get going, then. Thank you, again, Al—"</p><p>"Going?" he frowns. "Stay."</p><p>Mother freezes. "Stay?" she echoes, widened eyes darting between his.</p><p>He nods shortly. "Sleep here, Cor. You won't Floo or Apparate, so I have <em>no</em> idea how you got here, but I won't just let you leave with a storm brewing and when you're upset."</p><p>Her eyebrows dart up. "Sleep <em>here</em>."</p><p>"Yes," he says, frowning in confusion. And then his eyebrows rise in realization, an embarrassed smile gracing his lips. "I don't mean with <em>me</em>. I have a plethora of guest bedrooms, and I'm sure you'll find one to your taste. If not, you may always take mine and I'll pluck one of the others."</p><p>"Oh, there's no need for me to lengthen my stay, it's bad enough that I've just barged—"</p><p>"You're a <em>fool</em> if you think I'll let you walk back into my life and leave all in the same night," he interrupts sharply, "and <em>you</em>, Corinne, are <em>not</em> a fool."</p><p>She stares at him, completely and utterly stunned. I think for a moment, knowing my mother to be the stubborn and headstrong woman she is, that she'll deny him yet again, and maybe he'll throw a fit out of frustration.</p><p>But then she lifts that bowl of black berries and asks in a dignified manner, "Would it be alright if I brought these up to my bedroom, then?"</p><p>The memory ends.</p><p>
  <b>MARCH 1st, 1997</b>
</p><p>I pull my coat tightly about myself, staring silently at the rickety shop across the cobblestone street.</p><p>The Spiny Serpent stares right back at me just as quietly, except it's taller, and it exudes magic in all its secrecy, and it feels like it'll swallow me whole. The Spiny Serpent—the very place I saw my parents walking into over a year ago while walking around Diagon Alley with Draco, the very place Mother admitted to having my locket bewitched.</p><p>Light rain patters against the loose cobblestones and makes little ponds in the potholes riddling the road. I stand under the safety of a roof, fiddling with the ring sitting next to my locket. Even Diagon Alley looked desolate as I passed through it on my way to Knockturn Alley. Worse than it was the last time I was there.</p><p>The windows are plastered with magazine clippings, with Ministry-administered posters educating the people on what they should do should they meet a known enemy of the state. Wanted posters, the screaming faces of Draco's aunt and several others just like her. The grey skies are befitting of the atmosphere, where I passed only a handful of other people, all of whom seemed in a hurry and not too soon to stop and talk to anyone.</p><p>Knockturn Alley looks the same, except it's lacking all the stragglers that used to lurk outside the stores and in the alleyways. Perhaps the Ministry picked them up for question. I know that if I were on the other side, they would be one of the first I'd suspect.</p><p>Quietly, I step out from under the security of my shade, pulling the head of my cloak up above my head as the first drops of rain come to greet me with their hard kisses. I cross the road quickly, glancing over my shoulder at the odd feeling that crawls up my spine. There's something so eerie about all of Diagon Alley being so vacant on a Saturday morning. Or perhaps it isn't the lack of habitants that's making the hair on the back of my neck rise, but the prospect that one could be hiding, watching, waiting.</p><p>I stop in front of the old wooden door. It's the same as before, lacking in a door knob to twist and pull open, but there's that heavy, black, serpent-shaped knocker with the emerald eyes that glare at me condescendingly. No closed sign, no open sign, no sign of life at all.</p><p>Glancing at the display windows, I see they're still blocked with those thick purple curtains, nothing but massive vases and urns that likely carry some curses that could kill me in seconds sitting proudly and stoically on their stages.</p><p>I look back at the door.</p><p>I'm not entirely sure why I've come here. This door hasn't opened for me before—though I've only ever tried once to open it. I have <em>seen</em> it open, though, specifically for my parents.</p><p>So is there a password? A secret code? A poem, or a riddle that I whisper to the serpent knocker? Perhaps if I tell it a joke humorous enough, it'll open its jaw, bare its fangs, and let out a hiss of a laugh before opening the door for me.</p><p>I don't even know what's behind it, much less what I'm <em>hoping </em>to find behind it.</p><p>My hand creeps up with a slight tremble, though that may be because of my whole body trembling in the early March chill, and it brushes against the iron knocker. The cold bite of the metal makes me gasp softly and retract my fingers, and I swear that those evil green eyes embedded in the sides of its face are laughing at me.</p><p>Slowly, I pick the serpent up, and I knock it against the wood twice.</p><p>I drop the knocker and wait, both my gloves hands slipping into the pockets of my cloak. I hunch my shoulders a little so that the scarf around my neck rises a little higher. It's been a while that I've had Draco's scarf, and it's been washed since I first acquired it too, so it doesn't quite smell like him anymore. Still, if I try, I can almost catch a whiff of his bitter green apple and sharp cologne, and somehow—for some reason—it calms the pulse in my wrists.</p><p>Nothing happens at first. No shift in the curtains, no curious eye peering out to see who it is.</p><p>And then the door opens all on its own.</p><p>It's just a crack, not enough to reveal the inside, but my breath gets caught in my throat. I drop my shoulders, feeling my stomach twist tightly, and the I slowly push the door open further to reveal the inside of the store.</p><p>The smell hits me first. It reminds me of Potions class, with the smoke fumes and all the ingredients combining together to create an indecipherable aroma. It's strong, though, and I can practically feel it permeating my hair even as I stand outside the door with the rain drops peppering my back.</p><p>It's oddly barren from what I can see. There's a shelf full of odd ingredients, and next to it a desk piled with odd bits and stacks of paper. I can hear the crackling of a potion being made in cauldron over a fire from somewhere in the store.</p><p>"Just gonna stand there, doll?"</p><p>My head snaps to the side to see who's speaking, and a gasp rips out of my throat when I see who it is. It's the woman from that apothecary all those months ago, her skin just as leathery and brown, her hair in soft tufts behind her ears, and her eyes bulging from their sockets. She's dressed in tatters but looks relatively comfortable, holding a steel mug of some liquid from which thick ropes of steam emerge.</p><p>"<em>You</em>."</p><p>She squints. "Do we know each other?" Her voice is a little slurred, but she seems rather lucid.</p><p>"You work at that apothecary," I say, feeling a little faint. Her skin clings to her, making her look skeletal and her skull prominent at her cheeks.</p><p>Her head tilts, and then her thin lips bare a small smile. "You're the one with the nightmares, aren't you?" And then before I can respond, she laughs slightly, a scratchy noise that makes my skin crawl. "Oh, you <em>are</em>. Almost didn't—" A violent cough rips through her throat, making me jolt while she buried her face in her elbow, some of the hot clear liquid sloshing out of her mug and spilling on her hand. The burn doesn't seem to affect her, though. "My, excuse me," she coughs out, flashing me a brilliant smile and baring surprisingly straight and white teeth. "Nearly didn't recognize you. Come in, doll."</p><p>I glance around the store, at the peeling walls, dim and low hanging lights, the odd trinkets hanging off hooks on the ceilings and wood panels. "I'm alright out here."</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous. Come in. The door only opens for those that need something we can offer. So—What do you need?"</p><p>I frown lightly, looking at her expectant eyes. They're a pale shade of blue, and when I look closer, I realize that it's not just her iris that's blue. She's as blind as she gets, and yet she's looking at me as if she can see me more clearly than I can see her.</p><p>"Do you work here?" I ask curiously, suspiciously.</p><p>"Yes," she coughs out, her elbow rising again.</p><p>"I thought you worked at the apothecary."</p><p>"See that door there?" I follow where her hand is pointing to see a little door off to the side, though this one actually has a handle. "Connects to the apothecary. I come back here whenever my brother needs help."</p><p>I wonder if her brother looks the way she does too.</p><p>"Now, you coming in or what? You wanna come back to the apothecary? Maybe we can do something about that eyesight of yours..."</p><p>My head snaps back to her, pulse rising in alarm. "What are you talking about?" I spit out.</p><p>The woman smiles again, taking a sip from her steel mug. "Oh, it's so painfully obvious. Healing is a gift of mine, and some things can just be sensed..."</p><p>My pulse flutters. "My sight is fine."</p><p>"Right. I'm sure it is. I'm sure your vision has been perfectly clear, and I'm sure you haven't been feeling abnormally cold lately."</p><p>I freeze, my chest growing tight all of a sudden. Giving her a wary look, I take a tentative step back.</p><p>The woman smirks. "I'm only pulling your leg."</p><p>I blink. "What?"</p><p>"I <em>am</em> a gifted Healer, and I <em>can</em> sense things, but you're also squinting like you can't see three feet in front of you, and you're shivering. Come in. It's warm."</p><p>I swallow thickly. She could answer my questions, couldn't she? I'm not sure what they are, though. It's simple. My parents took my locket, they came here, they bound it to his ring and her bracelet, I died, he died, I came back, he didn't. Except it really isn't simple. It isn't simple because the magic that went into that <em>had</em> to have been complex, and it isn't simple because I still haven't gotten over the "I came back, he didn't" part.</p><p>And I doubt she could answer <em>why—</em>why he would do it for someone that wasn't even his daughter. One that <em>clearly</em> has something wrong with her, even if her mother won't tell her exactly what.</p><p>"Do you have the time?" I ask breathlessly, my eyes fallen into the rotten wooden floor.</p><p>There's a brief pause. I can feel her sharp eyes on me, but I don't meet them. "3:05," she then says.</p><p>
  <em>Im late.</em>
</p><p>I falter, wondering if I should say something, and then I turn my chin up and look at her solidly. "Have a good day," I say simply, turning on my heel to walk as quickly from the Spiny Serpent without appearing frantic, hearing her murmur to me a goodbye. I hear the door swing shut behind me as well, and I don't need to look to know that it did so all on its own—no swish of a wand or tug of a hand.</p><p>Quickly, I make my way over to Borgin and Burkes. It's somehow more eerie walking through Knockturn Alley completely alone compared to flanked by all kinds of odd and potentially dangerous people. Maybe it's because if something were to happen, nobody would see.</p><p>When I enter the store, Borgin glances up from behind the counter. His eyebrows lift, and then he closes the journal he was writing in. Wordlessly, he gestures for me to follow him to the back where he's storing the other Vanishing Cabinet for us, and where hopefully I'll find the apple that Draco has sent over from the other side.</p><p>—</p><p>When I walk into the Room of Requirements, careful to shut the door quietly, I see Draco sprawled out on the sofa. It's much too short for him. In fact, it's too short for me, as I can't even stretch my legs out when I lay on it. He doesn't seem to notice me, completely engrossed in the textbook he's reading from while his hand plays with his wand absentmindedly.</p><p>"Malfoy," I sigh as I come closer to him.</p><p>He startles, looking up to see it's me before swinging his legs off the sofa so he's sitting properly. Draco shuts the textbook and placed it on top of the stack by the foot of the sofa, glancing up at me warily.</p><p>His sharp, silver eyes scan my face, and then his drops.</p><p>"Didn't work?" he asks in a raspy voice.</p><p>I shake my head.</p><p>"Shit," he curses under his breath, leaning back against the sofa and twirling his wand in his fingers. "You sure you didn't check too soon?"</p><p>"I got to Borgin and Burkes ten minutes late," I respond glumly, taking a seat beside him in the small sofa and bringing my legs up to curl to my right, making me lean leftward towards him.</p><p>"Did you only check once?"</p><p>"Ten times. I stayed there for nearly an hour just in case it came late."</p><p>"<em>Shit</em>."</p><p>I laugh dryly, pulling the gloves off my fingers and shoving them into the pocket of my coat. I can feel him watching me while I unbutton my coat, pulling it off my arms and draping it over the right arm of the sofa, leaving me in my simple plaid skirt and the big brown sweater I stole from Pansy's closet a few months ago. I doubt she'll miss it. She never wears brown anyway.</p><p>Draco's icy eyes are still on me, and I can feel them piercing the back of my neck as I lift my hair up and carefully twist it around my wand, pushing it through to hold my curls up in a makeshift bun. His gaze makes my skin feel heated, and my fingers go to touch the base of my neck.</p><p>I have a new rune.</p><p>After I pulled out of memory, I remember a searing pain at the back of my neck. I already felt like I was going to throw up, and so I stumbled to the bathroom, heaved into the toilet, and after a minute of twisting and contorting to get a look at it in my mirror, I found the most simple rune sitting in my skin.</p><p>Isa. A singular line. Lack of warmth, egotistical and merciless entities, bitterness. It's a rune of control, of the self image and self identity. It's cold and harsh.</p><p>And so now I wear four Concealment Charms. One for my Dark Mark, which burns forever on my forearm, one for the Raido rune, the supposed mark of the beginning of my journey, one for Nauthiz, human suffering as plain as it gets, and Isa. Ice.</p><p>When I turn my head to look at Draco, I'm startled at how close our faces are. He's looking at me stoically, seemingly unbothered that I've caught him staring at me. And his eyes, frozen over with an unforgiving sheen of snow, are stuck on mine. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, chest deflating with a long exhale through his nose, and he props his ankle up on his knee while his arms stretch out over the back of the sofa.</p><p>Draco's eyes dart down to my lips. They look back up at me pointedly, his eyebrows rising almost humorously.</p><p>"You're staring," he rasps, voice so deliciously low.</p><p>"So are you," I murmur, my own voice hoarse and not nearly as firm as I hoped it would be.</p><p>"Do you have a problem with that?"</p><p>I chew lightly on the inside of my lip, a shiver crawling up my spine at the way his forefinger rubs lightly at his lower lip. "No," I say lowly.</p><p>Draco smirks. It's a small, tight, and forced smirk, but it works wonders on my gut. My eyes grow heavy, unable to move anywhere from his pink lips, the way his finger drags the lower one down slightly and let's go so it bounces back.</p><p>"Celeste," he starts in a low voice, his hand moving fluidly from his mouth to the side of my face, eliciting a soft inhale from me, "do you remember what happened two weeks ago?" His eyes are still trained on my mouth, but they shift over to the side when his fingers pick up a lock of my curls that I missed while putting them up.</p><p>"Two weeks ago?" I echo, pulse strumming steadily in my throat while I clench my jaw in an effort to compose myself. His fingers gently twirl the curl, knuckles brushing against my cheek. "Tell me, Malfoy—What happened two weeks ago?"</p><p>Draco smirks softly. "You were drunk," he teases, tugging lightly on that curl before tucking it behind my ear. "Stumbling all over the place, drunk off your arse."</p><p>I lean into the back of the sofa, turning my body to face him while propping my arm up on the sofa so my elbow brushes against his arm, bringing my face closer to his.</p><p>"Was I?" I ask coolly, my legs curling up and knees brushing against his thigh. His hand drops to rest my knee, thumb rubbing it from over the knee-high socks I wear.</p><p>Draco tilts his head at me, squinting slightly. "Now, Celeste," he chuckles lowly, leaning down an inch, "don't act like you don't remember that."</p><p>I glance down to his hand on my lap. I do remember getting drunk. I remember walking out the bathroom on the verge of hysterical laughter, finding Pansy's stash of booze, and breaking open a few bottles before everything from that night goes blank. I don't think I can be blamed for it, though. There are worse ways to reacting to what I found out that night.</p><p>"I remember some Firewhiskey," I respond coolly, watching his fingers slip under the hem of my skirt briefly. They slip right back out to fix the band of my sock, pulling it up a little higher.</p><p>"Do you remember stripping?"</p><p>I freeze. "<em>Stripping?</em>"</p><p>"Because <em>I</em> remember. Quite vividly at that," he sighs softly, his hand rising to lightly grip my chin and pull it up to make me look at him. The smirk on his lips makes my gut drop, and when he gently pulls me forward, I lean with his hand as if I have no possession of myself at all.</p><p>"I stripped?" I confirm, my eyes flicking down to his lips and my pulse jumping as his fingers lightly trail down from my chin to my neck, tickling me slightly from the way they drag around.</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>I smirk softly, feeling his finger pick up the chain of my locket and drag it across my neck. "Did you like it?"</p><p>This time, he pauses. His piercing eyes glance between mine. "Did I like it?"</p><p>"Yeah, I mean, if I put a show on for you, I wanna know if it was a good one," I say dryly, reaching up to give his cheekbone a light tap. He catches my hand before I can drop it, lifting an eyebrow at me.</p><p>"Well, you barged into my room shouting about how you needed to use the bathroom, spilt water all over yourself washing your hands, and then when I was getting you water to drink, you were pulling your shirt over your head asking me if I wanted to <em>feel</em> them."</p><p>I tilt my head. "Feel <em>what?</em>"</p><p>Draco's smirk grows. He first looks down at the hand he has captured, my left to be specific, and runs his forefinger down my wrist. And then his piercing stare travels to me—to my <em>chest</em>. The bubbling nerves in my gut reach a crescendo, blood rushing my to my face and to my neck while one of his eyebrows quirks up in what might be approval, tongue poking at the corner of his lips. And then he looks back up at my face, a challenging gleam in his eyes.</p><p>A rush of humiliation swarms me, tightening my throat, my chest, and making my face burn impossibly hot. I clear my throat, my thighs rubbing together slightly, which doesn't seem to go unnoticed by his piercing gaze.</p><p>I suppose this explains why I remember starting my night wearing a jersey reading Montague and woke up the next morning wearing one reading Malfoy.</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>. Well," I say, my voice sounding a little higher as his hand on my neck moves to brush against my collarbones. "Did you?"</p><p>"Did I <em>what?</em>"</p><p>"Feel them."</p><p>Draco's eyebrows furrow. "You were <em>drunk</em>. No, I didn't <em>feel them</em>, you think I would?"</p><p>I shrug lightly. "Did you <em>want</em> to?"</p><p>To my pleasure, a light dust of pink finds his cheeks, though that stoic and impossibly assured expression on his face doesn't falter in the slightest. I smirk anyway, though, gently pulling my wrist out of his grip to trace the rings on the fingers of the hand that's now cupping the side of my neck.</p><p>"Again—you were drunk."</p><p>"That's not what I asked, baby," I pout at him softly, seeing his eyes narrow at the way I purr that condescending little nickname.</p><p>"I don't particularly enjoy groping drunk women, so <em>no</em>, I didn't want to," he counters curtly, fingers tightening on the side of my neck. I clamp my lips together at this, pulse shuttering and my hand going a little limp.</p><p>"Let me rephrase, then," I muse, licking my lips. "Would you have wanted to? If I were sober?"</p><p>His eyebrows lift, but he doesn't say anything. His eyes flick up and down between mine and his hand on my neck, watching my expression closely while his hand meanders closer to my throat until his fingers are all on one side and his thumb on the other. He's hardly even holding my neck much less placing any pressure at all, but my lips part and my eyes feel a little heavy at the feeling anyway.</p><p>And then he pulls me towards him by my neck, evoking a loud gasp from my lips that makes him laugh lowly, a teasing flash in his eyes. He has me leaning forward, gripping the sofa to keep myself steady, with my head tilted up so my lips are a few inches from his while my face burns and gut twists at the smirk he wears.</p><p>His hand tightens on my neck. Not enough to place any real pressure, but it makes my pulse jump anyway. My mouth opens to say anything, but as I'm glancing between his crystalline eyes, my words fail me.</p><p>"What's wrong, Zabini?" he murmurs, his own gaze dead set on my lips. "You're not usually this easily flustered."</p><p>"I don't get flustered," I snap softly, my mind spinning to try to figure out exactly <em>how</em> I've ended up here with <em>him</em> in <em>this</em> position, with his hand on my neck and my lips craving to feel his again.</p><p>"No?" he hums, leaning down until his breath is washing against my cheek. My eyes flutter shut on their own when his lips press against the corner of my mouth. "This is fine then, isn't it?" I can hear the amusement in his voice, but I couldn't care less as his hand tightens and his searing lips trail over my cheekbone, nibble on the shell of my ear, suck gently on my jawline. "Hardly affects you, correct?"</p><p>My hands find his shoulders. He tenses slightly as one trails up to his neck but does nothing to stop me even as my fingers wrap loosely around his neck to mimic the way his does around mine. Two of my fingers press against his pulse, and to my delight, it's pounding faster and harder than even mine.</p><p>And so my other hand snakes to the back of his hand, tangling with his soft locks and pulling his head back and out away from mine harshly. He groans, his hand dropping from my neck to tightly grip my hip. And then Draco laughs dryly, closing his eyes and shaking his head.</p><p>"You know, you talk <em>so</em> fucking much, Malfoy," I sigh heavily, pulling myself up onto my knees and swinging a leg over to straddle one of his. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer to my chest and then pushing my hips down onto his thigh while my hand squeezes on either side of his throat, earning from him a hum of approval. "And you say <em>I </em>ramble."</p><p>"You can always shut me up."</p><p>"Yeah?" I exhale, watching his head fall back onto the top of the sofa, eyes opening to watch me lazily. I lean up and towards him, my breasts brushing against his chest while I let the tip of my nose brush against his, settling my gaze on those pink, parted lips. "How should I do it, do you think?"</p><p>His hands slip down to my ass, giving it a tight squeeze while he tilts his chin up to brush his lips against mine when he says, "I'll let you decide."</p><p>At this, I press my mouth against his with full force, giving his neck a tight squeeze that makes him groan before dragging my hand up to hold the side of my face. My other pulls on his hair, keeping his head back against the sofa. His mouth opens for me to slip my tongue in and brush against his, his one hand wrapping around my back to pull me closer and the other massaging my ass and thighs from over my skirt.</p><p>He tastes like his mouth was meant to be against mine. My lips feel a little bruised already from how hard I smashed them against his, but I've calmed my ferocity a bit, my chest heaving against his. Our lips clamber against each other, his teeth nibbling lightly on mine, him sucking softly on my lower lip, his tongue pushing against mine.</p><p>His hand then lands on my ass with a light smack, making me gasp. He groans softly as I, with my knees on either side of one of his thighs, shifting closer to him, my knee brushing against the growing bulge he sports.</p><p>My hand slides down his torso, and then I seat myself down on his thigh, forcing him to pick his head up from the sofa so our lips don't part. I tease at the hem of his sweater before dipping my fingers lower to massage his clothed erection. He groans against my mouth, his hand slipping under my skirt to squeeze my ass from my over my panties, nails digging lightly into the flesh.</p><p>"Celeste," he gasps, breaking the kiss to throw his head back. His eyes flutter shut and mouth drops open, hips rolling against my hand while I press more pressure onto him and massage my heel into his growing erection. "<em>Fuck</em>. Salazar, <em>look</em> at you," he pants, though he isn't even looking at me. His hands both under my skirt, they slide up and down my thighs, fingers occasionally slipping under the sides of my panties. "Look at you, fucking my thigh."</p><p>It's only then do I realize what I'm doing. While my hand rubs against him, my hips roll back and forth on top of his leg, pleasure strumming up and down my core. I lean into his chest, my head resting in his neck where I pant and moan softly, rotating my hips in circles.</p><p>"That feel good, darling?" he asks breathlessly, a curse spilling out of his lips not a second later. "I swear to fucking Salazar, Celeste, if you d—if you don't stop touching me, I'm gonna cum right in my bloody pants," Draco groans, his voice tight and strained while his left hand moves to tightly grip my wrist, wrenching my hand away from him.</p><p>"So soon, Malfoy?" I pant in his ear, my hips still moving on his thigh while my hands go up to grip both his shoulders. "Didn't remember you to be so <em>quick</em>."</p><p>"Yeah?" he retorts, chest rising and falling dramatically while his right hand slides up my thigh and the front of my skirt, teasing the trim of my panties. "How'd you remember me, then?"</p><p>"Oh, I'm not answering that," I laugh back breathlessly, my hips lifting off his thigh when his hand slips in the front of my panties. "H-<em>Hah</em>," I choke out, arms wrapped around his shoulders and face buried in his neck. "Malfoy," I whisper against his skin, his fingers rubbing my core, lathering my arousal over them.</p><p>"The <em>right</em> name, Celeste," he says sharply, fingers pausing with the very tips of them inside me, reminding me of that night here in the Room of Requirements when the cuckoo clock rudely interrupted us. My stomach twists at the memory of having him pinned under me, of me being pinned under him.</p><p>"Draco," I mumble, lightly grinding my hips down on his hand.</p><p>Instantly, his fingers move again. They slip in me, massaging my walls while pumping in and out at an excruciatingly slow pace. I whine softly, my face burning hot but thankfully hidden against his neck. I place sloppy kisses against his pale skin, my hips rolling to meet every thrust of his fingers. His thumb presses against my clit harshly, earning a gasp and a desperate scramble to hold onto something, my let hand ending up tightly tugging on his hair and my right squeezing his shoulder.</p><p>"You feel how wet you are?" he rasps, his fingers speeding up to hit that perfect spot over and over again, my body jolting lightly with every thrust. "Salazar, I bet you can <em>hear</em> it. Tell me, Celeste, tell me who made you this wet."</p><p>I open my mouth, but all that comes out is an entire series of gasps and punctuated moans, my thighs tightening with every flick of his thumb and thrust of his fingers. I whimper in his ear, trying to pull myself away from him with my hand pushing on his shoulder, but his arm wrapped around my waist tug me back. I fall back into his chest with a soft gasp, managing to pull my head back to see him watching me closely with unreadable, kaleidoscopic eyes and lips set firmly.</p><p>A soft sound leaves my lips at the look on his face. My eyes struggle to stay open as his hand makes no indication of stopping or slowing down. <em>Fuck</em>, when was the last time we even did this?</p><p>My stomach feels like it's ripping apart, like something is clawing at its inside in response to the wonders his hand works on my body. He smells intoxicating, cologne thick, the apple bittersweet, like if I sucked on his skin he'd taste just as good. My hands grasp at him desperately, pulling on his hair, sliding up and down his torso, digging their nails into his arms, simply desperate to have him as close to me as possible, to savor him all to myself and stay glued to him for as long as possible.</p><p>When <em>was</em> the last time we did this?</p><p>"Speak up, Celeste," he murmurs, his fingers pausing while his thumb continues at my clit, my eyes nearly rolling to the back of my head. "Who gets you this wet, hm, <em>ma chérie?</em> Your little Papillon?"</p><p>My breath hitches at his little nickname for Maxon, and my noises stop as I turn to look at him, wondering why he'd bring his name up now. But then that thought flies out of my head as his fingers speed up, thumb rubbing against my clit so quickly and perfectly that I cry out and find sanctuary in the crook of his neck again.</p><p>"Mm... Drac—Draco," I gasp out, my teeth latching around a tendon in his neck where I muffle my frustrated groan.</p><p>The last time, the last time...</p><p>And then my vision goes white before I finally remember. Through the muddled, arousal-ridden state this stupid, stupid boy has rendered me in, I couldn't think straight, couldn't remember <em>why</em> it's been so long.</p><p>But then I remember that night when I was on my knees for him, when he was straddling my chest fucking my face, everything he said to me about me while he was touching me in ways not unlike the way he is now. And my pulse jumps for a reason other than how he smells so good and how his hands feel like heaven in the most sinful way possible.</p><p>"Wait," I gasp out softly, my body going stiffen. His hand continues fucking me, still sending those pleasurable thrills up my spine. "W-Wait," my voice is hoarse, croaky, hardly audible to my own ears. "Wait—<em>Wait!</em>"</p><p>He freezes this time.</p><p>Neither of us move, neither of us make a sound spare for my panting as I try to catch my breath. My head is dropped, my widened eyes on his chest, but I can feel his on my face trying to read me. He hasn't even moved his hand out of my panties, and I feel a finger twitch inadvertently. It sends a thrill up my spine, but the thrill quickly explodes into a tight feeling, like the walls are closing around me.</p><p>"Get—hands—" I choke slightly, my own hands on his shoulder tightening so I'm sure my nails have all but pierced his skin. "Get your hands off—off of me."</p><p>He hesitates for a moment, but then Draco is pulling both his steady hands away from me. My thighs tremble slightly as I watch them move away, cringing softly when I briefly see his fingers glistening with my own arousal.</p><p>
  <em>Happy, you stupid, useless bitch? You're so embarrassing.</em>
</p><p>Salazar, I'm stupid. Stupid, stupid, <em>stupid</em>. Did I really have to do that? What's wrong with me? And I'm still sitting here on his thigh, soaked out of my bloody mind, and <em>fuck</em> that felt good, I hope he moves his leg like that again, and—</p><p>I hate myself.</p><p>I want him to touch me, I do. I want his hands all over me, pressing bruises into my thighs, onto my neck, on my wrists pinning me down. I want them grabbing me, handling me, throwing me around, pulling me closer. And I want his mouth on every inch of my skin, claiming all the parts of me that <em>definitely</em> don't belong to him but totally could for just one night.</p><p>I do, I want him to touch me, because what insane person wouldn't? When he's sitting here so suavely, his torso so perfectly paneled with muscles, his skin warm and soft yet tough, and his eyes gleaming and grey, and his hair beautiful when it's neat and <em>spectacular</em> when it's messy.</p><p>But then he's also the last person I want to touch me, because all I can think about, aside from the rings he wears, is the <em>last</em> time he touched me like this. Or at least the last time he touched me like this and it went somewhere.</p><p>It's stupid, it's stupid, it's <em>so stupid</em>.</p><p><em>Get over it</em>.</p><p>I can't, though. How am I supposed to?</p><p><em>You forgave him</em>.</p><p>That isn't the same as forgetting. I can't just forget, not just like that. Everything he said to me is tattooed in my head, permanently replaying in my ears whenever he looks at me, and everywhere he touched me has seared an invisible handprint on me, and I love having his handprints on me, but I hate <em>them</em> and I hate <em>him</em> and I don't know <em>what</em> I'm feeling or what I <em>should</em> be feeling.</p><p>It's not like he'd do it again. Treat me like that, touch me like <em>that</em>, talk to me like <em>that</em>.</p><p>Do I know that, though?</p><p><em>You forgave him, Celeste</em>.</p><p>That doesn't make us friends. It just makes us less hostile, less likely to throw each other off the tallest tower in the castle.</p><p>But he took me to France. He took me to France, to Saint-Cirq-Lapopie, admitted to me that he <em>wanted to take me to my happy place</em>. He brought me to the bakery, kissed me by the river, listened to me talk for hours about things I'm sure he couldn't have cared less about.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>, do I want him to touch me. He touches me like nobody else can, and <em>fuck </em>do I want to touch him back.</p><p><em>You're still on his lap. If you're not going to let him get a fuck, at least get off his bloody lap</em>.</p><p>I inhale shakily, gathering up whatever shreds of my dignity I have left after that embarrassing what<em>ever</em> that was, and I tilt my chin up defiantly to force my eyes to meet his. He doesn't react when we make eye contact, but his face is drawn tautly.</p><p>It's solemn, harsh, sharp, the silver shrapnel in his eyes tearing scars down my skin as he scans me. It isn't that he's trying to read me, he <em>is</em> reading me. In fact, as his eyebrows furrow deeper and his lips tilt further downward, I'm almost sure he <em>has</em> read me. He knows exactly what's going on in my head.</p><p>He looks so fucking good, and it's so unfair.</p><p>"I just don't want you to touch me," I blurt before I can stop myself, ears burning so hot, I think they may evaporate right off the sides of my head. But I continue anyway. "I mean—I <em>do</em>, but... I <em>like</em> it when you do, but I—"</p><p>"Well, you don't need me to touch you to get yourself off, do you?"</p><p>I blink. Did I hear that right? "Excuse me?"</p><p>He gestures down to where I'm sitting on his lap, not smirking, not a hint of amusement on his face. He's dead serious. "You were having a fine time earlier grinding on my thigh, and I have to admit, I quite liked it too. Carry on, then, if that's what you'd like."</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but then I get distracted by how his sweater stretches over his chest as he lifts his arms to rest casually on the top of the sofa, an expectant look on his solemn face as he waits for me to proceed with <em>getting myself off</em>.</p><p>My face burns hotter, and yet I'm still frozen. It's the way he's looking at me, the ice in his eyes during my blood frozen as well.</p><p>But then I'm moving. I don't move my hips to continue grinding down on his thigh, but I move to fully straddle his lap. His eyebrows dart up at this, but he says nothing, even as I tentatively place my trembling hands on his chest. I refuse to meet his eyes, thinking I might disintegrate under his gaze.</p><p>And slowly, I start rolling my hips on top of him.</p><p>The groan this coaxes out of him nearly unravels me completely. It's so low and lewd, and it encourages me to move faster. I suppose something about me telling him to stop and not touch me must have made the bulge in his pants to grow a bit softer, but as I roll myself on top of him, I feel it grow harder by the second.</p><p>"Fuck," I whisper, one hand sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck.</p><p>He makes a small, strangled noise at this, one of his hands twitching like he wants to touch me. He doesn't, though, watching me with heavy, drunken eyes as I lean closer and press my mouth to his.</p><p>Neither of us seem to be lucid enough to kiss properly—or at least I'm not, not when I'm drunk on the feeling of his covered cock pressing against my core, not when I'm drunk on the feeling of <em>him</em>—and so our open lips move sloppily. It's perfect, still, feeling his tongue brush against mine, feeling his teeth scrape against mine, feeling him bite down a little too hard on my lower lip, feeling him suck gentle on the same spot to soothe it.</p><p>"Talk—Talk to me," I pant out, my eyes squeezing tightly shut while I roll my hips in circles.</p><p>Every movement against his rigid bulge makes me want to whimper, great pleasure strumming its electrifying tendrils down my thighs, up my spine, making my breasts swell with so much pressure I have to move one hand to slip under my sweater and massage them.</p><p>"You like it when I do that?" he rasps breathily, his head falling back and eyes fluttering shut. His hips move lightly, but he holds back from bucking up against me. "You like it when I talk to you? What is it about it, hm? You like my voice?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>," I pant out, a moan leaving my lips like a wail as my hips speed up, hand tightening on his neck. He chokes softly, the noise beautiful to my ears and only making my fingers squeeze harder on either side of his throat.</p><p>"Fuck, fuck, <em>fuck</em>, just like that, Celeste," Draco moans, his voice going a little higher at the end. I manage to open my eyes a little to see his hands fisting at the sofa in an effort to keep them there, the veins in the backs of his palms bulging. "Such a good... Such a..." His head rolls slightly as I maneuver my hips in semi circles, my vision momentarily going white as I arch my back and grind against him on the perfect spot. "Good, <em>good</em> girl. Such a pretty girl..."</p><p>I whimper softly, leaning forward to rest my head on his shoulder. I give his neck another tight squeeze before letting go to grab him his hair, forcing his head to turn to face mine so I can kiss him again. His hips jolt up slightly, and he mutters a quiet apology that I quickly swallow with my lips.</p><p>His lips move slowly against mine. They pull away after long kiss, and then they lean back in to brush his tongue against mine and groan against my mouth.</p><p>"Tell me how you feel," he orders softly against my mouth while both my hands slip down to slide back up his chest from under his sweater, relishing the heat of his skin.</p><p>"I—I feel—" <em>So</em> weird being <em>so</em> submissive.</p><p>"Use your words, <em>chérie</em>."</p><p>My stomach twists as my grinding grows harder and faster, and then my hands go back down to scramble with his belt, fumbling to undo it. I hear his breath hitch with surprise, but I pay no mind as I undo his button and pull down the zip, tugging at his trousers to move down as best as I can get them to.</p><p>I hardly get to move them an inch, but when I seat myself back down on his lap, it makes all the difference grinding against him with nothing but his briefs and my thin panties separating us.</p><p>"Shit, Celeste," he whimpers weakly, one of his hands wrenching at his hair, practically pulling it out of his scalp. "You're kill—killing me," he stutters softly as another moan rips through his mouth. "Tell me. I want to hear you tell me how you—how you f-feel—<em>fuck—</em>what feels good. Be a good girl, darling, tell me what I want to hear."</p><p>"I want—I feel—<em>Fuck</em>, it feels good," my voice breaks, and my hands drag up and down his chest and his arms, desperate to find something to grab onto. "I—I need more, Draco. You feel so—You feel so <em>good</em>," I whimper into his shoulder, my body starting to tremble. "Please, please..."</p><p>"'Please' what, Cel<em>?</em>" he pants out, nudging his nose into the side of my face. "What do you—<em>fuck</em>, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna—I'm gonna come if you don't—" Draco inhales shakily, his hips riding and dropping back down to the sofa, making me bounce lightly on top of him.</p><p>"<em>Kiss me</em>."</p><p>He leans in and captures my lips with his. It's a short kiss, leaving me leaning in with him for more. "Like that?"</p><p>"<em>More</em>."</p><p>"Whatever you want..."</p><p>He groans softly before kissing me again, his lips soft and gentle yet moving hungrily. My stomach erupts as I kiss back as best as I can. I wanted to make his lips mine before, and that's what I do. I lean in, hope I bruise them with mine, spell my name against his skin, mark those lips with my initials.</p><p>He pulls away suddenly, gasping and throwing his head back while his hips rise again. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna cum in my fucking trousers, Celeste, if you don't stop. If you don't st—stop, if you... don't stop," he pants while my legs start shaking violently.</p><p>My vision starts blurring worse than it already is, jaw dropping open with a silent wail as my own orgasm starts crashing over me.</p><p>"Don't stop... Dont't—Don't you fucking stop," he slurs almost drunkenly, his hands slipping down and loosely grabbing my hips. I hardly notice at first, and when I do, I wish silently that he'd hold me tighter.</p><p>And then it finally hits. The wave, a thousand miles tall, the byproduct of a typhoon that's been building up for days, weeks, months, what <em>feels</em> like years, the wave that has been slowly growing in height and mass and power, that towers over me with its swarming waters and silent energy. It finally hits. It crashes down to shore, knocking me down with it, crushing me nearly flat into the sands while I gladly welcome its sea-salted embrace, its cruel hands that wrench everything I have out of me, draining me of my energy.</p><p>My movements halting, I fall forward.</p><p>With my eyes closed, it feels like I'm at the precipice of a cliff, about to tall down to my demise to crack my head open on a rock.</p><p>But instead I fall into a warm chest that heaves up and down with heavy breaths, hearing the inhaled and exhales pudding above my head and soothing my erratic pulse.</p><p>Time stops there. My ear is pressed against his chest where I can feel and heart his heart pounding just as loud and fast as mine, a clock ticking to the same rhythm as mine does, a clock alerting me to every fast paced second, but time still stops.</p><p>His arms slowly slink around me while I catch my breath. They don't hold me so tight to push me into his chest, but enough that I don't fall over on my side since I lack the energy to even open my eyes. All from one orgasm earned by dry humping him like a third year that's just discovered their sex organs.</p><p>"Is this alright?" his tired voice brushed against my ear while his arms scoop me against his chest a little more securely.</p><p>I can't nod. I can't speak. I can't do anything.</p><p><em>Yes</em>, I think, going completely limp in his hold. <em>More than alright</em>.</p><p>I could fall asleep like this, and for some reason, I think it would be a good sleep. No draught dropping me into a dark abyss where I don't exist and snapping me out a second later. Sleep. Real sleep. Something I have had the privilege to experience in too long. A nightmareless sleep, a dreamless sleep, just a quietude where everything is as warm as his arms.</p><p>No worrying about runes and what they mean. No worrying about fathers and the lack thereof. No worrying about mothers and the secrets they keep. No living in the library studying in cabinets and blood curses and old, archaic hieroglyphs and symbols, no spending every waking moment working on the task or working on figuring out <em>what</em> is happening to me.</p><p>Not right now.</p><p>Now, I sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: if you could do anything, something, regardless of the cost and money, what would you do?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0083"><h2>83. YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE ME</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>library!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>March 2nd-15th, 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>MARCH 2nd, 1997</b>
</p><p>When I wake up, she's on top of me.</p><p>I don't really remember moving, but I guess we did, or I did, before falling asleep, because I'm sprawled out across the sofa. It's far too small for me, my legs hanging over one of the arms and my back hurting slightly. The other arm is functioning as a pillow for me, and the loose spring in one of the cushions is jabbing into my thigh, not to mention the slightly off smell of the fabric of the sofa, but I can't bring myself to cafe.</p><p>I haven't slept this well in a while.</p><p>She's on top of me, using me the way I use the sofa. Her legs are still straddling my hips, and her arms and wrapped loosely around my neck, and her head is resting the side of her face on my chest right over my heart beat. One of my arms is slung around her waist, the other resting on her back with my hand cupping the back of her neck. Her tight curls are scratching and tickling at my neck and face, but I ignore it. My eyes still shut, I inhale deeply, taking in that bitter blackberry mixed with vanilla and walnut.</p><p>What the <em>fuck</em> do I do now?</p><p>I almost groan at the thought of everything that happened before we fall asleep. The way she was kissing me, the way she was getting herself off on my thigh and my hand, the way she froze, the way she froze because of <em>me</em> and what I did. It only took one step into her head to see just how confused she was, just how scared she was of <em>me</em>. <em>Is</em> of me.</p><p>And then she climbed onto my lap and buried her face in my neck and made me come in my bloody trousers like I'm a second year that's just had his first wet dream.</p><p>My face burns at the thought. It's quite a blow to my ego.</p><p>I at least manage to cast two quick Drying and Cleaning Charms on myself before falling asleep. How did I <em>fall asleep?</em> It wasn't even late at night—it was hardly five or six, if anything.</p><p>Lazily, I peel my eyes open and lift my left wrist up so I can see my watch. It lights up at the movement, telling me it's 1:27 A.M. So I slept for eight hours. I can't remember the last time I slept for that long.</p><p>Celeste inhales loudly, and I tense up.</p><p>I haven't woken her, have I?</p><p>Her arms slowly draw back from around my neck, crossing on top of my chest while her head lifts and drops her cheek onto them to use as a pillow. I glance down at her, seeing her eyes still shut and the side of her face slightly smushed against her arms. Her plump lips are a little parted and wet, slightly swollen from kissing me too hard.</p><p>My pulse jumping, I slowly lower my hand back down to her waist. She lets out another soft puff of air as my fingers gently rub her sweater, pulling it down where it rode up to reveal the expanse of her back.</p><p>I let my eyes close for a moment.</p><p>I think I like it, having her sprawled on top of my chest like this. Something about having the pressure of her weight on me is comforting. I could throw her off at any given notice, but I don't exactly <em>desire</em> to do that. No, I like having her—or, rather, <em>anyone—</em>here on top of me. I like that I can feel her soft breaths brushing against my shoulder, and I like how her nails occasionally scratch lightly and give me goosebumps, and I like how I can feel her torso inflating and deflating with every inhale and exhale from her lungs. And her hair, making my neck itch? I can tolerate it.</p><p>But <em>Salazar</em> does my back ache. Considering all the nights I've accidentally spent in the Room of Requirements and the many yet to come, perhaps I should invest in a better sofa. Or, better yet, an entire bed for the room.</p><p>Maybe I should find a way to get out from under her before she wakes up.</p><p>Because when she does, I have a feeling she is going to <em>kill</em> me. And even if she doesn't, I'll likely want to kill myself from the situation it'll put us in.</p><p>I nearly groan in dismay as my mind goes back to the events of last night, everything that happened from the moment she stepped into the Room of Requirements up until we somehow fell asleep like this.</p><p>Kissing for the first time in over two months. The way she rode my thigh, her sweet moans and sighs and how she whispered my name in my ear. The way she felt on my fingers, so warm, wet, and smooth, how her gasps and heavy breaths felt on my neck while she ground herself down on my palm. The way she froze, the way her nails dug deep into my shoulders while she told me to <em>wait</em>. The way she went silent, so terribly silent, the way her mind was filled with images of me from that night, hurting her and using her.</p><p>The way she thinks I'll do it again, the way I don't want to say those things again, the way a part of me itches to say them louder. My Dark Mark gives a sharp stabbing sensation, and I muffle a surprised groan at it by biting down on my knuckles.</p><p>But, <em>Merlin</em>,did I want to see her like that again—a mess, unraveling herself on my thigh, gripping my shoulders for dear life, whimpering in my neck, biting down on my skin to muffle her noises, pleading incomprehensibly, whispering my name.</p><p>My skin burns when I remember what I said<em>—Well, you don't need me to touch you to get yourself off, do you?—</em>but then she got right back onto my lap. She didn't take off a single one of her clothes nor a single one of mine. She just climbed onto my lap and rolled her hips on me, used me for whatever she needed, couldn't care less if she made me cum right in my pants—and frankly, neither could I in the moment.</p><p>I quickly shake all thoughts of the night before out of my head. The last thing I need is to get hard while she's laying on me with her legs straddling my hips.</p><p>I've slept for eight hours. <em>She's</em> slept for eight hours, and I realize with a startle that she hasn't had a nightmare the entire time. At least not one that woke me up.</p><p>
  <em>What if she's pretending to be asleep?</em>
</p><p>The thought makes me freeze, and then quicker than lightning, I'm slipping into her head. As soon as I'm in, I can tell she's asleep. It's different from all the other times I've been in here mind, during which she's always been awake. It's dormant. Everything is still there, but it's resting, waiting until she wakes up to truly stir up trouble.</p><p>Should I get up now? It would be better to go now than wait for her to wake up and deal with <em>that </em>situation.</p><p>But maybe I should try to go to sleep. If I stay up all night, I'll hardly be able to function when the day really starts.</p><p>Who am I kidding? I've pulled worse all-nighters.</p><p>But I should <em>move</em>.</p><p>Carefully, I start turning to my right. I think the best way to go about this is to ease Celeste off my chest and onto her side, and so I carefully wrap my arms around her so she doesn't just go tumbling off, my heart thudding against the side of her face. Once I have her eased onto her side, I carefully push her leg off from over the side of my hips, my ears burning when her skirt rides up a little. I fix it quickly, careful to touch as little as her skin as possible, and then I turn around onto my other side.</p><p>And right as I move to roll off the sofa, I feel arm arm wrap around me from behind, a nose nuzzling softly into my back, a leg being thrown over mine.</p><p>Turned instantly to stone, I listen with widened eyes as Celeste inhaled deeply and exhales loudly against my back.</p><p>
  <em>Is she awake?</em>
</p><p>My Legilimency says no.</p><p>Her arm shifts again, slipping back and then back around me, though this time from under mine. She groans tiredly, pulling herself closer to my back while slinking her hand up to press to my chest.</p><p><em>Oh, my Salazar</em>.</p><p>"Why are you so warm?"</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>My heart pounds wildly in my chest, the muscle in my calf starting to cramp from how tightly Im tensed. Celeste's hand is right over my heartbeat, though limp, and I wonder if it was powerful enough to wake her. But it only takes one dip into her mind to know that it's still shut down.</p><p>"I think you have a fever," she speaks again, and this time I catch the slight slur, the slight drawl in her voice. She talks in her sleep, then.</p><p>Her head tilts up until her lips are brushing against the back of my neck, and she sighs, "You're going to burn."</p><p><em>So she's morbid in her sleep too</em>.</p><p>At least an hour passes, or at least that's what it feels like when I can hardly move—who knew she had such an iron grip—before she stirs again. I've tried slipping out of her grip, but every time I do, she mutters something about fire and tugs me closer. And I've thought about using this against her in the future, embarrassing her with her <em>cuddling tendencies</em>, but I've realized quickly that it would be just as embarrassing to <em>me</em> if I were to ever bring attention to this. Ever.</p><p>But an hour passes, and her leg starts rubbing against mine like a cricket while her hand curls up into a fist. She then pulls her hand away entirely, though I feel her knuckles brushing against my back as she presumably rubs her eyes.</p><p>And then she freezes.</p><p>And I close my eyes tightly, swearing silently to murder whoever it is in charge of this shit show.</p><p>When she hasn't moved in nearly a minute, I slip back into her head. Once in there, I almost curse right out loud, because she is <em>very</em> awake. A bit groggy, a bit disoriented, but definitely awake.</p><p>
  <em>How the fuck did I end up here?</em>
</p><p>Good question, Celeste. I wish I knew how to answer you.</p><p>
  <em>It's kinda comfortable.</em>
</p><p>I squeeze my eyes shut tight.</p><p>
  <em>I could fall back asleep, wait for him to wake up so he can deal with this himself.</em>
</p><p>Yeah. That'll work.</p><p><em>Fuck. I can't sleep</em>.</p><p>Join the <em>fucking </em>club, Celeste.</p><p><em>I haven't slept this well in...</em> She stifles a soft yawn, a small, cat-like squeak slipping past her lips. <em>Months. Maybe that's the key—a good ol' orgasm.</em></p><p>I bite down as hard as possible on the inside of my cheek to keep the laugh that what's to burst out in, though it does nothing at all to contain the grin that spreads over my face.</p><p><em>What time is it?</em> I feel her lightly lift up, and then she sighs softly. <em>Where's that bloody cuckoo-clock when I actually need it... Oh, great. Broken. So it works as a fucking cock-block, but it can't tell the goddamn time?</em></p><p><em>You're killing me, Celeste</em>, I groan internally.</p><p><em>Not a single working clock... Stupid fucking castle</em>.</p><p>And then she leans towards me again, and when I feel her hand brushing against my left arm and her breath washing over my neck, my eyes burst wide open. I look at the side of her face, seeing the intense look of concentration she wears as she reaches for my wrist.</p><p><em>Please don't wake up, Malfoy. I swear, I'll suck your dick any day if you don't wake up. I beg of you</em>, she pleads, brows furrowing while she lifts my hand.</p><p>I close my eyes, jaw starting to hurt from the effort it takes not to laugh right in her face. She then drops my hand and moves back over to her side of the sofa.</p><p><em>Good boy, Malfoy</em>, the voice in her head thinks dryly, and my jaw drops open with a silent scream while my ears burn red.</p><p>She <em>has</em> to know I'm awake and reading her mind. There's no way. There's no way she's <em>actually </em>like this and not just acting like it to drive me insane, because if this is really how her head works, if this is really what she's like...</p><p>Chewing back a grin, I relax my face, feeling her sit up in the space between me and the sofa.</p><p><em>It's two in the bloody morning, and he's still asleep. I must've done him all right and good then. </em>And then she laughs—shortly, audibly—followed by the sound of her hand slapping over her mouth. <em>He came right in his trousers, didn't he?!</em></p><p>Kill me.</p><p><em>That's kind of hot, though</em>.</p><p>Oh?</p><p><em>He's kinda pretty in his sleep</em>, her mind hums softly, and I can feel one of her knees digging into my tailbone. <em>Gosh, his skin is clear. I should ask him what he uses to wash his face</em>.</p><p>I don't know, my mother got it for me.</p><p>
  <em>Okay, I'm gonna get up. Should I let him sleep? What's the point of waking him up? He's less annoying when he's unconscious. I'll go back to my dorm. Wait, it's kind of a dick move to leave him here.</em>
</p><p>A little bit.</p><p><em>Wouldn't he do the same, though? </em>Her hand brushes lightly against my arm. <em>Cant believe he's still asleep...</em> It slides up, making goosebumps appear all over my skin while I focus my energy on keeping my face and body still, even when her fingers lightly tickle my neck. And then when her fingers press lightly against my pulse, I nearly gasp.</p><p>
  <em>Bitch. I let you koala-hold me, and you run your hands all over my body? A little rude, don't you think?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Holy, Merlin, his pulse is fast. Is he having the nightmare?</em>
</p><p>Huh. If this is all just some dream, I think I'd prefer that.</p><p><em>Awfully calm for someone having a nightmare, unless...</em> I can smell the blackberry on her, strong, bitter, yet sweet. <em>Salazar, he's not having a wet dream, is he?</em></p><p><em>Kill me now</em>.</p><p>
  <em>He doesn't look particularly hard.</em>
</p><p><em>Stop looking at my bloody crotch</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe he's just smaller than I think.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh, you want me to show you how small I am?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Okay, I'm gonna stop looking at his dick, I'm gonna get up, and I'm gonna go. Shouldn't be too many professors patrolling the halls, maybe I'll sneak into the library. Ooh, I haven't checked the Lost-And-Found in a while, maybe the bracelet's turned up.</em>
</p><p>She sighs softly and then the sofa shifts underneath me as she carefully moves over me. There's a moment where she's all but straddling my hip, and I close my eyes until her weight has completely lifted off the furniture and her light footsteps are pattering away.</p><p>And it's at least five minutes after she's gently shut the door to the Room of Requirements and left behind it before I open my eyes and turn onto my back.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>MARCH 15th, 1997</b>
</p><p>"Why do we have to write an entire bloody essay on it? Snape's the best one yet, but he's off his bloody rocker if he thinks making us write sixteen inches on resisting the stupid Imperius Curse will do us any good," Blaise mutters bitterly, slamming his textbook down on the table rather dramatically before pulling his chair out and sitting down with an oomph.</p><p>"Mhm," I murmur distractedly, focused on my own textbook.</p><p>"I mean, really, when will we ever need this? It's not like there are people walking around placing curses left and right, certainly not on students."</p><p>I glance up at this, looking discreetly to where Celeste sits next to Blaise, though she seems just as consumed in furiously writing her essay.</p><p>"Bloody stupid. Waste of my time. I could be practicing Quidditch, or—or hanging out with my friends, or I could be—"</p><p>"We're not good enough friends for you, Blaisey?" Pansy chirps teasingly.</p><p>"Oh, sod off."</p><p>"No, really," she whines in a condescendingly concerned tone, "tell me, B, what am I doing wrong? Have I not been attentive enough? I'd <em>hate—</em>"</p><p>"How does Verona stand you?"</p><p>"I'm good with my hands."</p><p>Blaise groans, his face screwing up with pain while he opens his textbook and flips through to the right chapter. "I really <em>don't </em>want to hear about your sex life right now."</p><p>"Why? Don't tell me you and Cassi are going through a dry spell," she drawls, giving me a light nudge, at which I pick my head up to give her a terse smile.</p><p>"Don't call him that."</p><p>"Why? I heard you calling him Cassi just the other day. <em>'Oh, Cassi, just like that—Harder, harder! F—'</em>"</p><p>"Pansy!"</p><p>"What?" she giggles softly. "From what <em>I</em> heard, it couldn't have been so bad, so—<em>mmph!</em>"</p><p>I look up, frowning softly, to see her wide-eyed beside me, her hand over her mouth and her face pale while her jaw opens up and down and lips part, muffled noises emitting but nothing comprehensible.</p><p>"Lang-Lock?" I ask casually, scanning her.</p><p>"Yeah. Thought she deserved it," Blaise sighs heavily, sipping his quill into his ink.</p><p>"Mm," I nod slightly, looking back down at my own essay while Pansy makes muffled, panicked noises.</p><p>We continue writing our essays and flipping through our textbooks, Pansy muttering and probably cursing us while her tongue remains glued to the roof of her mouth, Blaise continuing to gripe and groan about Snape and his excessive homework-assigning tendencies, me occasionally responding to him and getting irritated every time I accidentally write down something he's said rather than my actual essay, and Celeste nearly silent the entire time.</p><p>I glance up at her every few minutes, finding her either completely absorbed by her essay or the absolute opposite. Sometimes shes sitting there with her chin resting on her fist, the tip of her quill pressing against her throat unbeknownst to her, a little bit of ink smeared against her skin. Her dark eyes are glazed over, staring blankly at a window or a bookshelf or the ceiling or a scratch on the table, and she doesn't speak a single word.</p><p>And so, naturally, wanting to know what she's thinking about, I slip into her mind while staring down at my parchment, careful not to write down any of the thoughts or images I find in there out on my paper.</p><p>Runes.</p><p>That's what she's thinking about—the Isa rune I saw on the back of her neck, the Raido rune I saw imprinted on her chest, and a third one. I don't recognize this one instantly, initially mistaking it for Isa, but I rack my mind for all my Ancient Runes knowledge and quickly recognize it as Nauthiz.</p><p>She has <em>three</em>.</p><p>And her mind occasionally dips back to the essay we have due in two days, and her face twists with frustration as she pulls her quill away form her neck to continue writing, but only a minute or two later a thought will pop into her mind—something like <em>The essay can wait</em> or <em>What if whoever had that book has returned it?—</em>and she'll fall back into her dazed, distracted, and conflicted state.</p><p>I pull out of her head with a sharp exhale, frowning when I see one of the runes—Nauthiz—drawn on my parchment.</p><p>Quickly, I erase it with the tip of my wand while making sure nobody has noticed (Pansy's busy trying to say the counter jinx to Lang-Lock, which is impossible while Lang-Locked).</p><p>I need to stop doing that. I have no problem dipping into everyone else's head when I'm bored to see what interesting thoughts they may have, or when I'm on my prefectoral duties and I can tell someone is lying to me, or perhaps during class so I know I have the right answer to an asked questions, but with <em>Celeste—</em></p><p>It's different.</p><p>Because every time I do, her mind pulls me in deeper. And I really don't need that. I don't need to be involved with her in any way other than mutual acquaintances and a partner in fixing the Cabinet and everything else that entails. I don't need to become interested in the runes and why she has them and why she can't stop thinking about them.</p><p>She gets up all of a sudden, slamming her textbook shut. This startles Blaise, making him stop in the middle of a sentence groaning about how his quill isn't working properly.</p><p>"I'm moving to another part of the library," she announces firmly, that splotch of ink of her neck shifting as she speaks.</p><p>"Why?" Blaise asks.</p><p>She clasps her parchment and textbook to her chest, capping her ink and shoving it with her quill into her bag. Celeste slings the back over her shoulder.</p><p>"You talk far too much, little cuz," she sighs, giving him a tight smirk that drops right away. And as she turns on her heel to walk away, she wordlessly flicks her tongue at Pansy, who gasps with relief as her tongue rips off the roof of her mouth.</p><p>"<em>Blaise</em>, you stupid little—!"</p><p>Celeste walks away while Pansy all but lunges at a terrified looking Blaise across the table. I glance at her retreating figure, smirking softly at the sight of my two best friends practically grappling on top of the table.</p><p>I think for a moment about tearing them apart, but...</p><p>They can handle themselves.</p><p>I get up quietly, pocketing only my wand and half-heartedly capping my ink bottle before discreetly slinking away and leaving my belongings on the table.</p><p>Glancing to make sure they're still occupied with trying to destroy the other/defend themself, I hurry my pace past the bookshelves, seeing Celeste several yards in front of me walking at a much more hurried pace. I stop when she's stopped by someone all of a sudden—Carlier, naturally, I realize with a scoff.</p><p>She doesn't stay there long. He beckons to her, as if to tell her to join him, but she smiles tightly and gives his arm a squeeze, saying something I can't hear nor read off her painted lips.</p><p>But he smiles and responds shortly, at which she leans up to kiss his cheek far too close to the corner of his mouth. His skin flushes slightly, but he only smirks and says something that makes her laugh before he turns back to disappear behind a bookshelf and she continues down towards the back of a library.</p><p>And feeling as though I'm living much too far up to the stereotype of being a slimy, sleek Slytherin—but also finding it a little amusing—I follow after.</p><p>The soft hum of students chatting lightly starts to subside as we reach the back—the <em>very</em> back, where the Restricted Section is—and I become so much more conscious of my every footstep. She doesn't seem to feel my gaze in her, though, walking with prompt purpose.</p><p>Until she comes to a stop.</p><p>She ducks behind the very last book case, and I walk further only to stand on the other side of the one two cases in front of it. It's the same bookcase that I often find books on the cabinet in, so I busy myself with skimming the titles while listening closely, my ears straining to pick their voices up.</p><p>"Elara," comes her slightly muffled voice from the other side of the bookshelf.</p><p>There's a small scuffle, the sound of something being knocked over. Someone mutters a quiet apology, likely Elara Jacobs herself, and there's a little muffled talking before one of them clears their throat.</p><p>"Can I help you, Celeste?"</p><p>"I was looking for you."</p><p>There's a slight pause. "Were you, now?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>."</p><p>"That's funny." Jacobs doesn't sound amused. "Especially considering you walked out of a party <em>you</em> brought me to without a word, and then you haven't spoken to me since. Don't tell me you're here to apologize."</p><p>"Do you <em>want</em> an apology?"</p><p>"Well, no."</p><p>"You sound awfully hung up on it for someone that doesn't want an apology."</p><p>"An apology would be <em>nice</em>," Jacobs sighs in an almost amused and wholly sly voice, "but I won't grovel for one. I don't grovel, Celeste. <em>You</em> might not know mine, but <em>I</em> know my worth."</p><p>"<em>Please</em>. What are you doing back here, anyway? I passed a group of Ravenclaw on my way here, shouldn't you be with them?"</p><p>"This might surprise you, Celeste, but some people are defined by more than who they surround themselves with and the labels they're given. I don't have to study with them," Jacobs responds a bit sharply, and it hardly takes a step into Celeste's mind to feel her seething. The Ravenclaw then sighs. "It's quiet back here."</p><p><em>Yeah, I know, it's my spot</em>.</p><p>"So, you were looking for me. What, there weren't enough other half-bloods around for you to call that slur?" Jacobs drawls worth a hint of amusement, though I hear her flip a page rather harshly. "Frankly, Im not in the mood for it."</p><p>"That's <em>not</em> why I'm here," Celeste snaps, and I hear the slam of a textbook shutting.</p><p>"Hey—!"</p><p>"Voices down, Jacobs," Celeste interrupts in a low, silky voice, and while she chuckles dryly, I hear a soft gasp that leaves me with only the ability to wonder what may have caused it. "<em>Gosh</em>, it's insane, the way the <em>Mudbloods</em> in this school think they can just run their mouths."</p><p>I smirk softly, my head ducking while my finger traces the spine of one of the hardcover books.</p><p>"You're dis<em>gusting</em>, Celeste," Jacobs spits so lowly that I nearly don't catch if. "It makes you think, doesn't it? How shallow your relationships must be if they're all based on <em>blood</em>. I bet if your friends were half-bloods, you wouldn't give a damn about them."</p><p>There's a pause. Then Celeste scoffs, "We all know the saying. Blood is thicker than water."</p><p>"Yeah?" Jacobs laughs shortly. "You're not wrong. The blood of the covenant <em>is</em> thicker than the water of the womb."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Look at you, using Muggle phrases. I—<em>mmph!</em>"</p><p>My eyes widen.</p><p>"Shut up for a second, won't you?"</p><p>Jacobs makes another muffled noise, and then grunts softly before cursing under her breath. "What the <em>fuck</em> do you want from me, Zabini?"</p><p>There's a strong silence, and I furrow my eyebrows as I lean into my bookshelf and focus on Celeste. She's not thinking much, but her mind is just permeated with shame, confusion, and a very strong urge to throw up and run away at the same time.</p><p>"Speak up, or I'm leaving."</p><p>"I—"</p><p>"If you're wasting my time—?"</p><p>"If I am, what are you gonna do about it, huh?" Celeste snaps softly.</p><p>"You—"</p><p>"I need your help."</p><p>I tense slightly, my eyebrows furrowing deeper still until they drop in realization. The runes. It must be the runes. But why would Celeste go to Elara Jacobs of all people for that?</p><p>Jacobs seems just as confused. "What did you say?"</p><p>"You heard me. I don't repeat myself."</p><p>"My <em>help?</em>"</p><p>"Yes. Your ears alright?"</p><p>"I just—<em>You</em>, you need <em>my</em> help?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>, you blithering idiot!"</p><p>"Oh, what a wonderful way to convince me to help you," the Ravenclaw scoffs, and I hear slight footsteps and more slamming of books. "You're a <em>joke</em>. A bloody <em>joke</em>."</p><p>"I don't see you fucking laughing."</p><p>"Yeah, well, you're not a very good one."</p><p>"Jacobs!" Celeste snaps as I hear footsteps starting to approach me, making me press flat to my bookshelf, though they don't get very close to me. "Elara." At the sound of her first name, the footsteps stop.</p><p>"I'm <em>not</em> helping you."</p><p>"You will."</p><p>"Go find someone else to be your bloody tutor, or—or do your homework for you," Jacobs mutters, but one step into her head tells me she isn't nearly as averse to helping Celeste as she sounds. In fact, it seems like she's convincing herself more than anything. "Get away from me."</p><p>"<em>Jacobs.</em>"</p><p>"No! I'm tired of helping everyone—making them better, better people, better students, everything—and being given nothing in return!"</p><p>"I'll help you. Whatever you need."</p><p>"Oh, <em>shut up</em>."</p><p>"Hear me out, Jacobs," Celeste sounds much more assured than she did only minutes ago. "I think we can work out something good for both of us."</p><p>"Yeah, right," Jacobs mutters, but her mind is malleable in Celeste's hands.</p><p>"Tell me what you want. What do you <em>really </em>want, what you think you couldn't get?"</p><p>She hesitates. "Tell me what you need help with first."</p><p>"No," Celeste responds promptly and curtly, "that's not how this works. I don't tell you anything until I'm sure you won't go running off blabbing to your stupid little friends about it."</p><p>"Calling my friends stupid isn't helping you right now."</p><p>"Answer me."</p><p>Jacobs sighs heavily. Her voice drops as she says, "Well, obviously, I'd like to be the top of my class. Number one, perfect grades on the end-of-year exams, all that."</p><p>"Okay..." Celeste sounds slightly hesitant. "You really don't have anything specific? I think everyone wants that, Jacobs."</p><p>"Well—" She hesitates slightly, and I hear a soft murmur that apparently even Celeste can't distinguish.</p><p>"What was that?"</p><p>"I mean—I just—Well, I guess that's not my top priority. I think even my parents have given up on the thought, but... I know, I just <em>know</em>, they would really like it—you know, be proud of it—if..."</p><p>Elara's mind is heavy, and it grows heavier as I observe it, the anxiety and desperation clawing at her brain, making her more pliable in Celeste's grip.</p><p>"If?" Celeste coaxes softly, her voice so smooth that I can't help but close my eyes and knock my head against the books.</p><p>"Well, there's this summer internship at the Ministry..."</p><p>"Go on."</p><p>"It's an opportunity to work with an Investigator in the Beast Division in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, y'know, in the Ministry of Magic," Elara mumbles, sounding slightly dreamy. "Might seem stupid to you, but I think it's cool how they get to investigate all the creature-related cases and all that."</p><p>"Oh," Celeste says, sounding somewhat surprised. I can practically hear her swallowing back the urge to say something dry and rude, making my smirk twitch. "Well, you're smart, right? You get good grades. As far as I know, which isn't much since I don't really spend quite a lot of time observing you, your record is clean. You should be able to get it."</p><p>"They only offer it to graduates."</p><p>"Oh. Then, I mean..."</p><p>"But... <em>gosh</em>, I have more experience than even people that have graduated form Hogwarts for years! You've seen me with the Thestrals, and I know <em>all</em> about winged-horses. Abraxans especially, and—and I'm always helping Hagrid with his creatures and his class. He even let me feed the dragons they were keeping during the Triwizard Tournament! And the Fire crabs! And I've fostered <em>so</em> many Kneazles. Granted, they aren't beasts, but... I don't know... I just think <em>maybe</em> if they see my application and possibly let me have an interview, maybe..."</p><p>There's a thick pause, during which I wonder what kind of professor in his right mind would let a fifteen year old girl feed the dragons, and then Celeste finally speaks.</p><p>"I can help."</p><p>Jacobs chokes softly. "Wh—What?"</p><p>"You heard me."</p><p>"You <em>can</em>?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"How?"</p><p>"You leave that to me," Celeste murmurs smoothly.</p><p>"So—So—"</p><p>"Do we have a deal?"</p><p>"I don't even know what I'm signing up for."</p><p>"You're signing up for a guarantee to get an internship that you don't even technically qualify for," Celeste scoffs. "What else did you need? A bloody contract?"</p><p>"I mean..."</p><p>"There will be <em>no</em> contracts."</p><p>"<em>Fine</em>. You swear you can—?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>."</p><p>"What do you even need help with?"</p><p>"Meet me back here next weekend, and I'll tell you everything that you need to know."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"Finish your homework, Jacobs. You can't get an internship if your grades start slipping," Celeste sighs smoothly, and there's more soft protest followed by a sigh.</p><p>When the footsteps return and come closer to me, I press myself to the bookshelf again. Celeste passes by me without a glance towards me, her curls flowing behind her slightly and her hand fiddling with her wand. I count to thirty before slowly slipping out of the little alley created by the two bookshelves sandwiching me, glancing to see shes long gone.</p><p>And then I walk back towards the table, my eyes slightly downcast and my teeth busy gnawing on my lip while my heart pounds and mind whirls going over everything I've just heard.</p><p>It's the runes. It <em>has</em> to be the runes. There's nothing else it could possibly—</p><p>"Are you following me, Malfoy?"</p><p>The sound of Celeste's sleek, suspicious voice makes me startle, and I look up to see her standing right in front of me with her dark eyes ablaze and her arms crossed tightly. My pulse flutters at the sight of her, heat starting to creep up my neck, but I keep my face stoic.</p><p>"Following you?" I echo innocently.</p><p>She quirks her eyebrow, tilting her head. Her eyes are stony, holding me captive while she takes a step towards me.</p><p>"Why would I be following you?"</p><p>Celeste inhales deeply, arms dropping back to her sides. She twirls her wand casually, giving me a soft smirk while taking a few more steps towards me. When the tip of her shoe knocks against mine, I take a step back, and her stride hastens, forcing me to continue walking back until my shoulders hit a bookshelf.</p><p>I lift my eyebrows at her, my entire body swarming with heat, though my face thankfully feels cool.</p><p>"Cornering me, Zabini? Is there something you want from me?" I drawl casually, crossing my own arms loosely and leaning back against the bookshelf while my mind darts back to that night—that night she sat on my lap and moaned in my ear before falling asleep right on top of me.</p><p>"Why are you following me, Malfoy?" she asks calmly, sweetly, but her eyes threaten me as if to silently remind me that she's very much adept at dueling.</p><p>I turn my head slightly, squinting and giving her a look of concentration. "<em>Should</em> I be following you?"</p><p>Her face hardens.</p><p>"Is there a reason why I would be following you? Is there something I don't know, Celeste? Because—"</p><p>Her hand whips up, pressing the tip of her wand to the pulse point next to my throat. I gasp softly at this, my own hand snapping up to tightly grip her wrist while the others, the one holding <em>my</em> wand, flies to press the tip of it to <em>her</em> neck.</p><p>She clenched her jaw, digging her wand into my throat while I lean my head back into the bookcase. My chest heaves with my breaths, but then I drop both my hands and chuckle dryly and casually, as though completely unperturbed despite my racing heart.</p><p>"Something funny, Malfoy?" she spits lowly, leaning up on her toes to come close to my face, her hand pushing against my shoulder to steady herself and the others twist the wand deeper into my neck, making me tilt my head away a little.</p><p>"You have to go on your toes to meet my eyes? That's a little cute, I won't lie."</p><p>"<em>Cute?</em> I have a bloody wand to your throat."</p><p>"I see that," I say, another gasp ripping from my lips as her hand on my shoulder moves instantly to grip my neck and squeeze tightly, the tip of her wand going under my jaw. I resist the urge to move my hands, wanting to maintain my unbothered facade.</p><p>"You better <em>not</em> have been following me, Malfoy," Celeste sneers, her face closer to mine now, fingers pressing on my neck and palm against my throat, my face starting to feel hot.</p><p>"Or what?"</p><p>"I'll hurt you. You <em>know</em> I would, right?"</p><p>I don't need to go into her head. Her eyes speak for it. "I'm aware, darling."</p><p>"Good."</p><p>"Something you're hiding, Celeste?" I prod, cracking a dry smirk when her wand forces my head to tilt up, a thrill passing my spine and my heart skipping a beat before increasing its furious pace. "Got a secret?"</p><p>"<em>Shut up</em>."</p><p>"You know how to make me."</p><p>Without even a second of hesitation, Celeste lunges up to smash her mouth against mine.</p><p>Her hand on my neck doesn't move—it only tightens it's already harsh grip—and her wand doesn't budge either. I grab her by her hips, pulling her up against my body while my tongue dives into her mouth to brush against hers. She makes a small noise, something between neediness and irritation.</p><p>And then the hand on my neck finally moved to grab me by my hair, eliciting a pained grunt from me from how hard she tugs on it. She responds with a soft pant, her lips briefly tearing from mine, and then she leans back in quickly to force her tongue into her mouth.</p><p>My hands pull her closer still, fingers greedily slipping under the hem of her skirt to massage the flesh of her arse. I listen closer, wair for her to pull away and tell me not to touch her, but she moans into my mouth and uses her arm, wand still at my jaw, to push me back against the bookshelf.</p><p>"Celeste," I gasp when we pull away for a sip of air.</p><p>She doesn't respond, pulling me back towards her to messily slam her mouth against mine. I groan, brows furrowing tightly, feeling her wand slip away from my jaw to slide down my chest.</p><p>I pull away again, grabbing her by her shoulders to force her away when she tries to come back in. She pants loudly, glaring at me as if to ask why I'm denying her more making out.</p><p>"You're frustrated," I point out, panting myself.</p><p>"Salazar, aren't <em>you</em> a fucking genius."</p><p>I pause, licking my lips, noting how her eyes dart down to look when I do so.</p><p>"Do you want to take it out on me?" I ask cautiously, heart thudding in the cavity of my chest when her dark eyes flutter back up to look at my face.</p><p>She stares at me silently, and I think for a moment she might just flat out say no. But then she pulls me by my tie to kiss me again, groaning against my mouth.</p><p>"Yes," she pants, desperate hands pressing against my torso, lips colliding with mine. "<em>Yes</em>."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: you can only eat one food for the rest of your life. what is it?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0084"><h2>84. BLOOD</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>March 15th-20th, 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>MARCH 15th, 199</b>
  <b>7</b>
</p><p>He drops onto his bed, panting heavily.</p><p>"Did I go too hard on you?" I choke out, collapsing onto the armchair and closing my eyes while my lungs all but seize to grab a full inhale of sweet air.</p><p>"Oh, <em>shut it</em>."</p><p>I cough out a laugh, slumping low in the armchair and pushing my hair out of my face. "No. I was probably a little rusty. It's been a few months, after all."</p><p>"Oh, no. You weren't rusty."</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Mm."</p><p>"Is that your way of telling me I won? I'm better than you?" I tease, my face then screwing with pain at how my abdomen tightens harshly.</p><p>"Let's not be <em>ridiculous</em>," Draco scoffs, propping himself up on his elbows to look at me, his messy hair flopping into his pale face. "If anything, we're on equal wavelengths. Equally rusty—or not. You didn't <em>win</em>."</p><p>"<em>Please</em>, I'm a far better dueler than you."</p><p>"Yeah? Explain why I blasted your wand out of your hand three times."</p><p>"Anomalies."</p><p>"<em>Three</em> isn't an anomaly. Three is a sign that maybe you <em>are</em> getting rusty."</p><p>I groan softly, seeing his lips part into a lazy grin. "How about we settle on that <em>you've </em>finally improved to my level, and <em>I</em> have simply remained at my phenomenal capabilities?"</p><p>"Would that shut you up?" he murmurs tiredly, head dropping back down to the bed. He reaches an arm up at the ceiling, long and slender fingers limp while his rings glint under the dim glow of the Black Lake behind me. "I think I'll be sore for days. Might not even be able to walk."</p><p>I snort softly.</p><p>"Something funny, darling?"</p><p>"Oh, nothing. Just what that suggests without context."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>My eyes, which had dropped shut in fatigue, open once more while a sly smirk finds my lips. I look at him to see him staring at his hand which still extends towards the ceiling, and with a soft grunt, I pull myself off the armchair, ignoring the pleads from the muscles in my thighs to stop.</p><p>Draco and I both have a tendency to blast each other into walls and fight a little dirty—I more so than him, I'm rather happy to say.</p><p>His eyes shift to me when he notices me all but hobbling over to him. They glance down to where the hem of my skirt brushes against my thighs, up to where my tie is loosened around my neck, and then to my face.</p><p>"Sounds like someone's—how do you Brits say it? Bugger?"</p><p>Draco's eyes widen.</p><p>"Because that's what <em>I</em> would assume if I hadn't known that you'd just been dueling with the best dueler in the world," I drawl, propping a knee up onto his bed while he drops his arm and rolls his eyes, "that you'd been <em>buggered</em> right in your uptight little—what do you call it? Your <em>arse?</em>"</p><p>"Oh, you can fuck right off," he groans, cheeks starting to tint pink while her wraps his arms over his face and sighs heavily. "I think people would sooner believe that I was fueling the best dueler in the world—who isn't you, dear Celeste—than believe that I got <em>buggered</em>."</p><p>I stifle a small laugh, though not very successfully. At this, he shifts his arm over his eyes up to his forehead, opening one sharp silver eye to peer at me curiously.</p><p>"Why are you <em>laughing?</em>" he asks in that pretentious British accent of his, picking a leg up to nudge my thigh with his knee.</p><p>"Who, me?" I ask innocently, my eyebrows raised, my lips struggling to disassemble the smirk they wear, and my eyes cast away while my hand plays absentmindedly with the watch on his left wrist, tapping it twice to see that little dragon appear.</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>, you. Do you see anyone else here?" he snaps softly, smacking my hand away from his and resorting to glaring at me when I just climb to sit onto the bed and drag his wrist back towards me.</p><p>"Mm, no. Looks like it's just us," I sigh almost miserably, biting down on the inside of my cheek while he, using the wand still in his hand, gives my ribs a rough poke. "I'm just <em>saying</em>, it's not <em>all</em> that unbelievable that you might get fucked—y'know, in your <em>bottom—</em>by someone."</p><p>He shoves his wand harshly into my side, making me yelp softly and topple down to the bed. "Take that back!"</p><p>I scramble to sit back up, but then he's jabbing me with the wand again, making me gasp and fall onto my side while he starts to pick himself up. "Why?" I manage to exhale out, my breaths already shortening as I make a startled noise when I narrow dodge another jab from his wand, noticing the amused smirk he wears.</p><p>"I'm not <em>gay</em>, if you have noticed yet," he huffs irritably, getting me right in my stomach, making me curl up while my jaw drops in pain, though it doesn't sting for longer than a few seconds. </p><p>I away away his hand as it aims to jab some more at me, and then I freeze with a smirk. "How can you know for sure until you try—? <em>OW!</em>"</p><p>"Oh, don't be so dramatic."</p><p>"That <em>hurt!</em>" I spit right back in his face, staring up at him with wide-eyes shock and a dropped jaw while cradling my side.</p><p>His eyes widen slightly, face paling. "No it didn't," he says adamantly, though he doesn't look so sure.</p><p>I stare a little longer up at him, enjoying the way the blood drains from his already pale face with each passing second. I don't let myself blink, feeling my eyes start to sting as they plead to be allowed to close, and a few seconds later, they start tearing up.</p><p>Even through my blurring vision, even through the tears, I can see his face drop slightly in horror.</p><p>"Oh, <em>fuck</em>," he whispers under his breath, sitting up a little straighter, his hand farting out to touch my side where my own hand is and quickly retracting. "<em>Fuck</em>, I didn't—I didn't mean to—"</p><p>"You were right, it didn't!"</p><p>And with that I promptly dart away from the bed, managing to grab his wand and pull it out of his grip.</p><p>It takes him a second to register everything, and by that time Im almost at the door, grinning slightly and sprinting at it full speed despite my aching muscles. I even manage to grab the doorknob and wrench it open before Draco manages to come up from behind me.</p><p>He slams the door shut from around me when I've barely yanked it open a few inches, eliciting a gasp from my mouth as the hard panels of his chest come flat against my back.</p><p>"You're so <em>fucking </em>annoying," he groans right in my ear, my breath hitching in shock, and before I can even react, his arms are wrapping around me in an attempt to reach for his wand in my hand. I make quick work of shoving it down the neckline of my sweater, slotting it between my bra and my sternum. His arms then wrap tightly around my waist, pulling me up off the ground despite my gasped protests and smacking of my palm against his forearm, and he carries my flailing self back to the bed, easily tossing me onto the mattress.</p><p>I bounce on impact, my heart thudding faster than it did even when we were dueling. Quickly I manage to prop myself up on my hands, pulling my legs away from the edge of the bed where Draco approaches at a more languid pace, the look on his face telling me that he's struggling to contain a smirk.</p><p>"Annoying?" I ask breathlessly, feeling a little lightheaded as I slowly shift backwards away from him. "Am I? I didn't suppose—"</p><p>A gasp rips right out my chest when he reaches out to clasp a tight hand around my ankle and pull me back towards him, my back falling onto the mattress again. My skirt rides up a little, making my face burn, but Draco's animalistic gaze is focused right on my face even as I reach down to fix the hem.</p><p>"Give me my wand, Celeste," he says calmly, a knee propped onto the bed, his right hand still gripping my ankle to keep me where I am, though I prop myself back up on my elbows. His other hand is held out expectantly.</p><p>"No, thank you," I say sweetly, flashing the briefest of smiles.</p><p>Draco smiles back, and my heart skips a beat.</p><p>"I wasn't asking."</p><p>With that, he climbs onto the bed, pushing me back down onto the mattress. I manage to evade his hands, rolling out of the way only for him to wrap an arm around me and pull me back towards him, making me squeak slightly in surprise. His hands grapple at my hips, waist, thighs, pulling me back towards him even despite my struggles, even despite all my attempts to scramble away. He takes every elbow to the ribs with stride, grunting lowly in my ear and chuckling darkly as I lose my breath trying to get away while laughing and gasping at his every move.</p><p>"It's almost endearing what little upper-body strength you possess," he teases in my ear, grabbing me right as I nearly escape and lifting me up before slamming me down onto the mattress.</p><p>All the air knocks out of my lungs with one fell swoop, vision blurring worse than it already is for a few seconds before I blink and shake my head to clear it. And then I scowl ferociously, grabbing a pillow from beside me and swinging it towards him.</p><p>He blocks it with his arms, a wicked grin lighting up his face. Draco shoves against the pillows, making me fall back from where I'd climbed back onto my knees.</p><p>"Oh, you didn't like that I said that?" he scoffs light, blocking another swing of the pillow I grip. He then wrenches it out of my grasp, whacking it against my side a few times, making me nearly topple onto my other. "Give me my wand, you insufferable witch!"</p><p>It's only five minutes later that he has me pinned to his mattress, and frankly, I am far too fatigued after all that dueling to resist.</p><p>And so I lay there panting, my lips parted and my eyes shut. His rings are cold and biting against my wrists which he holds tightly, but his presence is warm—unbearably so when I'm already a little sweaty hot from our dueling. I wriggle my hands, prompting him to hold onto them tighter. His legs straddle mine, one knee on either side of my hips keeping me from kicking and writhing under him. And he's close enough that I can smell him, smell the apple in his hair and the light cologne that makes me cease my panting and shut my lips to inhale deeply through my nostrils.</p><p>"Done?" he teases lowly, and I open a singular eye to glare up at his blurry face.</p><p>"Shut up," I sigh, my arms going completely limp and my eyes falling back shut. "I'm not <em>done</em>, I just..."</p><p>"Give up?"</p><p>"No," I snap quickly. "Just... taking a little break. That's all."</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>Draco laughs lightly. "I'm getting my wand back. Are you gonna give it to me, or do I have to take it?"</p><p>I roll my eyes behind closed lids. "Just take it."</p><p>He lets go of both my wrists, and I don't bother moving my hands a single inch as one of his hands slips under the hem of my sweater. His fingertips skim my skin, goosebumps sprouting where he touches me, but I don't move or speak. I keep my eyes shut, sure that I don't want to see how intensely he must be watching me, focusing on nothing but breaking while his fingers slip his wand back into his grasp.</p><p>His hand moves out of my sweater, and then he collapses down on the bed beside me with a tired groan.</p><p>I open an eye, turning my head to peek at him. And when I see him, my other eye opens as well to soak in his entire presence.</p><p>He looks exhausted, but he looks so alive. His skin is pale but flushed at his cheeks, highlighting under those high, regal cheekbones of his. Draco's lips are soft and parted, a strawberry shade making it tempting to roll onto my side and capture them with mine. They almost look like they would taste like them—like strawberries, sweet, sweet berries. His eyes are closed, long lashes at rest, chin tilted up, blond strands scattered over his forehead. He almost looks asleep, and the thought makes my stomach twist as I remember waking up holding onto him in the Room of Requirements.</p><p>"Can I be honest with you?" he asks in a tired voice, and I snap my head back to look at the ceiling, pulse pounding as if I've been caught though his eyes remain shut.</p><p>"Yeah," I say in a weak voice. I clear my throat, face burning. "<em>Yes</em>," I repeat more firmly, so painfully aware of my leg under one of us and his arm against my ribs.</p><p>Draco inhales deeply. He holds his breath for several seconds, and when he lets it out, it's slowly, hardly audible. He then murmurs, "I didn't really think you'd take it out on me—your frustration—by dueling me." There's a mildly amused hint in his voice. "You might not like that, but I was expecting something far different."</p><p>"Expecting?" I ask coolly, my pulse picking up even as my breaths steady. "You were expecting sex from me?"</p><p>"Not like <em>that</em>, Celeste," he chides quickly, sounding somewhat annoyed. "Not in a <em>you-owe-me</em> way, more in a... well you were shoving me against a bookshelf and sticking your tongue down my throat. What the hell else would I expect?"</p><p>"Shut up," I snap quickly, lazily shifting my arm to smack his chest. It then just sit there, the back of my palm against his beating heart, and neither of us make any indication to change it.</p><p>"Can you blame me?"</p><p>"What, are you disappointed that's not how it turned out?" I huff, my cheeks hot and my eyes now squeezed shut.</p><p>Honestly speaking, I did follow him to his room to fuck the living daylights out of him or have him do the same to me. But then I'd pulled my wand out, and suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to shoot a spell right at his head.</p><p>Luckily (for him), he dodged it.</p><p>"I feel like there's no correct way to answer that," he responds dryly, "not unless I want you trying to hex me. <em>Again</em>."</p><p>I slowly open my eyes, turning my head to the right to look at him again. His sharp, silver eyes, filled with moonlight and storm clouds, are focused on the ceiling, watching the Black Lake's reflection dance. His right hand rubs his jaw lightly, and then as his eyes lower, it creeps onto his chest. I watch, my breath faltering in my lungs, as his fingertips slowly trace the lines of my palm. I can hardly feel it, not with my blood still rushing so tremendously, but I can almost imagine the sensation. His nails drag light over the sensitive skin, thumb massages the heel of my palm, and then leisurely, he rests the weight of his palm on mine.</p><p>"Easter holidays are coming up," he murmurs.</p><p>"Yeah," I mumble back, curling my fingers over his hand.</p><p>Draco turns his head to look at me, and my heart gets caught halfway up my throat when his sharp eyes connect with mine, catching me watching him. I swallow lightly, but I don't look away.</p><p>"You ready to be a debutante?"</p><p>I groan softly, hearing him chuckle as my eyes scrunch close in dismay. "Oh, I for<em>got</em> about that... I mean with everything else, it's been the last thing on my mind. I don't plan to do it—go, attend, be a stupid debutante."</p><p>"No?" he queries curiously, his fingers extending so that two of them rub lightly against my wrist. "Do you even have a choice?"</p><p>"I don't know, but as soon as my mother—" I cut myself off, eyes glazing over slightly. As soon as she what? Comes back? Writes a bloody letter? "I intend to tell her that I won't be participating."</p><p>"And why not? It's tradition," he says, though he doesn't sound so bothered.</p><p>"It's misogynistic and stupid, just like most traditions are," I say without thinking, and then a small frown flirts at my lips. For some reason, my mind goes back to what Jacobs said to me only a few hours ago while we were hidden away at the back of the library, about blood and water. "It just... going to a stupid debutante ball doesn't feel important in the slightest. Not with everything that's happen. I just can't find the energy to go."</p><p>He's quiet for a little while, palm lifting from mine so that his fingertips can dance and trace my fingers. He plays with one of them gently, his arm next to my side shifting so his elbow isn't jamming into me as much.</p><p>"Maybe you can't find it cause you spent it all wrecking my arse in a duel," he then rasps lowly, leaning his head towards me.</p><p>My eyebrows lift in surprise, and then a haughty grin finds my mouth. "Hah! So you admit to defeat?"</p><p>"Mm... only if you admit you can't beat me in wrestling."</p><p>"Well, obviously. You're a whole head taller than me, asshole," I scoff, at which he lightly pinches my wrist. And then I smirk softly. "Which reminds me—you should know, you don't have to be gay."</p><p>Draco turns his head to look at me, clearly confused. "What was that?"</p><p>"To get fucked in your ass?" I add bluntly, laughing lightly at his shocked look. "You don't have to be gay for that to happen."</p><p>He stares at me with bewilderment for a little while longer, and then Draco makes an irritated noise before shoving my hand off his chest and moving to sit up with a slight grunt. "I'm not <em>bi</em> either," he snaps irritably, slipping off the bed while I sit up to watch him pour himself a cup of water from his bedside.</p><p>"You don't have to be bi either," I nearly giggle, quirking a brow when he points his wand at me with raised eyebrows. "Oh, I'm <em>so</em> scared."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I'm just saying—it could always be a girl."</p><p>His hand goes limp, eyes losing a bit of their light. They then drop to my lips where they hold steady for nearly a minute, and then he suddenly sniffs and rubs his nose with the back of his palm while setting his wand down on his bedside. "Whatever. I'm gonna go take a shower now before dinner, are you staying?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"In my room, are you staying? If you are, you better not touch a thing, or I'll chop your hands off clean," he asserts, ignoring my scoff as he walks over to his bathroom.</p><p>"I'll <em>leave</em> thanks."</p><p>"Mhm. Sure, you can leave, but I'll leave the door unlocked in case you want to join," he drawls sarcastically, silver eyes rolling in their sockets while he steps into the bathroom, leaving the door unlocked so I can watch him glance at himself in the mirror.</p><p>I blink blankly, my eyes widening and mouth opening and shutting much like a fish while I struggle to find the words to respond. A few seconds pass, and the he turns his head to look at me sitting on his bed.</p><p>And then Draco squints at me, neck flushing a light shade of pink. He rests his hand on the counter, jaw shifting side to side while his chest shakes with a small laugh.</p><p>"Did you think I was serious?" he asks coolly, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching on its perch.</p><p>"Well—No—"</p><p>A grin befalls his face. "You thought I was <em>serious</em>."</p><p>"<em>No</em>," I insist defensively, sitting up a little straighter.</p><p>"I mean, I wouldn't <em>mind</em> if you thought I was serious, but I wasn't—"</p><p>"I'm leaving!" I blurt, my face burning with hot, hot fire while I slip off his bed and grab my shoes, which we'd kicked off whilst dueling, and my wand, avoiding his gaze.</p><p><em>Idiot</em>.</p><p>I can't explain <em>why</em> I feel so embarrassed as he laughs softly at me and bids me adieu while I walk out the door. Normally, if anyone spoke to me like that, told me, jokingly or not, that I could join them in the shower, I'd more than take it in stride. I'd surprise <em>them</em> and waltz right into their shower as if it's just as much mine.</p><p>I don't stutter and <em>run away</em>.</p><p>Stupid, idiot boy.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>MARCH 16th, 1997</b>
</p><p>"Yeah," Pansy scoffs, kicking a stray quill on the hallway floor aside while walking beside me at a languid pace with her hands shoved into her pockets, "I tried telling my parents 'no' too. Y'know, I actually did it the mature way? No tantrum, no screaming at them at the dinner table during Christmas, no slamming my door. I wrote them a very strongly-worded but very mature letter telling them that I <em>refuse</em> to be a stupid debutante and pretend to be straight so they can show me off to all their friends and pretend they're, like, actually proud of me."</p><p>She scoffs bitterly, kicking another stray item (a water bottle this time) and watching it crash into the wall. "As if they don't run off to Cuba or Peru or whatever on another bloody vacation any time I'm home for more than three weeks..."</p><p>"And they didn't accept," I assume, slipping my hands into my pockets to grab my wand to put my hair up. I frown when I find them empty, groaning when I realize I left my wand in the dorm.</p><p>"<em>No</em>, they didn't bloody well accept it! They didn't say, 'Oh, you don't have to go if it doesn't make you comfortable,' but you know what they <em>did</em> say?"</p><p>I wince. "Tell me."</p><p>"They said that there's <em>nothing </em>wrong with being gay, but apparently I'm just confused—as if I don't know my own bloody self—and I'll regret <em>acting gay</em> in a decade when I'm unmarried and without children! <em>Please!</em> How can they act like—act like they know me better than I know myself when we have <em>two</em> sit-down meals a year? <em>Salazar</em>, and I told them about Verona, and—"</p><p>I glance at Pansy with a small frown when she falters.</p><p>Her hair has grown out in these last few months, now brushing against her shoulders and long enough to act as a curtain to cover her reddened face while she focuses her gaze down on the floor, already slow strides subduing.</p><p>"I'm supposed to break up with her by the end of the year."</p><p>I freeze in my step. "<em>What?</em>"</p><p>She stops walking too, her arms wrapped around herself and her chin jutted defiantly into the air, but her brown eyes refuse to look any higher than my knees. "I told them about her, they asked for her last name. I told them, they realized she isn't a Pure-blood, and now if I don't break up with her by the end of the school-year, they said they'll send me to Beauxbatons."</p><p>"To—To Beauxbatons?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"Well, then—then you <em>have</em> to!"</p><p>Pansy's face twists in confusion. "I have to?"</p><p>"Break up with her. You have to break up with her, Panz," I say insistently, a frown tainting my lips as I reach out to grip her arm. "You can't just go to Beaux—"</p><p>"I can't just break up with Ver—"</p><p>"I mean, it's either you break up with her and stay at Hogwarts or get pulled away from her anyway and go to Beauxbatons," I scoff incredulously, eyebrows twisting together tightly.</p><p>She looks at me, utterly stunned, brown eyes wider than I've ever seen and a stray strand of hair crossing over her nose</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Y—"</p><p>"Cel, I can't just break <em>up</em> with her," she says softly, eyes widening further, looking at me imploringly. "I mean, I know—I know I have to, but I <em>can't</em>, okay, I <em>can't.</em>"</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"I just—<em>Fuck</em>, I just—Was it the fact that she's my <em>girl</em>friend and not my boyfriend? Or was it that she's not a Pureblood?" she exhales all in one breath, her own hand coming up to grip my shoulder, nails digging harshly into my skin even through the shirt I wear. "I just—I don't <em>get</em> it, I don't get what they care about, what their priorities are, cause—I mean—whatever, yeah, the Pureblood thing, the whole having kids that are Purebloods too and how I need a guy's fucking dick for that, but I brought up how there are <em>other </em>ways to get pregnant without having to marry a stupid <em>guy</em>, but—"</p><p>She bites her lip, worried eyes looking away.</p><p>I inhale deeply, pushing away my urge to tell her to just get it all over with. Instead, I exhale deeply and slide my arm from her shoulder to cup the side of her face. "Tell me."</p><p>"Celeste, they don't <em>care</em>."</p><p>"About..?"</p><p>"About me, not in the slightest."</p><p>My face falls instantly, something in my chest crumpling apart. She looks at me stoically, though, furrowed eyebrows slowly relaxing while she awakes a response.</p><p>"I mean, if they did, they'd be around a shit ton more often, wouldn't they? And if they did, they'd care more about just marrying me off and getting me off of their hands. They'd care about more than whether or not I have the perfect grandchildren. But they don't—all they do care about is that I get married to someone that makes them look good, have children that make them look. It doesn't matter if I'm miserable, it just matters that <em>they look good</em>. And having a wife? Not having kids? Or maybe being with someone that doesn't have their blood status? That doesn't fit their narrative. It makes it harder for them to pretend that we're perfect."</p><p>My throat is impossibly dry as I swallow thickly. Pansy watches me intensely for a few seconds more, and then she gently slips away from me to continue down the hall at her lazy pace, fists shoved into the pockets of her jacket.</p><p>"Panz, wait."</p><p>"It's almost curfew, Cel. We have to head back."</p><p>"Just—" I interrupt myself with a harsh sigh, pulling my left sleeve down over my knuckles as the Dark Mark hiding on my skin all of a sudden flares up in the intensity of its burn. I speed up to catch up with her, my hand gripping her wrist to make her slow down a little. "Pansy, listen—"</p><p>"I don't really want to talk about this anymore," Pansy says sharply, but the brief crack in her voice tells me so much otherwise.</p><p>"The whole—The whole blood thing—"</p><p>"Y'know, Celeste," Pansy whips around all of a sudden, her eyes wide and her overgrown bangs tangling with her lashes, "the whole <em>blood purity</em> thing is great. It's fucking <em>great</em>, y'know? I'm all for it, you're all for it, we're all fucking for it, because what isn't there to love about protecting traditions, protecting integrity? There isn't anything there not to love about it," she says, shaking her head a little while her lips quirk up with a dry laugh, "until it doesn't match the person <em>you love</em>."</p><p>
  <em>The person you love.</em>
</p><p>"Love?" I repeat, feeling a little light-headed. "You... You love her? Verona?"</p><p>"You didn't hear me properly?"</p><p>"But she's a..."</p><p>"Half-blood? Yeah, I'm aware."</p><p>"I thought you two were just... I don't know. I didn't think it was that serious. <em>That</em> serious."</p><p>Pansy shakes her head slightly. "I mean, I knew from the start it wouldn't be a forever thing. I'm a Pure-blood, she's a half-blood, and I can't marry one much less a girl. I didn't mind, though. It's only Hogwarts, I was only sixteen. It was just supposed to be <em>fun</em>."</p><p>"Yeah, but you were—you <em>are</em> seventeen, Panz, what do you even know about <em>love?</em>" I asked tiredly, looking at her with a mix of exasperation and incredulity.</p><p>Her expression matches mine. "You sound <em>just</em> like them."</p><p>"Pansy, I don't—"</p><p>"I'm gonna walk back to the dungeons, and if it wouldn't bother you too much, I'd prefer to do so alone," she asserts lowly, her eyebrows lifted but her gaze downcast as she continues on down the hallway.</p><p>"Don't—"</p><p>"Please."</p><p>I open my mouth to say something, it say <em>anything</em>, to stop her, but nothing comes out. Instead, I watch her walk away, her arms wrapped around herself, one of her shoelaces untied, and her footsteps light as she rounds the corner without me.</p><p>I wait until her footsteps are long gone before turning around with a heavy sigh, resigning to taking the long way back.</p><p>I could use a walk to clear my head, anyway.</p><p>The whole blood thing, the whole blood thing—The whole blood thing is the reason why I am where I am, isn't it? It's the reason why my father is dead, it's the reason why I died, it's the reason why I had to take the Mark to save myself, it's the reason why I have to kill a man, it's the reason why everything is <em>fucked</em>.</p><p>But I'm not—I'm <em>not</em> supposed to think that way. I could also say it's Muggles, it's Muggle-borns, it's Mudblood lovers and Mudbloods themselves that are to blame. That if they knew their place, everything wouldn't be so messy.</p><p>The blood thing, the <em>bloody</em> blood thing. It's everything, isn't it? It's in everything, it encompasses everything, and there are so many ways of looking at it.</p><p>I remember, as I turn a corner at my slow, meandering pace, when years ago my parents told me about the blood thing. About blood purity, about what it means, about its importance. I remember them telling people about old-school blood purists—the ones that hate Muggle-horns because they truly believe they stole magic from actual witches and wizards.</p><p>"Those purists," my father had said, "those don't know what they are saying. Those are fear-mongering, filled with fear themselves."</p><p>My mother had continued for him, "Don't listen to anyone who tries to convince you that Muggle-borns steal their magic. It's impossible to do so, the Fundamental Laws of Magic say so themself. Magic can be conserved, preserved, grown, destroyed, and even spontaneously produced, but it cannot stolen. Not in the way these purists think. Magic may be inhibited, but it cannot be practiced by those unable to wield it. And magic <em>always</em> is loyal to its rightful possessor."</p><p>"It's not about the blood itself, nor is it even magic," my father had then said, "it's about the <em>culture</em>. It's about the traditions. It's about the core of wizardkind, about how it slowly chips away as more and more practitioners of magic refuse to practice it properly. Refuse to understand anything beyond its uses, refuse to understand its connection with the soul."</p><p>"They might understand magic, but we <em>are</em> magic."</p><p>We <em>are</em> magic. We are magic more than they'll ever be, and we don't need to mix with those that aren't worth our presence. Genius can only be stimulated when surrounded by other genius, and the same goes for brilliance and excellence.</p><p>Magic hurts.</p><p>Blood, blood, <em>blood</em>, I don't even <em>know</em> what's in my blood.</p><p>I freeze when I realize this, right in the middle of the hallway.</p><p>I don't even <em>know</em> what's in my blood. All I know is that I have my mother's, and I'm not sure I want hers in me anymore. I don't even have my father's. He's not even my <em>father</em>, he never was. I don't have him, I don't have his strong hands, his hazel eyes, his warm smile, his broad stature. I don't have him, and I don't have his blood. I don't have anything.</p><p>I have my mother's blood and some strange man, some strange man that wasn't up to her standards and wouldn't have been up to her parents'. And my stomach twists sickeningly at the thought of what <em>his</em> blood might have been.</p><p>What my blood <em>is</em>.</p><p>And what my blood is doing to me.</p><p>It's when I inhale deeply, shake my head, and gather myself enough to continue walking that I hear a loud grunt.</p><p>Again, I freeze, eyebrows twisting with confusion. I manage to shift a few steps forward, straining my ear for more, and comes another grunt, followed by a great string of curses, incomprehensible shouting, a great thud, and a pained groan.</p><p>Instantly, I'm darting to round the corner, my feet skidding to a stop and breath catching in my throat when I see two figures grappling at each other, fists swinging to aim at stomachs, jaws, elbows jamming down over back and into sides, knees kicking up wherever they can reach, and fingers curled into blond locks, grasping them with such vigor.</p><p>"Malfoy—"</p><p>He doesn't seem to notice me, swinging his arm back and lugging it forward to crash his tightly clenched fist into Potter jaw, the spectacles flying off the green-eyes boys face and crashing down near my feet, glass lenses cracking.</p><p>"Malfoy—!"</p><p>I step forward, my hands raised as if to pull them apart, but I falter, no idea how to stop them without getting a hit in my own gut. I take another step, and in that moment, Potter heaves Draco away from him, sending him crashing backwards towards a wall.</p><p>"Get the <em>fuck</em> away from me!"</p><p>Draco grits his teeth, lips forming something between a bitter grin and a malicious scowl. He pushes off the wall, his bleeding hand rising to wipe at his broken lip, and he rasps, "Then get her name out your filthy mouth."</p><p>Potter doesn't have time to duck or even move before Draco's aiming at his jaw again, sending him crashing to the floor. Potter rolls away, attempting to get back up, but Draco's right there sending kick after kick at his gut. Potter groans, curling about himself, and I catch a small trickle of blood down the side of his skull where he fell.</p><p>"Fuck, Malfoy, <em>stop it! </em>Are you—?"</p><p>It's like he can't hear anything, kicking at every inch of Potter that he can get to, from his legs to his gut to his face to his back, until Potter manages to grab his leg, forcing him down to the ground.</p><p>My breath hitches as I watch Potter get on top of him, his fists now taking their turn at Draco's face.</p><p>"Get off of him!" I shout, my heart thundering it's way up my throat while I ravage through all my pockets, desperate to find my wand. "Don't make me blast another bloody hole, except this time it'll be right in your scar-faced head! Get <em>off</em> of him, damnit! Where's my... Where's my wand..?" I pant softly.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>I left it in the dorm.</p><p>When I look back at them, feeling a little lightheaded, my heart beating so fast it may as well not be beating at all my vision is a little blurry. I blink away the dancing spots, stumbling forward a little. They've both gotten up at some point, and Harry's crashing into a wall. He squints at Draco, blood dripping over his forehead, and he ducks when Draco goes for another punch, his fist colliding with the wall.</p><p>"<em>Fuck!</em>"</p><p>"What the hell is your issue?!"</p><p>"<em>You—</em>" Draco darts towards Harry, shoving him up against the wall with one hand pressed to his shoulder and the other punching up into his gut, making the Gryffindor groan. "You don't <em>fucking</em> learn. Do you, Potter?"</p><p>His fist continues pummeling into Potter's gut, the raven-haired boy's eyes dropping shut and body going limp except to tense up with every impact.</p><p>I take a step forward, my breath hitching as his glasses crack under my foot. I look down at the shattered glass blankly, and then at Potter's loud grunt I'm quickly striding over to him and Draco.</p><p>"Stop it," I exhale, my hand clasping Draco's shoulder to pull him away, but it's like he doesn't notice me the slightest. "Malfoy, you—you're going to get in trouble, you need to <em>stop</em>. I told you, didn't I? I told you, you <em>can't</em>, so <em>stop it</em>, you have to—"</p><p>Draco's arm pushes me back, swinging up to get Potter under his jaw. I stumble backwards, and then I grip his arm to pull him away, my ribs aching slightly where he pushed me. Any second now, a patrolling professor will come running by, and he'll himself in trouble.</p><p>He turns his head over his shoulder, fury written all<br/>over his face, and he pushes me away again. Potter takes his chance to get away from the wall, kicking Draco right in the gut. He goes staggering back, nearly crashing into me, and then he and Potter are back to swinging at each other.</p><p>"Fucking <em>stop</em> it, you dumb fucking <em>idiot!</em> Stop! You're going to get yourself bloody well ex—expelled—" I gasp, nearly getting stepped on by both boys, stumbling backwards. "You—Malfoy, you—"</p><p>I touch his arm lightly, and at this he turns and pushes me away with all his strength. I go staggering and crashing into the wall, my foot slipping and down I go falling to the floor. The wind gets knocked right out of my lungs, vision momentarily blurring further. It takes me a few seconds to clear both my eyes and my head, my hand rising slowly to touch the back of my head where it hit the wall.</p><p>My legs, extended out in front of me, slowly curl while the black spots dance in my vision, making it hard to see the two boys in front of me.</p><p>I open my mouth to speak, my chest feeling tight and the air hard to go in and out of my trachea.</p><p>"Draco..?"</p><p>"<em>What?</em>" he spits, looking at Harry who leans against the other wall, panting and spitting a mix of saliva and blood onto the floor.</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>He turns around, looking suddenly so tall from where I sit on the ground, waiting for the light dizziness to pass so I can get up. His face is bruised, a little blood trialing form his lip to his chin, even more smeared on his cheeks from his broken knuckles. His silver eyes are daggers, and the way they glare at me harshly makes my stomach twist painfully.</p><p>"Are you done?" I ask hoarsely, carefully moving to sit in my knees.</p><p>"No."</p><p>I give him a look, pressing my hand into the stone floor while carefully rising to my feet. I'm hit with a rush of dizziness, briefly closing my eyes and leaning back against the wall until it passes. When I open my eyes, Draco is watching me closely, his chest rising and falling with his each heavy breath.</p><p>"We're going. <em>Now</em>."</p><p>—</p><p>"You absolute bloody, <em>blithering</em> idiot!"</p><p>I slam the door shut behind me, a small gust of wind blowing my curls from behind. Draco looks up from where he stands next to his coffee table, grey eyes tired and completely unimpressed.</p><p>"Fucking <em>stupid!</em>"</p><p>He sits down on the armchair, head rolling back to rest in the top of it and muscled body going limp and relaxed, a little slouched in the seat. I swallow thickly, scanning his lean figure and the way half his shirt is unbuttoned and covered in little blood stains, and I storm up to the nightstand sitting at his bedside.</p><p>Quickly, I pout a tall glass of water from the pitcher, closing my eyes while I gulp it down quickly. I hear Draco grunt slightly in pain, making em roll my eyes irritably. I pour the glass another fill before turning around and striding up to him from behind the arm chair, leaning over the back to hold the glass out for him to take.</p><p>His eyes open slowly. He glances up at me, hardly having to move to do so considering his head is tilted back and I'm leaning over him, and then he looks down at the water.</p><p>"I'm not thirsty," he rasps hoarsely.</p><p>"Do you <em>think</em> I care whether you're thirsty or not? <em>Drink</em>."</p><p>Draco rolls his eyes, which seems to take him more energy than he has as he goes limper still and and closes his eyes again. His mildly trembling hand reaches up to grasp blindly for the glass, fingertips nearly knocking it out of mine. I make a noise of irritation, grabbing his hand with one of mine and forcing the cup into it. He groans with pain, and I quickly let go, realizing I've touched his broken knuckles.</p><p>"You're an <em>idiot</em>, Malfoy."</p><p>"So I heard," he mutters, and then he tilts his head forward and brings the cup up to his lips to take a few small sips.</p><p>"Do you have a first aid kit?"</p><p>"You can leave."</p><p>"Shut up and answer me, dumbass."</p><p>"Do you want me to answer you, or do you want me to shut up?"</p><p>"<em>Malfoy!</em>"</p><p>"Under the bathroom sink," he says lowly, a slight smirk on his pink, bleeding lips while he takes another sip of his water.</p><p>"Was that so hard..?"</p><p>I soon find myself kneeling between both of his legs, my face burning slightly at the suggestive position and my mind struggling between dwelling on that and pushing those thoughts away to properly deal with <em>him</em>. I'm not as gentle on his hands as I probably should be, enjoying a little bit as he hisses and groans as I clean his knuckles off with water, rub a little quick-healing salve to keep them from infecting and to grow the skin back within a day, and wrap them tightly with bandages.</p><p>"<em>Careful</em>, witch," he seethes when I press the salve into his knuckles a little hard.</p><p>"I'm not a fucking <em>Healer</em>, Malfoy, and it's not like you can see Pomfrey unless you want to be expelled for attacking a fucking student," I snap right back, making a point out of squeezing his hand and watching his eyes squeeze tight. "Fucking idiot... Just you wait until Potter goes running to the old man. You screwed up."</p><p>"<em>Please</em>. He won't."</p><p>"And why not?"</p><p>"He'd have to explain why he's sending House-elves to follow me and charming objects to act like trackers on me, and I truly doubt he'll enjoy doing so," Draco scoffs dryly, curling his hand up in mine as I brush one of the wounds, this time accidentally.</p><p>I look up at his face with a frown. "He <em>what?</em>"</p><p>"You heard me. Why do you think I was beating his ugly fucking arse in?"</p><p>I pause, my eyes slowly drifting back down to his left hand. I've already cleaned and wrapped his right, which currently holds the empty glass cup and taps his finger against it rhythmically.</p><p>"That's not what I heard you say to him," I murmur quietly, putting the tube of salve back down into the first-aid kit. He inhaled loudly, his right leg which is pressed to my side moving a bit outwards.</p><p>"What was that?"</p><p>I bite down on the inside of my lip, my thumbs rubbing the salve into his hand. "You said... You said, 'Get her name out your mouth.'"</p><p>He freezes.</p><p>I continue rubbing his knuckles.</p><p>"Filthy."</p><p>Now I freeze. "What?"</p><p>"I said, 'Get her name out your <em>filthy</em> mouth,'" he says suavely, sounding completely unperturbed.</p><p>I reach down into the kit, pulling the bandages back out to start wrapping his left hand just like his right all while avoiding looking at his face. I can sense his eyes have opened, though, and I can tell that their sharp gaze is fixated right on me.</p><p>"Whose name?" I ask coolly, my eyebrows lifted and eyes lowered as I now handle his wounds more gently.</p><p>His foot shifts where it's planted in the ground, brushing lightly against my calf.</p><p>"Whose do you think?"</p><p>My teeth gnaw deeper into the inside of my lip, my ears starting to heat up. Carefully, I wrap the bandages around his hand, ignoring the way his palm is so rough and warm on mine. "I told you not to do anything about it," I say softly, my mind going back to that conversation with Slughorn at his party and my stomach dropping at the memory. "I'm pretty sure Slughorn was just exaggerating... I haven't even heard anything about it since, you know? It was probably just Potter babbling to him. I told you, Malfoy, I told you not to do anything. Why would you be so <em>stupid?</em> I told you."</p><p>"I know you did, Celeste," he croaks slightly, a chill passing my spine at the way my name sounds on his rasping tongue.</p><p>He then leans forward in the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees. His bandages right hand comes near my face, my breath hitching embarrassingly loudly when his fingertips tentatively brush my hair out of my face and then trail down to tilt my chin up.</p><p>"Sometimes," he murmurs quietly, blond hair falling in his forehead, my eyes catching into the thin lock stained pink with blood, "sometimes I do stupid things."</p><p>His thumb brushes lightly on my lip, so lightly it may have been a mistake. My pulse thuds in my neck as he tilts my chin up higher, both my hands frozen solid around his left one.</p><p>"Sometimes I do <em>really </em>stupid things when I'm angry, or upset."</p><p>My throat goes dry, and suddenly I wish he hadn't drank all that water himself. I think he gets a little blood on my chin as he strokes his thumb against it, trembling fingers splaying out over my cheek, but I don't mind. I can't help but lean lightly into the touch.</p><p>"Besides," he then whispers lowly, eyes resting in my lips while he slowly leans back in the arm chair and drags his hand away from my face, "someone had to give him a lesson. How's your head, darling?"</p><p>"My head?"</p><p>"You hit the wall."</p><p>"Oh, it's—" I pause. There's a light pang at the back of it, but it should be nothing more than bruise. "It's fine."</p><p>"I'm sorry."</p><p>"It's fine."</p><p>I clear my throat as he tilts his head back against the chair again and closes his eyes, finding my lips tingling with the lost proximity and wondering what it would have been like if he'd leaned in all the way to press his to mine. It would have tasted like blood, I think, especially since I haven't gotten around to cleaning his face. I wouldn't mind so much.</p><p>So I finish wrapping his left hand quietly, wondering <em>why</em> I'm so quiet while I do it. Wondering why the prospect of saying anything makes my stomach twist uneasily, wondering why the image of him pressing his bloody lips to mine makes my face hot.</p><p>When I finish wrapping it, I turn it wrist up to tuck the tail of the bandage into it, and that's when I see it.</p><p>I frown when I see the pink, splotchy skin on the inside of his left forearm where the unbuttoned cuffs of his sleeves rode up. There's so much red, pink, discoloration marring is white skin where the Dark Mark is hidden. I reach out for it tentatively. It's almost as if the skin has peeled, a great circle of pink scarring him.</p><p>"Is this a burn?" I ask quietly, and he stiffens. He doesn't respond though, but I'm busy examining it. "Have you gotten it checked?"</p><p>"It's fine."</p><p>"It looks a little rough."</p><p>"I just spilled a little hot water the other day. It'll be fine."</p><p>His hand tenses, slowly moving to pull out of mine. I frown softly, scanning his arm, wondering if my eyes are playing tricks on me when I see a more faded pink splotch further up, a shade close enough to his actual skin that I hardly notice it.</p><p>"You should be more careful," I murmur, letting go of his hand and dropping mine in his lap.</p><p>"Fine. Yeah," Draco says curtly, avoiding my eyes as he sits up straighter. "Listen, thanks for the hands. You can go now, I can deal with the rest myself."</p><p>My face sours slightly. "You're kidding, right? If I can't even trust you not into get into a stupid fight every other day, I sure as bloody hell can't trust you to deal with <em>this</em> properly."</p><p>Draco makes an irritated noise, stifling a wince as he moves to get up out of his arm chair. He staggers out of it slowly, using the arm to straighten himself up, and then he makes his way into the bathroom while I bring myself up to my own feet while shooting an annoyed glare at him.</p><p>"What do you even care who I'm getting into fights with, huh? Why the fuck do you care?" he grumbles slightly, leaving the bathroom door unlocked before stepping into.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>, you're stupid," I groan, rolling my eyes up at the ceiling while following after him, the first-aid kit in my hands.</p><p>"Yeah? You don't give a shit, Celeste."</p><p>"Yeah?" I mock him right back while stopping at the door, glowering at the way he rolls his eyes. My hands tremble slightly as I step into the bathroom and all but slam the kit down onto the counter. "Well, then I guess I give more shits than you think."</p><p>I see him frown at me through the mirror, but I ignore it as my face heats up and hands move to open the first-aid kit again. When I look back up at the mirror, hes unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off his arms, making me nearly drop the bottle of antiseptic and sending it shattering on the floor.</p><p>I clear my throat and look away when he looks back up.</p><p>"You're worried I'll get expelled," he notes calmly, draping the shirt over his arm before setting it on the bathroom counter.</p><p>I watch him examine himself in his reflection, his fingers trailing over the slowly forming bruises on his ribs and stomach, other hand touching his jaw, lips, and cheekbone.</p><p>"You <em>are</em> my partner on this task," I mumble lowly, forcing myself not to look away when his sharp eyes dart away from his chest to me.</p><p>Draco then scans me, and my entire body tenses up as if he's actually touching me and not just tearing my nerves apart with his gaze. They settle on the neckline of my thin shirt, making me shiver, the cut of my jeans, making my hands wring, and then they go back to my eyes in my reflection.</p><p>"You could do this task without me," he says simply.</p><p>I shake my head.</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"I don't think I could do this without you."</p><p>"What, the task?"</p><p>I pause, my eyes stuck on his. It's like his cold gaze has frozen me solid, rendering me incapable of even lifting a finger to brush that annoying curl out of my face. My lips remain sorted, my cheeks growing warm, my eyes starting to sting, and my gut twisting and churning.</p><p>"Yeah," I then exhale, prying my gaze away from his and blinking quickly. "Yeah. That."</p><p>His fingers tap against the counter top. We stand in silence for a few moments longer, my skin crawling with the uneasiness of it all.</p><p>"You really don't have to stay, you know," he then mutters lowly.</p><p>I open my mouth, falter, close it. I open my mouth, hesitate, and glance aside. I then inhale sharply. "Actually... I think Pansy and I... well, I don't know if it was a <em>fight </em>exactly, but it wasn't—it wasn't great, and I don't know if she'll want me in her room tonight..."</p><p>He doesn't say anything, but I hear his breath falter.</p><p>"Could I stay the night? Just this once."</p><p>He swallows audibly. "Yeah. That would be fine."</p><p>"Okay," I say lightly, my head feeling dizzy again as I look down at my hands tapping nervously on the countertop, "alright. Well, then, why don't you show me your jaw? I'll finish cleaning you up, and then we can, y'know..."</p><p>"Right," he says, turning to face me, his own hand tapping on the counter, "sounds good."</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>MARCH 20th, 1997</b>
</p><p>I'm exhausted.</p><p>Jacobs and I have been sitting in the library for hours now, hidden away all the way in the back and pouring over text books on runes and runes and runes and runes.</p><p>"Celeste," she sighs right as my head starts dropping forward, mind threatening to slip into into the monstrous abyss that is sleep without a draught to drop me into it, "are we done for the day? I'm so tired, and I was supposed to finish an essay for Astronomy today."</p><p>"Yeah," I exhale back, rubbing my eyes and lazily closing the textbook in front of me. "Yeah, we're done. Same time next week? Or sooner, preferably, if you can manage."</p><p>"I can—" Jacobs interrupts herself with a soft yawn, she's slipping shut and her fingers going limp to drop the quill in her hand. "Ah. I can probably do Thursday. Good?"</p><p>"Yeah, good. Good, Thursday's good," I mutter, pushing my chair out from under the table and coming to a wobbly stand.</p><p>"And, uh, here are all the notes I took on the textbook I read from today," she sighs, tapping a stack of parchment sitting on the table before leaning down to grab her bag from under her chair.</p><p>"Okay. Thanks."</p><p>"I tried looking for all the runes that you told me to, but I could only find one. Took a few brief notes on the other ones too, just in case you wanted me to."</p><p>"That's good, Jacobs," I yawn, nearly collapsing with the energy it takes to stay up on my two feet. "Sounds good."</p><p>"You'll put these back in the Restricted Section?"</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"And you'll get back to the dungeons alright? You look like you might collapse any second now."</p><p>"Go to sleep, Jacobs," I groan lowly, tired of hearing her voice permeating the silence and peace of the library.</p><p>She pauses, shifting slightly. "You're not gonna tell me what all this research on runes is for, are you?"</p><p>"Not a chance."</p><p>"Right. Goodnight, then, Celeste," she says with a soft sigh, pushing her chair into the table before turning around to trudge off.</p><p>"Goodnight."</p><p>After she leaves, I make quick work of gathering all my own things and lugging the textbooks back to the Restricted Section, using my pass signed by Slughorn to get in. I shove them all away so quickly that I'm <em>sure</em> not a single one is back where it was initially, but I'm also sure the magic will take care of that for me.</p><p>Slowly, I make my way back to the dungeons, passing a seventh-year Prefect along the way who tells me to hurry before I miss curfew and get a detention.</p><p>I only have energy to flip them off, and my hand moves so slowly to do so that they already have their back to me by the time my middle finger is up.</p><p>Down in the dungeons, I unlock the door to our dorm. When I enter and close the door behind me, I find it devoid of Pansy. Disappointed but not surprise, I strip and change into my pajamas and brush my teeth rather haphazardly before climbing into bed with a glass of water and draught in it. I'm not sure if I've put too much or too little or just the right about, but I can't find it in me to care as I guzzle it all down and hardly manage to set my cup down without letting it slip and shatter to the floor before I slip into a deep, dreamless, lifeless sleep.</p><p>—</p><p>When I open my eyes, it feels like only half a moment had passed.</p><p>That's what it always feels like, though, like a skip in time, like I simply didn't exist for whatever hours the draught held me in that state. I don't wake up fatigued, but I don't wake up feeling rested. It's almost as if all my days are spent waking, only brief blinks of blankness in between.</p><p>But as I blink my blurred vision into a slightly clearer state, it becomes evident that I am <em>not</em> in my room.</p><p>Because everything is white.</p><p>Everything is white—from the booth that I sit that, to the wooden floorboards, to the display case, to the walls of this little French bakery.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>QOTD: biggest pet peeves ?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0085"><h2>85. NEVER BEEN PRETTIER</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"How was practice?" I ask as Blaise plops down on the armchair next to the sofa upon which I'm seated.</p><p>He groans tiredly, eyes falling shut and head falling back while his body slouches against the cushions. "Please. Cassius had us running laps and doing fucking burpees the entire time."</p><p>I smirk softly, glancing down at the textbook I'm reading from (while simultaneously working on an essay for History of Magic). "Well there's something I don't miss about Quidditch..." I murmur under my breath, flipping a page in the book while glancing up to see the rest of the Quidditch team filing into the common room, their hairs all wet from showering and their faces sporting comical grimaces. I grin to myself, watching Adrian stumble into the side of a table and groan in pain, but then my amusement falls away when Carlier walks in rather chipper beside Warrington.</p><p>"He's fucking insane. Thinks we won't win the match against Ravenclaw without running a couple hundred kilometers a day."</p><p>I smirk slightly. "How does it feel dating your captain?"</p><p>"Like I'm constantly caught between wanting to kill him and wanting to kiss him," Blaise seethes, and I glance over to see his dark eyes trained intensely on Warrington. I can't tell whether he's eye-fucking him or glaring, though. He then looks over at me, eyebrows furrowing slightly, "And we're not dating."</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"And why not?"</p><p>"We're not labelling, Draco," Blaise huffs slightly, two of his fingers massaging into his temple while his eyes follow Warrington around the room. "There's no need to. It's nothing serious. He's a halfblood, too, I wouldn't date a halfblood."</p><p>I shrug. "True. What are you, then? I mean, what are you even doing with him?"</p><p>"He's just... We're just having fun, alright?"</p><p>"I'm pretty sure he likes you, Zabini."</p><p>"So what?" Blaise snaps, sharp eyes darting over to bore burning holes into my face. "Doesn't matter..."</p><p>My eyes narrow slightly. I watch him carefully, watch as his scathing eyes roll and drop away from me. They scan over the entire common room, glance at the green lanterns swinging from rickety chains, glance at the pair of fourth-years playing exploding snap in the corner, glance down at his running shoes, a little creased at the top, glance down at his hands where he fiddles with the rings on his fingers, glance at the loose thread on his shirt, all while he worries away at his lip.</p><p>He's an open book, and his mind is just as open too.</p><p>But I back out of it almost instantly as images of sharing a drink turn into images of holding hands, which turn into that of kissing and so much worse.</p><p>"Just pointing it out, that's all," I murmur simply, giving him a roll of my eyes and turning my attention back down to the textbook. "You might want to deal with it now before it gets out of hand, cause that shit can get annoying really quickly."</p><p>"Yeah, whatever," Blaise sighs heavily, head rolling on his shoulders before he lugs himself to his feet, groaning softly in pain. "I'm gonna go back to my dorm and crash for a little. Night."</p><p>"It's noon," I deadpan back, giving him a short wave while he just knocks his knuckles lightly into the side of my head and staggers away, muttering under his breath and cursing out a third-year that accidentally stumbles into him. I shake my head with a small smirk, writing down the last few words on my parchment before bringing it up to blow the ink dry.</p><p>I make quick work of packing my things away, slipping the textbook into my bag and folding the essay up, marking the completion of all my homework for this weekend. Since Celeste and I have been studying together for school along with the task, it's been easier turning things in on time.</p><p>It's as I'm standing up and slinging my bag over my shoulder, considering going out for a quick spin on my broom since no team should be practicing during lunch time itself, that Pansy speaks up from on the other couch.</p><p>"Draco?" she asks in that sweet voice she only uses when she wants something.</p><p>I sigh heavily, shoulders dropping. "Yes, Pansy?"</p><p>"Could you do me a favor, D?"</p><p>I turn on my axis to look at her. She's sprawled out on the sofa, legs extended out towards the opposite arm, and on top of her lays Verona with her head on Pansy's chest facing away from me so that all I see is a great bundle of rose-colored hair.</p><p>"Depends."</p><p>Pansy smiles at me sweetly, brown eyes wide and the piercing in her lip twitching. "Can you get something for me?" she asks in a voice higher than normal for her, giving me big eyes and a pleading look.</p><p>My face drops into a glare. "Get what?"</p><p>She tucks her fist under her cheek, making it bulge slightly. "Just a coffee," she simpers sweetly, glancing over at the table to the side of the common room where all the drinks are set, "and maybe a croissant. I don't know if V is gonna wake up before lunch ends."</p><p>I roll my eyes, glancing back down at the seventh year fully lounging on Pansy's much smaller body, and shove away all my annoyance. "Fine," I mutter, turning on my heel to fetch these things for her as if I'm her bloody House-elf.</p><p>"Five sugars, please!"</p><p>"Your teeth are gonna fall out."</p><p>"Aww, but is that so bad when I have a lovely boy like you to pick them up for me?" she croons coyly right as I reach the coffee station, and it takes all my strength and self control not to spike her coffee with cyanide.</p><p>And as I'm easing the coffee into her hand and setting the croissant down on a napkin on the arm of the sofa, Pansy turns her head up at me to smile sweetly again.</p><p>"Draco..." she starts, her hand gently rubbing mine, and I groan loudly.</p><p>"Pansy, what do you need now?"</p><p>"Well, actually, I have a question," she says innocently, batting her eyelashes at me while taking a tentative sip from her coffee.</p><p>"Ask, then," I mutter lowly, readjusting my grip on my bag while glancing aside to see Carlier sitting and talking with Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode, great grins on both of their faces as he says something apparently so amusing.</p><p>"Heard you got into a fistfight."</p><p>My head snaps back down and forward to look at Pansy. She's watching with curiously, gears clearly churning in her head, though she smiles innocently while taking another sip of her coffee and exhaling crisply, the steam washing over her chin.</p><p>"Have you, now?" I ask coolly, watching her take a small bite out of her croissant. "And, uh—where exactly did you hear that?"</p><p>"Dunno—news just travels, doesn't it?" she asks casually, her right arm wrapping loosely around Verona and fingers absentmindedly stroking her short hair. "So? Is it true? Or is it just another stupid rumor?"</p><p>"Would you believe me? If I said it was a rumor?"</p><p>"Well, I could've sworn I saw a ghost of a bruise on your pretty little face the other day," she drawls dryly, giving me a roll of her eyes while I smirk softly, "but what really, truly sells it for me is who I heard you did it with." Pansy then stifles a small laugh. "The fight, I mean, not it."</p><p>I roll my eyes, neck burning slightly. "Potter had it coming, that's all you need to know."</p><p>"Ah, so it's true!"</p><p>"Voice down, Parkinson, don't want to wake your little girlfriend."</p><p>Pansy glares at me, giving me a light whack on the side of my arm. Or, she tries to, but she misses severely in an attempt not to spill her coffee all over Verona's head.</p><p>"So? You gonna tell me why you bashed Scar-face's head in, or am I supposed to figure that out for myself? I'm smart, Malfoy, but I'm not so great at Divination."</p><p>"Divination tells the future, not the past, dumbarse."</p><p>"See? Speak up."</p><p>I shrug slightly, glancing away from her and back up to where Carlier and Tracey are now looking at something written on a bit of parchment together, clearly stifling their laughter. "Apparently, he thought it was a good idea to send House-elves around tailing me. Fucking idiot," I mutter lowly and cautiously.</p><p>Pansy watches me, squinting slightly. "Hm," she then says simply before taking another bite of her croissant and turning her head straight to lean against the sofa.</p><p>I frown at the top of her head. "What?"</p><p>"What do you mean, 'What?'"</p><p>"You hmed. People only hm when they have an odd thought, so it's your turn to speak up," I huff, watching her chew on another bite of her croissant.</p><p>"Well, y'know," she says, swallowing thickly before tearing into another bite, grinning at the way I grimace and making a point out of chewing obnoxiously before swallowing again, "I can't really blame him. I mean, not for having you followed, but for wanting to. Can't blame him for being curious about what you're up to." Pansy then shrugs slyly and looks down at Verona's head. "That's just me, though."</p><p>I scowl at her, giving the side of her head a hard thwack that makes her cry out and look back up at me incredulously. "What are you saying?"</p><p>"I'm saying," she huffs irritably, clutching her coffee mug tightly, "your whereabouts usually aren't known! I don't know where you are or what you're up to more often than I do, and that's really fucking weird considering I'm supposed to be your best friend."</p><p>I clench my jaw, swallowing thickly while glancing aside.</p><p>"Yeah, well, I guess I just don't like you that much."</p><p>"Oh, shut up. You adore me."</p><p>"Whatever. Are we done here?" I sigh in annoyance, running a ragged hand through my hair and readjusting the strap of my bag so it doesn't feel like it's about to tear my shoulder out of its socket. "Are you done using me as your personal maid? Can I go now?"</p><p>She rolls her widened eyes at me. "Fucking drama queen... Go, leave, whatever, I don't need you anymore."</p><p>I roll my eyes, muttering a quiet "finally" under my breath while turning on my heel to walk away. My bag feels heavy on my shoulder, especially after standing here waiting for Pansy to finish her incessant blabbering the entire time—</p><p>"Oh, Draco, darling? Could you do one last thing for me?"</p><p>Not five minutes later, after arguing with Pansy and her emotionally blackmailing me ("you don't love me!"), I'm standing outside the door to her room, my face positively burning with rage and my fingers harshly jamming the key into the doorknob to unlock it and muttering quiet expletives and promises to myself to kill her while the lock clicks open.</p><p>When I swing the door open and step into the room, I freeze instantly at the sight of Celeste still in bed, her eyes shut and the thick blankets covering her.</p><p>Quietly, I shut the door behind me, shrugging my back off my shoulder and setting it down on the floor. With a small frown, I glance down at the watch on my left wrist, reading the time to be 12:29 P.M.</p><p>Celeste doesn't stir. No, she seems to be in deep sleep, her arms flailed out on either side of her head, her curls wrapped in a scarf, her plump lips slightly parted, and her chest rising and falling steadily. The covers are half off the bed, one of her legs slung out to drape down the side of the mattress, both her socks laying limply on the floor.</p><p>Should I wake her?</p><p>Pansy probably would have woken her if she needed to.</p><p>Though, a few nights ago when Celeste slept in my room, she said something about her and Pansy, implied that they'd fought. And I certainly haven't seen the two of them around each other so often these last few days, though I do spend most of my time either in the library or the Room of Requirements, and more often than not, Celeste is the only other person there with me.</p><p>I glance over my shoulder at the closed door. I wonder what could have happened.</p><p>But rather than dwelling on it, I choose instead to look for that Charms textbook Pansy was talking about, the one she sent me to fetch for her like I'm her dog since she couldn't be arsed to push her girlfriend off her chest and get it herself.</p><p>I'm careful to stay quiet as I look for it, first fumbling through Pansy's book bag, though yielding no fruit from my search. Every so often my mind meanders back to the girl laying in bed only a few feet away from me, making no noise except for the occasional audible deep breath in and exhale out.</p><p>At some point, her Chicken makes his presence known, hopping up onto her bed and prancing his way over to Pansy's side where I'm kneeling and looking through her nightstand and her mess of belongings shoved under the bed. I straighten up a little, reaching a hand out to scratch him under the chin. He purrs softly in approval, sinking down into his stomach and closing his eyes. When I stand up, coming to the conclusion that her book isn't by her bed, his yellow eyes open to watch me curiously.</p><p>"You know where she keeps her textbooks?" I sigh quietly to him, watching as he picks himself back up onto his limbs and reaches one out to paw at my arm. I watch Chicken tiredly as he yowls softly up at me, and with a shake of my head, I scoop him up into my arms. "No? Of course you wouldn't, stupid feline."</p><p>He rubs the side of his head into my chest.</p><p>I grumble softly, walking my way over to Pansy's dresser. I pull them open with only one eye open, quickly closing the top one when I see it full of silk, lace, and cotton. None of the others host her book, however, and so I quietly make my way around the room to Celeste side while Chicken latches his claws into the front of my shirt.</p><p>And still, Celeste doesn't stir.</p><p>I don't peer through her things with as much abandon, figuring how incriminating that would look if she wakes up all of a sudden. I scan the spines of all the books in her nightstand and on their bookshelf in the corner, but not a single Charms textbook in sight.</p><p>And as ten minutes have passed, and frankly that's more effort than I figured I should put for a lazy arse like Pansy, I choose rather happily to give up.</p><p>So as I turn on my heel away from the bookshelf, my eyes catch on her again. Still deep in sleep, she's shifted a little bit. She's on her side now, left arm bent under her head, right hand clutching her covers and tucking them into her neck. Her covers have all but fallen onto the floor, long legs exposed as the sleeves of her pajama pants have rolled up to her knees likely while she moved around in her sleep.</p><p>My arms holding Chicken go a little limp.</p><p>It's hard to imagine that's the face of someone who has to kill our headmaster by the end of the school year. It's hard to imagine she's got runes littering her skin, or a Dark Mark scarring her forearm forever. It's hard to imagine that it matches the one on mine, and for a moment I wonder if hers hurts the way mine does. If hers sends aching spasms up to her shoulder, up her spine, right into her head. Makes her mind hurt as much as her arm.</p><p>I tentatively step back towards her, walking over to her nightstand while my eyes scan her face. I stop just before bumping into it, giving her one last long look before glancing down to see a book open but face-down next to a half-filled glass of water. My eyes scan the cover.</p><p>A DANCE WITH THE DEVIL: A Paradox of Love and Lament, by Eloise R.</p><p>I bite down on the inside of my lips when I feel them threatening to spread, but it hardly does anything to prevent the small smile that takes over anyway. She's reading the poetry I gave her during Christmas, right before I brought out the Portkey and brought her to Saint-Cirq-Lapopie.</p><p>I glance at her briefly, and then I carefully set her Chicken down on the bed to pick the book up in his place, just to see what poem she was on before she put it down.</p><p>love is but an illusion<br/>tainted by the ignorance of mind<br/>and amoral gullibility<br/>love is but a selfish obsession<br/>obligatory devotion<br/>passionate lust<br/>hidden under a beautiful quilt<br/>love is but deceiving and nonexistent<br/>but we can at least pretend<br/>just for a little while<br/>why not?</p><p>I scan the page a few times over, noticing a small crease in the corner where she may have accidentally bent it and then set about fixing it. There isn't a drop of ink on the page, and something tells me I won't find a single scribbled word on any of the others either. And I wonder why. I know she likes annotating when she reads—I have a book of my own once owned by her to prove it.</p><p>Quietly, and while taking a deep breath, I set the book down just as I found it and glance at her to see if she's stirred yet.</p><p>Her eyes snap open.</p><p>I freeze. She sits up almost instantly, chest heaving with all her panting breaths, legs kicking the covers fully off the bed, hands clawing at the bedding and twisting at it. Her face is several shades paler than its typical dark hue, a few subtle beads of sweat dotting her temples. Celeste's nearly black eyes are widened, petrified in their stare right in front of her, but it's as if she's not seeing as I'm quick to rush to her side.</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"I—I can't—" She nearly bites on her own tongue swallowing thickly, her hand flying up to her throat and her other all but digging it's nails into the bed. "Please, please, I—"</p><p>Her Chicken yowls loudly and clambers onto her lap while I, with a thundering hard and seizing lungs, place a hand on her knee and the other on her shoulder.</p><p>"Celeste, look at me."</p><p>"No, I—" Her voice breaks, eyes starting to pool with tears as they look around frantically. Her legs begin to move, hands grabbing at the front of my shirt and pulling me closer. "Are—Are you—?"</p><p>Her hand comes up to the side of my face, clasping at my cheekbone, jaw, dipping back to tangle with my hair while she shifts shakily onto her knees.</p><p>"It's Draco—"</p><p>"Help me, please," she gasps out, shuffling closer to me, hands grasp at my shirt, shoulders, arms.</p><p>I frown down at her, pulse shuddering while my hands hesitantly finding her waist. "You're alright, darling. Alright? You're right here—I'm right here, just take a deep breath for me. It was just a nightm—"</p><p>"No!" she exhales in frustration, her hand curling into a fist and pounding against my chest, making me wince softly before reaching gently for her rest and unfurling her fingers. "It wasn't—It wasn't a nightmare, and I—" Celeste takes a deep, shaky breath, fingers tangling with my hair. Her eyes are shut tightly, face buried in my chest, and I pull her closer to me with my hands. "I can't—I can't see, please," her voice breaks with a soft whimper.</p><p>When her entire body shakes, with it does my heart. I gather her tightly to my chest, a frown permanently tattooed onto my features while her nails pierce and scratch against my chest. She whispers incomprehensibly into my shoulder, pulling my shirt to somehow get me closer.</p><p>"What do you mean?" I whisper in my ear, falling from on my knees to on my arse right there on her bed, her hands both pushing and pulling at me at the same. "What do you mean you can't—?"</p><p>"I can't see, I can't see," she gasps out a sob, her face screwed up tightly, and when she relaxes it and opens her eyes wide, several teardrops fall onto her slightly reddened cheeks, her unfocused eyes on my shoulder. "Merlin, fuck! Fuck, fuck, please, Draco, please," her voice rises to a shout and quickly descends into a panicked whisper, hands now gripping my biceps and digging their nails in. "Please, please, please, please, I can't—I can't do this, please," Celeste whimpers.</p><p>"You can't... You can't see?" I mumble outloud, mostly to myself. She lifts her head to look at me, dark eyes dropping right to mine and making my stomach flip. The silk scarf wrapped around her hair has started to follow, and I lift a hand to fix it a little bit while her eyes start to well up with tears again.</p><p>"I need—I can't—I need—"</p><p>"Okay, just sit for a moment, Celeste, I'm gonna get you a water, alright?"</p><p>"No, don't—No!" she all but shrieks when I carefully pull away from her and move to stand beside the bed, Celeste nearly falling forward with her hands outstretched towards. "No, please don't—please don't leave," she pleads in her terrified hysteria, widened eyes looking right over my shoulder—or, rather, not looking—and one hand reaching out towards me. I step tentatively towards her, pulse thudding and my throat start to close, and I take her hand in mine.</p><p>She squeezes it tightly, clasping it with both hands and bringing it up near her chest.</p><p>"Celeste," I sigh, my voice slightly strained as I watch her throat bob with a thick swallow, "I'm not going anywhere. Okay? I'm right next to you, I'm just giving you some water."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"You're going to drink some water, and we're going to calm you down a little bit, and then I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing," I assert clearly, ignoring the way I'm starting to feel a little light-headed as I ease my hand out of her grip. As soon as my fingertips start to slip past hers, her unseeing eyes widen again, panic clearly written all over her face.</p><p>"No!"</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>"Please," she whispers, blinking a few more tears out, her hand pulling mine back and grappling upward for my elbow, "please, Draco, please don't—please don't—I can't see you, I can't—can't see anything. Please, please, please," her voice softens into a hoarse, nearly incomprehensible whisper, just her repeating that plea over and over again while my chest tightens and explodes into a million tiny little pieces watching her kneeling on her bed with tears sticky on her face and her lips begging to me. "I need—"</p><p>"Hold my hand, alright? And hold it tightly. I'm going to need you to let me move, but you can hold my hand the entire time," I say softly, reaching up with my free left hand to wipe the tears off her cheek with my thumb, nearly cursing when her eyes close and face tilts into my palm. "Did you hear me, darling?"</p><p>"Yes," she whispers croakily, fingers trembling.</p><p>"I need my right hand, though. Do you mind holding my left instead?"</p><p>"I can—I can do that."</p><p>She switches my right with my left quickly, her hands squeezing my fingers and thumbs twisting the rings that sit at the base of them. Celeste's breaths come out as frantic pants, her eyes lowered and brows furrowed as she shuffled sideways on the bed to let me walk, making a soft noise every time my grip loosens ever so slightly on hers.</p><p>"Wait," she then gasps when I move to pick up the half-filled glass of water on her nightstand, "the glass—it has Sleeping Draught in it. I can't, I can't—"</p><p>"I won't give it to you, then," I assure her quickly, frowning softly at her before glancing back down at the water. "Rubbish draught if you've still got nightm—"</p><p>"It wasn't a nightmare," she interrupts, face twisting with panic and concern. "Draco—"</p><p>"Celeste, I need to go dump the water in the sink before refilling your glass with fresh water," I say carefully, watching her face carefully as her brows lift with realization, "I'll have to let you go. Will you be alright for a few—?"</p><p>"Just dump it here," her breath hitches.</p><p>I pause. "What?"</p><p>"Dump it here, right on the floor. You can't—Don't let me go, please. Please, please—"</p><p>"I can't just—"</p><p>"Please," her voice breaks slightly, thighs trembling as her grip on my hand tightens and pulls me so my entire arm is wrapped in her embrace. "I can't see," Celeste's voice whimpers, "I'm—I need—I need you to stay—"</p><p>"Alr—"</p><p>"Please, Draco, I—"</p><p>"Celeste," I interrupt lowly, my hand encapsulated by hers coming to nudge her chin up so I can better see her face, my own feeling heavy and slightly warm, "I'm not going anywhere. Try to relax a little bit, it will all be alright, okay? Think about how embarrassed you'll be in a day about how much you've already begged to me. Don't make it worse for yourself, alright?"</p><p>Celeste's head drops slightly, and she worries at her lip while nodding softly. "Just don't—"</p><p>"I'm not going."</p><p>"O-Okay. And you—?"</p><p>"Just breathe for me," I interrupt quickly, taking a deep, mildly exasperated breath myself almost as if to show her how. Her eyebrows pinch together, fingers press into my palm to squeeze tightly. "Nothing else, yeah? You don't have to do anything else, just breathe."</p><p>Her soft lips open, but then they shut almost instantly, pressing together into a soft pout. Her dark eyes well up in tears, somehow looking at me—or at my chin, actually—so intently, like she's ready to follow any word I say.</p><p>Quickly, I dump the water, wincing as I watching it splash down to the floor when there's a potted plant only a yard away (though I doubt she'd let me go far enough to pour it there). Celeste's eyes are shut tightly now, feet bouncing on the floor while I pour the pitcher of water into the glass, setting it down carefully before plucking the glass and gently pressing the rim to her lips.</p><p>"Drink," I urge my throat dry as I watch her lift one hand from my left to take the glass from me and gulp the water down quickly.</p><p>Her Chicken meows, tucking his head under her arm to clamber into her lap. I watch him curl up against her stomach, my lips twitching into a terse hint of a smile before I look up at her face. The sheer panic and trepidation written all over it even as she tilts her head back to get the last few drops of water makes my stomach twist.</p><p>"You want more?" I ask, squeezing my hand into a fist to keep it from trembling before taking the glass and setting it down.</p><p>Celeste shakes her head, quivering fingers wiping her tears away before reaching to hold my left hand with her other one again. "No, I—" Her voice cracks, and she makes a sound of frustration while her head drops. "I need—I need to go, I need to see. Please?"</p><p>"We're going, don't worry. You can't see anything?"</p><p>"I can't—I can—" Celeste swallows dryly, nose flaring slightly and eyes beginning to well up once more. "I can see a little bit. I mean, the differences in the light and shadows, like I think your head is—" She reaches a hand up, breaths once more shaky and panicked while her trembling fingers reach upwards for my face.</p><p>I'm quick to drop to stand on my knees in front of her between her parted legs, pulling her hand to cup the side of my face. She instantly sputters out a curse and tugs me closer, bending down until her head is resting in the crook of my neck, arms wrapped around my head and fingers tangling with my hair. Celeste sobs softly into my neck, hardly making a noise while her tense body shakes and warm tears spill against my skin. She's trembling, shivering, nails scratching at the back of my neck.</p><p>"I need to—I need to see," she whimpers quietly while my arms loop around her waist to hold her gently, fingers massaging at the knots between her shoulders.</p><p>I'd give her my sight if I could.</p><p>"I can't be blind, Draco," she whispers harshly, her hand curling into a fist to pound against my back with a sudden wave of frustration, but it quickly quells away as I tilt my head up to press a ghost of a kiss against her jaw, my eyebrows permanently furrowed and my racing heart feeling like it's being rolled and stretched by her hands. "Tighter."</p><p>My hands stop moving. "Tighter?"</p><p>"Can you—? Could you hold me tighter?" she whispers, thighs shaking, lips brushing against my neck. "Please."</p><p>My arms instantly pull her closer, eyes falling shut as the unsteady rise and fall of her chest pushes against mine. "Yes," I whisper, "of course."</p><p>She starts shifting in my grasp, and I realize quickly she's trying to come down to sit with me on the floor. My hands go to her hips, easing her down while I myself sit properly as well, finding her leaning on my shoulder with her face still buried in my neck and her hands latched into the front of my shirt.</p><p>I close my eyes, tilting my head back against the bed while tugging her closer to my chest, careful not to let my hold weaken or go limp. She's still crying softly, but I think she's trying not to let me know. Her body is tense to prevent it from shaking, and what little noise she was making before had gone silent. It's only the steady pour of tears against my skin that tells me.</p><p>Her breaths are unsteady, short, choked, and I sit there holding her waiting for them to calm before I can take her out into the common room and back up to the castle to the Hospital Wing. I can feel her lips moving against my neck, but it takes me a few moments to realize she's whispering something.</p><p>"Please, don't go, please, don't go, don't leave—"</p><p>"Celeste," I murmur almost incredulously, my eyebrows furrowed tightly and lips pouring into a frown. I ease her head out of the crook of my neck so I can see her face, wiping my thumbs over her cheeks and assuring, "I'm not going anywhere."</p><p>"Please—"</p><p>"I'm right here."</p><p>"I should have listened to you," she laughs weakly, all but climbing onto my lap while her hands in my hair tug my head down. "I should have—I should have gotten glasses such a long time ago, or just gotten my v-vision checked."</p><p>"Don't worry about that now." I smooth the heel of my palm around her back, hearing her exhale softly in satisfaction before her tense body starts relaxing against mine. "Don't worry about anything but just breathing. It's alright. You know, my grandmother went blind," I say, hoping she can't hear the slightest tremor in my voice. "It was in her fifties. She went fully blind, and because she was stubborn like you, she never went to get her eyes checked for a long time. But guess what?"</p><p>Celeste sniffs softly. I can feel her damp lashes batting against my skin as she blinks. "What?" she asks softly, turning her head to rest the side of it on my shoulder, eyes shut.</p><p>"They fixed it."</p><p>She pauses. "They did?"</p><p>"Oh, yeah. I mean, not completely. I suppose they fixed it halfway with magic, but then the glasses they gave her did the rest of the job," I say easily, pausing when she jolts slightly at the way I rub at a knot. "Sorry—"</p><p>"It feels good," Celeste whispers quietly. "Draco?"</p><p>I bite down on the inside of my lip, tilting my head down to look at her face as best as I can. Chicken jumps down from the bed at this moment, his paws stepping regally to climb onto both our laps and drop his fat arse down on our thighs, making Celeste's lips tilt up into a brief, sad smile. And something in me wants me to lean in and press mine to them, taste the tears that stain her skin and mold her lips with mine so that when I pull away, her smile isn't so sad anymore.</p><p>"Yes?" I ask softly, feeling something tug at my chest when that smile falls away.</p><p>"I don't..." Her hand, which had dropped to stroke her Chicken's fur, slowly rises up my torso to rest on my chest. "I don't know what's..." Her voice is a faint whisper, like it doesn't want to let her say what she has to say. "I don't know what's happening to me."</p><p>My eyes drop to her chest where she's fiddling with the locket around her neck, where I know there's a rune sitting on her skin.</p><p>"I'm so fucking scared. Everything—Everything is happening so fast, and—" She chokes slightly, taking a deep strangled breath while I pull her closer to me, her curled legs between both of mine. "I can't keep up with any of it, I can't do it anymore."</p><p>I want her eyes moved behind her shut lids, my hands sliding to pull the now messed up scarf off her hair. She inhaled shakily, fingers moving up and fumbling with mine to help me, dropping the bonnet to the floor before clasping the backs of my hands with her palms. I let her move my hands, watching with racing pulse and heavy eyes as she brings them to cup both sides of her face before dropping hers to my chest.</p><p>Celeste's watery eyes open to release a singular tear before closing once more. "I don't know if that's okay to admit," she whispers hoarsely, leaning into my left palm while I watch her with an expression of awe, my lips parted and my eyes watching my thumb wipe the stray tear away. "I don't know if I should say that. I'm just—I'm just so tired of pretending that I'm not, that I'm not terrified."</p><p>She leans in closer to me, and my hands pull her in as well. The tip of her nose grazes mine, and she stops moving, just a few inches away so her breath washes against mine while her hands grip the collar of my shirt.</p><p>"It's a little easier to admit that when I can't see your face as I'm doing it," Celeste murmurs, a dry laugh escaping her lips, but then she gulps dryly while her face wavers with a stifled cry. "But, I think I'd like to see it," she continues, adding quickly, "your face. Can you say something?"</p><p>I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, so I just swallow thickly while tilting her face up a little more. Her eyes open slowly, resting somewhere near my nose, though she blinks quickly and adopts a small frown.</p><p>"I think—I think it's starting to come back a little."</p><p>Chicken claws lightly at my stomach before squeezing out of the tight space between Celeste and I, choosing instead to sit on my foot where he licks a long stripe down his paw.</p><p>"It's coming back?" I ask hoarsely, thumbs brushing under her eyes again while she leans in a little closer, her forehead pressing against mine.</p><p>"Maybe." She's trembling between my legs, pulling away from me and then leaning back in. When her lips accidentally brush against my chin, she gasps and blurts out a rushed, "Sorry."</p><p>"It's alright."</p><p>"No, I—Sorry for... for this, it happens too often."</p><p>I frown softly, my eyes starting to shut as she leans in again and firmly places her forehead against mine, her breaths heavy and shaky. "What?"</p><p>"I just—I keep crying to you," she scoffs softly. Celeste's hands let go of the collar of my shirt and drag up to the back of my head.</p><p>"You can't see, Cel. Don't tell anyone I said this, but I'd probably cry too," I whisper, feeling her lips on my cheek this time, a ghost of a touch.</p><p>"Crybaby," she teases back, fingers still shaking.</p><p>"Mm, yeah, that's me."</p><p>"I can—I can almost see you," she says, her hand pushing my hair out of my face, making me flinch slightly as she nearly pokes my eye out.</p><p>"Trying to get me even, are you? Jealous of my perfect sight?" I laugh softly, making a muffled noise when her hand slides down to cover my mouth. I grin against her palm, seeing a smile light up her own face before she shakes her head and moved her hand to the side of my face. "So? How do I look, then?"</p><p>Celeste leans in, her nose pressing against mine. "Hideous," she laughs lightly, squealing a bit when my hand drops from the side of my face to lightly jab her side. "You're gonna assault a blind woman?"</p><p>"Oh, shut it," I grumble softly. "As soon as you get those glasses, you'll see just how beautiful I am."</p><p>A fond smile lights up her lips, and I bite at my own at the way she lets her head drop almost bashfully. My hand moves to lift her chin up, and when her dark eyes open, they land right on mine, making my heart turn to still stone in anticipation. </p><p>"You're still a little blurry," she says, her hand on my jaw and her index finger brushing lightly on my mouth, "but you've never been prettier."</p><p>I close my eyes and glance away, counting to ten until that urge to smile passes. When I look at her again, she's squinting furiously at me, and I let out a terse laugh while smoothing her curls out of her face. "As soon as you're ready, I'll walk you to the Hospital Wing, and we'll have your eyes checked. Or if you'd rather, Blaise can take you."</p><p>Celeste shakes her head to my surprise, and I resist the urge to give the stubborn girl a good whack over the top of her head. "No," she says firmly, sitting a little straighter and pulling her hands away from me to wipe at her eyes. "I'm going to wait."</p><p>"Wait? For what? For when you go permanently blind?"</p><p>"For the spring holidays. I think..." Celeste hesitates softly, her hands dropping to rest on my stomach while her gaze lands on my chest. "I want to get them checked with my mother there."</p><p>I sigh softly, my wand falling back against the side of the mattress and my eyes rolling shut. She fiddles with the material of my shirt, fingers still trembling a bit against the muscles on my abdomen. I let one eye peel open to see her gaze off to the side, a distracted and conflicted expression painting her pretty features.</p><p>"It's okay."</p><p>Her eyes dart to me, looking a little higher than my eyes.</p><p>"To be scared. It's okay."</p><p>Celeste looks at me with confusion, and then a small smile graces her lips while her eyebrows furrow, her head giving way to the slightest shake. "No it isn't," she says lightly, hands going still. "Being scared gets in the way. It makes getting things done harder. We don't get to be scared, not us, not with everything we have to do." Her smile turns into a deep frown. "And you of all people know that."</p><p>I watch her closely, my face slowly falling limp. Her fingers go back up to her locket, and she falls deep into her thoughts while her gaze casts away, teeth working at the inside of her lip and brows slowly furrowing.</p><p>I tilt my head at her, squinting a bit as I try to see what's happening in her head. To my surprise, however, there's something keeping me out. I prod at it lightly, my jaw tensing with the effort, but the barrier remains. It's not so strong. I could probably break through her rudimentary Occlumency, but instead I let my shoulders drop and pull out of her head to just look at her.</p><p>"Any better?" I ask quietly, my brow quirking when she jolts slightly in surprise and then looks at me inquisitively. "Your vision. Any better?"</p><p>Celeste nods, her hand reaching up to touch my cheek. "A bit. Your face is distinctly whiter and snootier than everything else," she says slyly, making me shake my head, "and—Merlin, even a blind person couldn't miss that pointy chin of yours."</p><p>I smack her hand away from my face, making her laugh slightly and sit back with her palms on the floor and her knees bent where they are situated between mine. "Get away from me, witch," I mutter lightheartedly, but she only makes another grab for my chin (getting my cheek instead) and clambers back towards me.</p><p>I stifle a grin, watching her playfully reach for my hair to mess it up or pushing at my nose to annoy me, but all that echoes through my head are her words. I don't know what's happening to me.</p><p>And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious either.</p><p>If I said I hadn't thought about those runes I saw on her skin, or if I hadn't thought about how she and Jacobs have some sort of arrangement, if I hadn't thought about everything I assume she's been hiding from everyone.</p><p>I open my mouth, unsure of what I'll say next. Maybe, I want to help you figure out what's happening, or maybe, Just tell me. That might help. But I don't get a single syllable out before the door swings open.</p><p>"You left it unlocked, dumbarse!" Pansy shrill reaches my ears, and both Celeste and I freeze.</p><p>I glance at our position, me sitting against the side of the bed with my legs spread and bent for her to sit between them. Not too incriminating, I suppose.</p><p>"Anyway, turns out I left it at the library," she says with a rough sigh, and I hear her kick the door shut. "Where even are y—? Oh. What are you doing sitting on the floor?" Pansy snorts humorously, her footsteps approaching Celeste's side of the bed while Celeste herself slowly shifts away from me with a wince on her face, and then they stop abruptly. "Oh."</p><p>I clear my throat, looking up at where Pansy stands with her hands at her sides, wand clutched tightly in one. Her brown eyes flicker between Celeste and me, scanning the way Celeste's disheveled in her pajamas and the odd position she's found us in. Pansy clears her throat, pushing her hair out of her face.</p><p>"So this is why it's taking you so long in here," she muses, a tight smirk on her face. She shifts her weight on one hip casually, but her voice is high the way it gets when she's particularly agitated.</p><p>I roll my eyes. "Before you jump to—"</p><p>"I was wondering why you hadn't given up after a few minutes, because as much as you adore me, you're not one to waste your time," she continues with a slight drawl, eyes shifting to survey Celeste with a quirked brow, "you know, usually—"</p><p>"Excuse me?" Celeste scoffs, sitting up straighter and shoving her curls out of her eyes.</p><p>"—but I see now that you were busy fooling around with my roommate—"</p><p>"I'm sorry, what?" Celeste repeats incredulously, teetering slight as she moves to stand to her feet. I dart a hand out to catch her, but she just holds hers out to tell me to stop. "Your roommate?"</p><p>"Aw, you're sorry? Didn't know that you're capable of that."</p><p>"Why don't you both—?"</p><p>"You called me your fucking room—?"</p><p>Pansy's wide eyes glance to the side before looking back at Celeste. She crosses her arms and lifts a hand to play with her fringe. "Yeah," she says innocently, sharpened eyes dragging their scathing gaze over Celeste's face while the latter squints furiously. "Is there something wrong with what I said, babe?"</p><p>Celeste's face drops into an expression of shock, and then she laughs lowly, slowly, in cruel amusement. "Did you just babe me?"</p><p>I slowly come to a stand, sitting at the edge of the bed while glancing warily between these two girls, both of whom can get very violent and dangerous when they want to be.</p><p>Pansy tilts her head, smiling sweetly. "I did, love, is that alright?"</p><p>"Oh, fuck you, Pansy!"</p><p>"Please. You're not even my type. I'm not into complete and utter fucking bitches."</p><p>"Aw, not into yourself? That's funny, since you're the biggest narcissist I know."</p><p>Pansy laughs, shaking her head, and then she turns to look at me. "If you couldn't tell, she's psychotic," she says to me sweetly, briefly touching my arm while I just gape at her, "so do yourself a favor and run. You can't possibly be that desperate. Trust me, D, you can do a whole lot better than my roommate."</p><p>"Don't call me that!"</p><p>"Yeah? Why not?"</p><p>"Because, I don't—" Celeste sputters, her slightly squinting eyes darting back and forth between the general region of Pansy's. She lifts her hands up and drops them against her thighs, rolling her eyes and saying with a great sigh, "Pansy I don't want to just be your... roommate."</p><p>Pansy's sugary smile fades until it's a pinched memory on her lips. Her eyes are hard and dark, and if I'm not mistaken, they're just a bit watery. She inhales deeply and crosses her arms, not blinking once while staring Celeste down.</p><p>"You should go, then," she mutters, tilting her chin up. "Leave."</p><p>My eyebrows furrow, and I push off the bed. "Pansy, maybe you—"</p><p>"Stay out of this, dumbarse."</p><p>Celeste's looking blankly at Pansy. She opens her mouth to speak, but her breath catches and she nearly chokes, fingers farting up to cover her mouth while she swallows thickly. "Leave?" she manages to cough out.</p><p>Pansy's lips form an unamused smirk. "Yeah. Get out. You said you don't want to just be my roommate, but I don't see anything else you could be," she muses casually, her eyes narrowing while Celeste's widen. "So get out. Pack your things and get out of my room."</p><p>Celeste's lips twitch, her hands curling into fists at her side. "So, what? You don't have room here anymore?" she smirks dryly, her chest heaving with each breath.</p><p>Pansy shakes her head. "I don't have room for you anywhere. Dead weight, you know? Extra baggage."</p><p>Celeste nods slightly, her eyes dark and blank. It's like she can see perfectly clearly now. "Fine. Just give me an hour."</p><p>—</p><p>"So she just... Kicked her out?" Blaise asks with a confused frown while cutting into his dinner.</p><p>I glance at the space across from us where typically Pansy and Celeste would sit, Carlier on Celeste's left and Verona on Pansy's right. They both seemed to have the same idea of avoiding each other during dinner.</p><p>"Yeah," I sigh heavily, looking at the plate of untouched food in front of me.</p><p>"Just like that?"</p><p>"Just like that."</p><p>Blaise scowls ferociously. "She can't just do that," he scoffs, the throwing his utensils down on his plate and swallowing back his bite. "She can't just—just kick her out like that, it's unfair."</p><p>I shrug slightly, my finger tapping against the wood of the table. "Yeah, no kidding. Though we don't know what happened between them."</p><p>"Yeah, I mean... I guess, but..." Blaise shakes his head, looking at the two empty seats. "After everything Celeste's been through? Just thought Pansy would be a bit more considerate, that's all..."</p><p>I chew slightly on the inside of my cheek, my eyes wandering over to where Carlier is talking animatedly with Adrian Pucey and Pandora. They laugh at something he says, making him grin, and as he picks up his cup of pumpkin juice and takes a sip from it, his eyes fall on the empty seat beside him. They linger there for a few moments, his smile starting to dwindle, and then something Pucey says catches his attention again.</p><p>"She doesn't need to be babied, Blaise," I say distracted, my eyes then shifting to Pandora.</p><p>She's smiling down into the pudding she's working on. But she's laughing a second too late at the jokes being told, and the look on her face tells me she's only half listening. In that moment, she looks up and across the table to look at me. Her eyebrows lift when she sees me already watching, and instead of the usual genial smile she spares me, she shifts her jaw and glances away.</p><p>I frown.</p><p>"How do you know what she needs?"</p><p>"Hm?" I murmur absentmindedly, watching Pandora pick at her food. She looks up at me again, faltering when I'm still watching her, and then looks back down.</p><p>"I asked how you know."</p><p>I suck on the inside of my cheek before exhaling crisply and getting up and out of my seat rather abruptly. "I'll be back," I say, giving Blaise a light pat on his shoulder.</p><p>He rolls his eyes and waves me off, making me grin slightly, and then I promptly walk around the table to get to the other side where Pandora notices me fast approaching and straightens herself up. Conveniently, the seat beside her is open, and that's where I place myself.</p><p>"Had a good weekend, Pandora?" I ask easily, sitting down with my back against the table and my elbows propped up on it, head turned to look at her.</p><p>Pandora's cheeks flush a pale shade of pink, her green eyes averted and her fingers pulling the sleeve of her thin sweater down past her hands. "It was fine," she nods simply, clumsily pushing her short blonde hair behind her ears.</p><p>"Just fine?"</p><p>"Mhm, just fine."</p><p>I quirk an eyebrow at her. "Not gonna ask how mine was?"</p><p>Her cheeks go a slightly redder shade. "Oh, I—Well, how was it? Your weekend?"</p><p>I sigh slightly, turning my head straight once more to distractedly watch a Hufflepuff from the table over charm her food to fly around. "Oh, it was alright. Not very eventful," I lie, my mind going back to the events earlier in the day, "but not so bad at all."</p><p>"Good," she says meekly, giving a subtle nod. I turn my head to look at her again, well aware of how her fidgeting and blushing grows stronger the longer I watch her. "Can I—err—Can I help you, Draco?" she asks politely, green eyes briefly meeting mine.</p><p>I smile at her softly, seeing her eyes land on my lips. "Are you alright, love?" I ask coolly, and she drags the heels of her palms down her thighs.</p><p>"Am I—Am I alright?" she echoes with a thin laugh, glancing around the table though nobody is paying any particular attention to either of us.</p><p>"That's what I asked."</p><p>"Oh, I—Why?" A deep frown pulls over her features, her gaze now steadfast on mine while all her fidgeting and movement halts.</p><p>I lift an eyebrow at her, and then I lazily move a hand to pluck a strawberry, the top sliced off, from off the top of her chocolate pudding. "Can't a friend be curious?"</p><p>She looks straight ahead when I sink my teeth into the bright red fruit, humming appreciatively as the juices cascade down to the back of my throat. When she doesn't speak even moments later, I give my eyes a slight roll before dipping into her head. Pandora's got one of the easiest minds to use Legilimency on.</p><p>What's he doing here?</p><p>I pluck another berry from her dessert, and she even pushes it closer to me to make it easier.</p><p>Merlin, he makes me nervous.</p><p>I smirk. I know. You make thay obvious.</p><p>"You seem nervous," I then choose to add with almost comical timing, her eyebrows rising. "Are you sure everything is alright here, darling?"</p><p>Pandora flushes. "Yes, fine."</p><p>"Yeah? Then what do you say we both end dinner a little bit early and head back to my dorm," I propose to her, popping the strawberry whole into my mouth, her green eyes flicking to watch momentarily.</p><p>Pandora's ears are bright red now. "Err..." she mumbles softly, strikingly swampy eyes staring into mine for several long seconds before dropping down to the dinner table. "I... I suppose..."</p><p>"You suppose yes?"</p><p>She cringes softly. "No, I don't—Draco, I don't think I can," Pandora murmurs softly, so softly that I'm not sure I've heard her right.</p><p>I narrow my eyes at her. "What was that?"</p><p>She swallows thickly. "I said... I said I shouldn't."</p><p>My eyebrows lift, and the smirk returns to my face. "Ah, I see. So you can't, or you shouldn't?"</p><p>Her fidgeting had returned. "Sorry?"</p><p>"Well, first you said you don't think you can, and then you said that you shouldn't, so which one is it, hm?" I muse easily, reaching for a a blackberry now. "Just for clarity's sake. Is it that you can't?"</p><p>Pandora inhales deeply, her hands sliding up and down her thighs while her knees start to bounce. "Is there really a difference?" she laughs softly, almost sounding unperturbed, but her face gives her away.</p><p>"Oh, most definitely. If you say you can't, that means you've got a study session allotted for tonight, or perhaps you've got detention. Now, if you say you shouldn't, either you have time for it but should spend it elsewhere, or..." I smirk slightly, her gaze dropping, "...or there's something else going on. Speak up, darling."</p><p>She frowns deeply, a somewhat pained look on her face as she swallows thickly. "I just, you know, I've just been thinking a bit lately—"</p><p>"I hope you have."</p><p>Pandora almost smiles, but she swallows it back. "I've been thinking about this lately. About you, and us, and our... our arrangement, I suppose," she continues cautiously, her fingertips dragging to form invisible shapes against the wood of the tabletop. "And I think... I think I need to end it."</p><p>My jaw clenches, but I just watch her with a tilt of my head. "Is that so?"</p><p>She looks at me, green eyes wide. "Yes."</p><p>"Care to tell me why?"</p><p>Pandora's eyes widen further still. Her mouth seems to go dry, opening and closing like a fish, and I take the moment to slip right back into her mind.</p><p>It hurts too much spending so much time with someone that doesn't love me back.</p><p>I nearly recoil, but I manage to just clear my throat as I instantly pull out of her mind and give my forehead a slight scratch. She's always thinking ludicrous, sugary thinks like that, and it's a turn off every damn time. That's the kind of girl she is, though, thinking she's in love with every bloody bloke that'll give her the time of day. I wouldn't bother with her if she wasn't the most convenient and reliable lay around, but it only really takes some sweet-talking to have her where I want her.</p><p>"Pandora," I start gently, my hand reaching out to touch her arm, making her breath hitch, "you know I care about you, right?"</p><p>She freezes. "Oh?"</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"Really?" There's a ghost of a smile on her lips as she peers up at me through her eyelashes.</p><p>"Of course. If anything is bothering you, you just let me know, alright?" I say, looking at her intently, watching her features transform with a rush of pink.</p><p>"Oh, I—Okay," she nods, glancing down at my hand and back up at my eyes. "Sure."</p><p>"Alright? So what's up?"</p><p>Pandora bites her lip and glances away. It only takes her a few seconds, during which I can all but see her gears churning, before she pipes up with, "Nothing." She inhales deeply and smoothens herself out. "Nothing."</p><p>"Yeah? Does that mean I'll see you later tonight?"</p><p>Pandora glances between my eyes, a little hope in hers. She hesitates, and then she says, "Is ten alright? Or is that too late?"</p><p>When I'm back in my seat beside Blaise a few minutes later, I can feel his gaze burning into the side of my head. I ignore him for as long as I can, cutting myself bites off my dinner, chewing them, and swallowing them down despite not having much of an appetite. When nearly three minutes have passed, however, I sight, put my fork down, and turn to look at him inquisitively.</p><p>He lifts an eyebrow. "'You might want to deal with it now before it gets out of hand, cause that shit can get annoying really quickly.'"</p><p>I frown. "What?"</p><p>"That's what you said to me earlier this afternoon."</p><p>I stare at him for a few more seconds, and then my brows lift with realization. "Right. About Warrington."</p><p>He tilts his head. "Awfully hypocritical of you, don't you think?"</p><p>I shrug. "Maybe, but our situations are different, don't you think? I mean, there really is a difference. You do care about him, even if it might not be the way he cares about you."</p><p>Blaise is quiet for a moment. "Yeah."</p><p>"So you care whether you hurt him." I shrug, raising a bite of food to my mouth. "I don't."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0086"><h2>86. THE ENTIRE NIGHT SKY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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    <em>CELESTE ZABINI<br/>March 1st, 1997</em>
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  <em>To understand blood malediction, one must understand the kind of magic that is—a curse.</em>
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  <em>There are three kinds of Dark charms (jinxes, hexes, and curses), and by far, the topic of this study is the most heinous. Curses are the very worst kind of Dark charms. Their incantations vary as do their effects, but there is one thing they all have in common as a rule: extensive suffering. They come in many strengths and forms, but they are typically reserved to inflict upon their victim excruciating pain, total control, or even death.</em>
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  <em>In this comprehensive study of blood malediction as a form of curses and blood magic, I will leave it up to my individual readers to decide which of pain, control, or death are the worst fate.</em>
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  <em>Though all Dark charms are known to inflict discomfort of varying severity, what distinguishes a curse from the others is its strength, ability to last long, resistance to reversion, and inherent wickedness. There should be no confusion why a blood malediction would thus be classified as a (blood) curse. As a general rule in magic, the stronger the incantation, the stronger the skill. It takes a great amount of power to successfully cast a curse, the kind of power that is not acquired in a proper way.</em>
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  <em>Blood malediction is a very specific kind of curse, a type of magic that requires understanding of not just Dark charms, but blood magic. However, as I am only an expert in Dark charms, I will primarily approach blood malediction from such a perspective in this exploration.</em>
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  <em>It is also an old magic, older than most magics in fact. Older than the realization that a wand can hone and channel a witch's magic, older than anything you know. And still, despite its roots, there is not much known on this form of magic, because it's usage isn't so prevalent anymore. While many have persisted and continue to exist today, one will find it difficult to come across a witch or wizard actively placing such curses, as there are now far more effective and simple ways of exacting revenge.</em>
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  <em>Nevertheless, it is important to learn about and understand the magic.</em>
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  <em>(Note: It is important to understand that as blood malediction falls under the classification of curse, it is impossible for a malediction to form naturally without a catalyst and caster. And, thus, since only magic can bear such a curse, it is theorized that only magic can reverse or subdue it if such a thing is even possible.)</em>
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  <em>Blood maledictions were used to exact revenge on those that wronged a witch or wizard because of the prolonged suffering. Often, they would not inflict death upon an individual, but remain within the victim's body and even be carried down to reappear one generation later or even ten.</em>
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  <em>During the many witch trials that have taken place centuries past, witches and wizards hiding their crafts from their Muggle town would get revenge on those that prosecuted their loved ones by going to great lengths such as cursing their bloodline with a malediction. To this day, Muggles are unaware that these are blood maledictions, and they have used their Muggle science (see: genetics) to explain it (for example, what they call sickle cell anemia is in fact a malediction that deforms their literal blood).</em>
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  <em>To this day, these magical defects still show up generations after being first casted. Unfortunately, this issue is not often shone light on, for there are only so many maledictions in place and they show up too sporadically to garner the attention that is required to obtain time, money, and support for deep research. Without deep research, we unfortunately condemn those unfairly stricken with maledictions to lives, short or long, lived with struggle.</em>
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  <em>As with every regular curse there is more often than not a counter-curse, I and several peers hold hope that the same logic may be applied to blood maledictions.</em>
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  <em>However, as aforementioned, the stronger the magic, the stronger the skill required. As blood maledictions are one of the most complicated and convoluted forms of magic, it is only inherent that any potential counter to them would be as such. It does not help that each individual blood malediction is different from the last, varying in severity and consequences, and as each case is so individual, garnering the resources to amend them even at an institution as esteemed as St. Mungo's, where I am situated, is made difficult. Unfortunately, there are not many willing to pour expensive funding into research so tenuous and unsure.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Even I myself would not show much interest in this particular area of study if it wasn't close to me. I myself have already watched a loved one succumb to their malediction.</em>
</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>I pick my head up out of the textbook a little too quickly, my mind feeling cold as I blink away the dizzy spots and then squint slightly at Elara across from me. Her long, curly brow locks are up in a messy ponytail, her disheveled hoodie falling down one shoulder and her cheek resting on her fist.</p><p>"You should take a break," she says, stifling a small yawn while her eyes squeeze shut. Elara drops her head for a moment, scratching behind her ear, and then she looks back up to see, "You haven't done anything but read since we sat down."</p><p>I sigh softly, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palm. I <em>have</em> been reading for hours—and that can't possibly be good for my already and clearly deteriorating eyesight. I push the textbook a few inches away from me before pushing my chair out from under the table to stand up.</p><p>"Alright?"</p><p>"You make any progress on that textbook?" I ask quietly but quickly, opening my eyes while leaning forward with my palms on the table, blinking my sight clear.</p><p>Elara lifts her eyebrows at me like she wants to say something else, but then she clears her throat and glances down at the parchment. "Yeah, I think I have most everything there is to know down about all the runes you mentioned to m—"</p><p>"Even that fourth one? Kenaz?" I interrupt curtly, my fingers coming up to graze the side of my left cheekbone where the rune, shaped like a leftward pointing arrowhead, sits hidden beneath a Concealment Charm.</p><p>It's the rune of vision. Of change, power. Enlightenment, and physical transformation. And now it permanently mars my face. It sits under my temple, pointing towards my eye. It tells me that I can't run from it, for any time I look in a mirror, it won't matter what charms I have placed. I'll know it's there, and that will be enough.</p><p>"Yeah," she says, stacking all the parchment up neatly and  twisting the cap back onto the ink bottle, "that one too. You want to switch books? A fresh perspec—"</p><p>"No," I shake my head, instantly pulling the textbook back towards me and closing it so suddenly that the slam makes the Ravenclaw jolt in her chair, "thank you." She doesn't need to know—not about the blood curse part of all this research. "I'll have your notes," I say, my eyes feeling heavy as I reach a hand out. My lashes further blur my vision, but I can vaguely make out her movements before I feel the light weight of the parchment rest on my palms. "Good. I think we're done for the day. Actually, I think we're done for until the break ends," I murmur quietly, my hands moving automatically to start pushing all my things back into my bag.</p><p>"Oh," Elara sighs, pushing her chair out with a big stretch before carefully coming to a stand, "that's nice to hear. I mean—y'know, that break is so soon. You have any good plans?"</p><p>I shrug slightly, double-checking to make sure the ink is capped properly before sliding it into a pocket. "Not much, really just figuring out the best way to get out of a debutante ball. Probably looking over your notes and taking a few of my own," I drawl slightly, glancing with raised eyebrows at her thick stack before putting that in my bag as well, "though at the look of these, I might not need to. You're a good worker, Jacobs, I'll give you that."</p><p>I glance up in time to see her shrug modestly, cheeks slightly flushed. "I guess," she says, slowly moving to pack her own bag. "Debutante ball, huh? I didn't know Purebloods still do that."</p><p>"Yeah, well, we like to take every chance to show off our expensive clothes and trophy children that we can," I mutter softly, looking down at the mess of books I need to put back where they belong.</p><p>"Wow," Elara deadpans dryly, making me glance up inquisitively. She's not looking at me, though her expression is mildly surprised. "Not very Pureblood pride of you, Celeste."</p><p>I shift my jaw, watching her tiredly as she stacks the books up neatly, something she always does at the end of our research sessions to make it easier for me to put them back in the shelves.</p><p>"Yeah, well, anything that has perks has to have downsides. Got any plans for break?"</p><p>Elara shrugs. "I'll be working on my resume for that internship at the Ministry," she says slyly, peering at me as if to see whether or not I've forgotten about it, "and I think maybe just spend some time with the horses in our stable. Might visit a few cousins in Muggle London."</p><p>I nod shortly. "Good, you have a good break, then," I say quietly, heaving all the books into my hold with a small grunt of effort.</p><p>"You too, Celeste. Goodnight," Elara responds softly, startling me by leaning across the table to squeeze my hand, and then she turns around to walk towards the library exit with her bag slung over her shoulder.</p><p>I don't take my time putting the books away. When I'm done, I grab my bag, double checking I've packed everything, and I slip out the front of the library and down the halls towards the Slytherin dungeons.</p><p>As it's only just curfew when I reach, the common room<br/>is still filled with Slytherins mulling about and talking at a rather soft pitch with each other. My bag feels heavy as I stop and stand in front of the stone entrance that rolls back shut, eyes scanning everyone before me, hoping to see—or maybe hoping <em>not</em> to see—a pair of brown eyes framed by thick liner and maybe choppy black hair to go with it.</p><p>Pansy isn't here, though, and I note that Verona isn't either. Wondering whether I should be glad that's an argument avoided or a conversation never had, I slink past the mess of first years scattered on the floor playing Exploding Snap to get to the fireplace, dropping down next to Blaise who startled slightly before giving me a terse smile.</p><p>"Were you at the library?" he asks, ignoring the way I swing my legs up across his back and adjust myself to lay down on the little sofa, my eyes fluttering shut and a tired sigh parting my lips.</p><p>"Mhm," I hum, rubbing my feet together much like a cricket before turning onto my side with a slight huff. "Tired."</p><p>"Go sleep early, then," he says, giving my ankle a light tap before dropping his hand in his lap. "It's only ten, perfectly acceptable time to fall asleep."</p><p>I open my eyes briefly. The idea of sleeping hasn't been so appealing these last few days, hence my lack thereof in that department. "Can't," I say with a shake of my head, reaching a hand to loosen my tie a bit, "I still have some homework to do before I go to bed."</p><p>"Leave it for tomorrow."</p><p>I scoff softly. "Yeah, right."</p><p>"Why not?" he laughs briefly, glancing over at me with a raised eyebrow. "Couldn't hurt."</p><p>"I have homework to do <em>tomorrow</em> too, you know." I roll my eyes, slipping my arms under the side of my head when the material of the sofa starts chafing against my cheek. "Stupid bloody professors, assigning homework when break starts <em>this week</em>."</p><p>"Mm."</p><p>I lay there for a few minutes, the warmth of the crackling fire occasionally hitting me with a soft gust, but it doesn't do much to alleviate the cold of the dungeons. I shiver softly, listening absentmindedly as Blaise and Urquhart discuss the game against Ravenclaw that they won the previous weekend.</p><p>At some point, a distinctly feminine laugh makes me open a curious eye to see Pandora and Elvina sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace looking at something written on a bit of parchment. I open both my eyes at this, but they move on their own to look at the sofa across the one Blaise and I occupy.</p><p>Upon it are sat Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, and Draco Malfoy. The first two lean to the side to talk animatedly with someone I can't be bothered to look out and decipher who. The third, however, is lounged back casually where he is sat, his foot propped up on his knee and a book on his lap. His elbow rests on the arm of the sofa, two fingers and a thumb pressed into the side of his face and lightly massaging his temple while he flips a page.</p><p>As soon as my eyes land on him, they can't seem to move.</p><p>A flush of heat, also a welcome reprieve from the chill, washes over me as I watch him check the time on his watch before returning to his book. Since the day I woke up completely unable to see and he... he was <em>there</em> during it, we haven't talked so much. We've both attended all our scheduled study sessions and hours in the Room of Requirements to slowly but surely fix the cabinet, but conversation hasn't been much more than "What did you get on number seven?" and "We should do another test round on the cabinet."</p><p>Slowly, his eyes start dragging up from his book. Slow enough that I know they'll connect with mine, slow enough that I have time to move mine or close mine. I don't, though. I wait for the silver shards embedded in his porcelain face to meet mine, and a shiver passes my spine.</p><p>He scans me slowly, from my curls carefully swept over the arm of the sofa so that they don't get crushed under my head, to my loosened green tie limp on my chest, to the uneven socks reaching my knee several inches below the hem of my skirt, to my calves right on Blaise's lap. When he looks at my eyes again, his are a shade darker, but all he does is lift the hand from his face in what may be a subtle, two-fingered wave at me, his eyebrows quirking.</p><p>I turn away quickly, sitting up just the slightest bit and lightly nudging Blaise's knee with my shoe to get his attention.</p><p>"How's it going with Cassius?" I ask when he turns to look at me inquisitively.</p><p>Blaise inhales deeply, his eyebrows rising. "It's—It's going," he nods, patting my ankle lightly while his eyes drop to the coffee table in front of the fireplace. "It's most definitely going."</p><p>I crinkle my nose a little. "What does <em>that</em> mean?" I scoff in amusement, feeling Draco's piercing gaze linger on me, making my neck tingle, until it drops back to his book.</p><p>"It means... what it means," Blaise shrugs slyly, his eyes lowered and lips twitching.</p><p>"<em>Blaise</em>."</p><p>He groans, throwing his head back while his face screws up with irritation. "Shut up, alright? It—It means that I'm... I'm still as bloody confused as I was a few months ago—hell, a <em>year</em> ago."</p><p>I frown. "A year ago? Were you two even friends a year ago?" I prod curiously, tilting my head.</p><p>"No, we—" Blaise interrupts himself with a curt groan. He then freezes for a few seconds before tilting his head up to the ceiling to inhale deeply and exhale loudly, hands clenching and unclenching. "Y'know, I'm actually supposed to meet him right now," he mutters softly, glancing down at the watch he wears. "Talk to you later?"</p><p>"Wait, but—Oh, okay," I mumble as he gets up and walks past me, giving me a light pat on the head as he goes towards the boys' hall door. My eyebrows lift as I watch him pass, but I don't bother calling after him or going after him, for he doesn't seem like he'll stop for anyone.</p><p>After a little while, I do finally pull myself up to sit. It's as I'm swinging my legs over the sofa to sit properly so I can start putting a dent into my schoolwork that Maxon appears out of almost nowhere, picking my legs up to sit down beside me and then dropping them back down on his lap while looking at me with a bright, mischievous smile.</p><p>I lift my eyebrows at him in surprise, but then I let my legs relax on his. "Evening," I drawl casually, leaning back against the arm of the sofa while watching his hand run up and down my calf.</p><p>"I haven't seen you all day," he responds just as casually, his fingers fixing my socks so that the stripes at the bands are even.</p><p>"Mm, I've been cooped up in the library all day, I groan softly, my eyes briefly closing before I reach down to grab my book-bag and heave it up onto my lap. "I honestly haven't had a chance to even <em>stretch</em> in a week."</p><p>Maxon watches me pull my Astronomy homework out of my bag, a small smirk playing at his lips as I struggle to open the cap of a new ink bottle. He reaches over for it after a few moments, and I sigh dejectedly before placing it into his toned palm.</p><p>"Sore?" he asks coolly, my eyes on his fingers to watch him twist the cap open with ease, passing it back to me with a stifled look of amusement.</p><p>"You don't even know how badly," I sigh, taking the bottle and dipping my quill into it. "Thanks, Max."</p><p>He doesn't respond immediately, his hands just continuing their absentmindedly stroking over my knee-high socks while he picks up a conversation with Urquhart and Pucey, and naturally the three members of the Quidditch team talk about the game they won. I manage to get the hang of my Astronomy homework rather quickly, but when his fingers suddenly press into the muscle of my calf, I gasp and almost knock and spill the ink all over my parchment.</p><p>"<em>Désolé j'aurais du te donner un signe </em>[Sorry, I should've given you a warning]," he chuckles genially, warm brown eyes carrying a small glimmer as they glance at me, down to my hands where I've got small ink stains, and then at my calf where he expertly kneads the muscle with slightly calloused fingers. "Feels good?"</p><p>"Uhuh," I mumble, lips parted while my hands grip the cushion below me to brace myself. "<em>Oh</em>, wow," I exhale in place of the small moan that wants to slip out as his fingers get a spot that make my leg jolt. "<em>Wow</em>."</p><p>His lips twitch. "Yeah?" he stifles a small laugh, hands switching to my other calf, making me squirm slightly.</p><p>"<em>Maxon</em>."</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"<em>Too</em> good," I hiss insistently, and he gives me a great grin before relaxing his hands on my calf. I sigh softly, letting my body relax. "Thank you, but the next time you massage me, let's <em>not</em> do it in front of other people."</p><p>"Mm, noted. So," he starts casually, watching as I pull my legs off of him and instead curl them into my side, leaning a little bit into him while glancing down to see where I was in my homework, "when are you planning on telling me that you lost the bracelet again?"</p><p>I freeze.</p><p>I can feel his gaze on the side of my face, but I don't dare moving my own from the chart Im currently working on.</p><p>He exhales humorously, arm moving to rest on the top of the sofa and ghosting against my shoulders. "Don't stress," he says softly, squeezing my shoulder while I close my eyes in embarrassment and feel my face start to heat up, "I figured it would happen sooner or later."</p><p>I glance down at my left wrist where the chin is missing, rubbing it slightly before looking up at him with a small glare. "What does <em>that</em> mean?"</p><p>Maxon smirks. "History tends to repeat itself, doesn't it? <em>Et tu as toujours été le genre de personne qui perd constamment ses choses </em>[And you've always been the kind of person constantly losing their things]. Hey, don't worry about it—I got it for you when I was <em>fourteen</em>, and when I say <em>I</em> got it for you, I mean thag I have my sister my money and told her to pick out something pretty."</p><p>My glare harshness. "That is <em>not</em> true."</p><p>His smirk twists into a small, cheeky grin. "Whatever you say."</p><p>As it nears midnight and the common room begins emptying itself of its inhabitants, I end up moving back to the dorm to complete my homework. I'm still not really used to it—sharing a room with three other girls—so I tend to spend most of my time <em>out</em> of it until there's nothing left to do with my time but sleep. It's more uncomfortable than I could have imagined, but maybe that's because I haven't actually talked with Tracey, Millicent, or Daphne in such a long time.</p><p>Something about dying and coming back to life to find out that my father is dead following by a magical tattoo burning into my skin makes it a little hard to talk to anyone that isn't someone I actually like—and that number had a tendency of jumping around.</p><p>But as midnight passes and the witching hour approaches, and as the other girls settle into their own beds and descend into deep sleep, I find myself staring at my ceiling within the enclosure of my drawn hangings.</p><p>I can't sleep because I won't <em>let</em> myself. I know all it takes is a few drops of my Sleeping Draught and I'll be out like a light, but after the last time I used it—the one the woman at the apothecary, who apparently works at the Spiny Serpent too, slipped me—I haven't touched the bottle except to move it from Pansy's room to my small section of the sixth-year girl's dorm. I <em>have</em> used the other Sleeping Draught, the one that's more-or-less is useless on me.</p><p>But I hate using it. I know I have to sleep <em>eventually</em>, and I know my only option <em>is</em> that one, but I take my sweet time before succumbing to it, because that means succumbing to a night of terrors—albeit ones subdued compared to how they would be without a draught.</p><p>It's just been so long since I've spent a full night immersed in visions of drowning in soil while dressed in a white dress, or waking up in a cold metal coffin with my body decaying, or watching a monster devour my father before my own eyes.</p><p>But I don't know if I can touch the <em>other</em> draught. Part of me itches to down the entire bottle whole, go back to that bakery and maybe stay there this time.</p><p>But that thought makes me queasy as much as I long for it.</p><p>I close my eyes so tightly that shapes and colors dance against the black expanse, the very black expanse that clouded my eyes when I woke up the next day completely blind. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, wondering if when I open them again, it'll be just as black.</p><p>When I do, my vision is disoriented, but I blink it back to normalcy.</p><p>I can't get the image of my head. Waking up with the blinding light slowly fading back to a simple aching reminder. Everything in the bakery just as it was all that time ago, completely white and pristine. And I knew it wasn't a dream, just as I know now as I lay on this far too small and far too cold mattress that <em>this</em> isn't a dream. Isn't that what gives it away? The ability to know it isn't? The ability to think clearly and <em>know</em> you're thinking clearly?</p><p>It wasn't a dream. It was that <em>place</em>, that place I went when my father was dead and I was not quite. And something about that place is so subduing, because when I opened my eyes to find myself there, I knew I should have been panicking. Instead, however, I just sat there, letting it all sink in.</p><p>Unlike the first time, he didn't appear out of nowhere. He was there from the start, sitting across from me in that booth. And when I saw him, I didn't gasp in shock, nor did I freeze in surprise.</p><p>He stood out so starkly amongst all the white in the room. His skin was as dark as it always used to be, rich and full of life even in his death, even with the scars he accumulated through years of his mysterious work painting down his face. His eyes were still hazel, alight with vivacious gold, swirling like ichor in a churner. His hair was still short and curly, his jaw still strong and commanding, his posture still straight yet at ease.</p><p>He looked the same, but I didn't recognize him, because he also looked <em>so</em> different.</p><p>He looked... cleaned up. He was wearing a set of black robes with golden embroidery at the collars and sleeves and golden buttons lining the front of his chest and stomach. The collar of his shirt was crisp, and the gold rings on his finger glinted like they'd been freshly cleaned. I don't think he owned any robes like that in the past. Of course, as a Zabini, he owned many articles of clothing in both the black and gold department, but I just <em>knew</em> those robes weren't his.</p><p>They were simple, but they exuded power, exuded luxury, exuded a presence that wasn't his. He always dressed expensively but modestly as my mother, who prefers a tasteful lavishness, would allow him.</p><p>He didn't speak a single word.</p><p>I couldn't find it in me to take a breath deep enough to utter one either.</p><p>So now I lay here wondering if maybe it <em>was</em> a dream. Because I do remember consciously thinking that it wasn't, which I've never been capable of in my sleep before. Or perhaps it was a dream in which my consciousness allowed me to be aware I was asleep. I've had that happen once or twice before.</p><p>In the moment, it felt so real. But right now, there's only one way to be sure of it, and as much as I want to, I <em>don't</em>.</p><p>The silence, the cold, the solitude in this room I share with three others gets too lower. It roars up in a crescendo of intensity, leaving a buzzing in my ear, and I know it's either take the stupid draught—the one that hardly does it's job—or get <em>out</em> of this dorm.</p><p>I rip the blankets off of me and stumble towards the door, not bothering to grab anything other than my room key from off my nightstand and my slippers that I slide my feet into. My wand is already tucked into the waistband of my pajama pants. I've made a habit of sleeping with it as close as possible recently.</p><p>I'm quiet as I open the door and shut it behind me, hearing the lock click with a metallic sound that echoes in the desolate hallway, making me wince. I stare down at the pink slippers on my feet for a few seconds before pushing off the door and into the middle of the hallway, and I'm about to turn towards the door to walk out into the common room when I see her standing watching me.</p><p>Pansy's standing in her doorway, the door open behind her with her hand on the knob like she's about to shut it. Her hair is slightly disheveled, eyes puffy like they get when she's tired, and her pajamas are all rumpled. In her hand she holds an empty water jug, and I realize quickly that she's about to go fill it up in the common room from the water in there. She never liked filling it up from the bathroom sink even when it was late at night (though I hated the taste too), and the one time she tried a spell, a great jet of water blasted from her wand and nearly flooded the dorm.</p><p>I don't react other than freezing, my eyes stuck on hers. She remained there looking at me for a few seconds longer, and then she turns on her axis to walk back into her room and close the door behind her with a slight slam.</p><p>I flinch at the noise, staring where she stood only a second ago for a few moments before quietly making my way down the hallway and out in the common room. I'll decide I'll be upset over Pansy later, but tonight, I'm in no mood to spill tears of frustration.</p><p>The common room is so devastatingly silent, so cataclysmically empty, and my gut seems to drop like a stone when I step into it. The lanterns don't even creak on their rickety chains, and the fireplace, charmed to illuminate as soon as the room is occupied by a warm-bodied individual and extinguish as soon as its empty, gives way to a lame flicker of a flame that does a pathetic job in warming the dungeon up.</p><p>My toes curl in their slippers. Part of me wants to turn around and go back the room so I can grab warmer clothes—as thin flannel pants and Draco's old Quidditch jersey aren't very insulated—but my feet won't move in that direction.</p><p>No, they won't move back towards the girls' dorm, but they do grow confident in their stride towards the boys' hall, as if my feet know all on their own that warmth will be found behind that tall oak door.</p><p>Before my hand on the doorknob can wrench it open, someone on the other side pushes it open, making me gasp and step back before the wood can knock me in the face and leave me with an ugly bruise, one big enough that my mother would have no qualms in letting me stay back from the debutante ball.</p><p>On second thought, maybe I should have stayed put.</p><p>The boy on the other side doesn't seem to notice that he's even nearly knocked my head clean off my shoulders, as he's not even looking in my direction. I watch as Draco, muttering softly under his breath, fiddles with his watch, and quickly I realize that he's got it stuck on a loose string on his jumper.</p><p>Quietly, I step forward and place my hands on his. He freezes instantly, and though his sharp, pellucid gaze instantly snaps up to bear its knife-like intensity on my face—on the left side, too, which makes the Kenaz rune sitting there heat up with phantom flame—I keep my gaze on my surprisingly sturdy fingers as I untangle his watch from the loose thread.</p><p>Once done, I drop my hands to my sides but keep my gaze on his, watching his slowly lower before coming back up to carefully break off that loose thread without creating a hole in the jumper. I don't step back, taking in our close proximity with all my senses other than my sight before looking up. I inhale deeply, imbibing the richness of his cologne and musk, practically tasting him on my tongue. I listen carefully for the soft inhales and exhales out his nose, and though we don't touch, I feel the body heat radiating off of him in waves. And then I meet his gaze.</p><p>"It's three in the morning," he says quietly, his hair messy above glacial eyes.</p><p>"I couldn't sleep," I respond, my voice sounding all too loud in this chamber of a common room, but nothing beats the volume of my heart kicking up in velocity.</p><p>I scan him slightly, drinking in his sweatpants rolled up halfway to his calves, his shirt loose around the neckline like it's old and worn, and the broomstick, oddly enough, that is tucked under his arm.</p><p>"Planning on going for a spin?" I tilt my head curiously, eyeing the handle of the clearly expensive and well-kept broom, from the way the wood shines even under minimal light to the way the bristles are neatly combed.</p><p>"Yeah, well—I couldn't sleep either," he shrugs slightly, and I look back up at his face.</p><p>I bite down lightly on the inside of my lip, wondering if maybe I should step away and leave a little more room between us, wondering if maybe the proximity is making him uncomfortable—wondering if, should it be making him feel such a way, it's in the <em>good</em> way. I'm fairly certain a good way exists.</p><p>I decide on a half step back and the to the side to let him at the very least fully enter the common room, and he steps in without a beat of hesitation, letting the door shut behind him gently.</p><p>"Any particular reason why?" I ask lowly, feeling his warm arm brush against mine, reminding me all of a sudden <em>whose</em> jersey I'm wearing. I wonder if he's noticed.</p><p>"My thoughts are too loud tonight," he sighs, a dry sliver of amusement in his voice as he steps pass me to get to the refreshments table where he pours himself a cup of water. "They wouldn't give me a break. I thought a quick fly on my room might help me clear my head. Do you fly, Celeste? I mean did you ever learn?" Draco watches me with a hint of curiosity, and then his face drops. "Right. You'd have to have learned in order to take Potter's broom to..."</p><p>I smile without much amusement. It feels like that one movement of the muscles in my face drains me of my energy.</p><p>"Not often, and not as much as when I was younger. It's a bit like riding a bike, I think, as I didn't seem to have too much trouble with it that night..." I murmur, my gaze dropping to my hand which traces the carved wood frame of the sofa behind me, "though... they're may have been... <em>other</em> forces controlling that factor..."</p><p>I glance at him cautiously. He looks as though he wants to question me on these "other forces," with his eyebrows raised and his eyes—so devoid of color yet somehow an explosion akin to a polychromatic mosaic—watching me sharply, but he takes a sip of his water and seems to decide it unwise.</p><p>My gaze drops to his lips. They're pink from being gnawed at, and as he lowers his cup, I see them gleaming with a light sheen of water.</p><p>"Would you like to come, then?"</p><p>My eyes snap up to his. "Come?"</p><p>His hand lithely grips his broom from where it leans against the table and gives it a slightly spin in his loose fist. "I know you get cold easily, but the night shouldn't be too frigid. If you'd like to come with me out on my broom, you can," he says slowly, silver gaze now careening over his broom rather than me.</p><p>I tilt my head a bit, the pulse over my carotid throbbing at a dizzying pace. "Really?"</p><p>Draco nods, and a lock of his fine hair falls over his forehead. "If you don't want to be alone."</p><p>My lips twitch humorously. Who wants to be alone? Who truly wants to be alone? You can't be human and truly, genuinely, at the very core of your heart want to be alone. I enjoy my solitude, I prefer it most of the time, but I don't want to be alone. Especially not tonight.</p><p>"Do you want me to?"</p><p>Now he looks at me, now his gaze—scathing even when it isn't filled with the cold fires of his rage, devastating in its devilish beauty, withering with the magnitude of its sheer power—turns to me again.</p><p>"Do I <em>want</em> you to?" he echoes as though he hasn't heard me right or perhaps he doesn't understand what I'm asking, but I see from the way his grip tightens on his broom that my words are clear to him.</p><p>I swallow thickly. My face would contort into an expression of discomfort or even anxiety, but it remains still out of the sheer energy it would take to move.</p><p>"Do you want me to come with you? On your broom?"</p><p>He looks at me closely, like he's unsure if I'm really asking him this. His hand tightens again, and his face twitches slightly. He opens his mouth to respond, presumably finds it dry, clears his throat, and he manages to murmur softly, "Yes."</p><p>And so that is how we end up outside the back of the castle, of course after taking that secret tunnel behind the tapestry in the common room that leads up to the court yard.</p><p>I shiver as we come to a stop in the slightly damp grass, as it had been raining earlier in the night. My eyes are set on the Black Lake. It's far from where we stand, but I can still see the dock and the glimmering waters, as well as the reflection of the full-faced moon hanging in the sky accompanied by a thick smatter of stars and a few clouds. The moon hangs low, as it's due to set in time for the sun's rise in a few hours, appearing magnificently large and shining its silvery rays with all its glory.</p><p>When I look at Draco, I pray to Morgana that he doesn't hear the way my breath hitches.</p><p>Because he looks like he belongs to the moonlight. No, he looks like he <em>is</em> the moonlight, a shard of silver that fell from the heavens in the form of a perfectly carved seventeen-year-old boy. His messy locks look even whiter under the light, and his silver eyes possess an unearthly gleam that makes me wonder if he even is completely human. There has to be—simply <em>has</em> to be—a part of him that is <em>in</em>human, because there is no way one single boy or man or girl or woman could boast such trenchant, biting beauty. The way the moonlight catches between his eyelashes makes me sure of it.</p><p>And he's floating.</p><p>He's already mounted his broom, and now it hovers above the ground with his shoes occasionally touching the tips of the blades of grass. With that intense expression on his face, I half expect him to ascend up to the sky to be with the stars and the moon where he belongs.</p><p>"Are you getting on?" he asks with a confused indent between his brows. His voice is carried by the light breeze to my ears, decadent and rich, and I nearly drop to the grass right on my knees for him. It makes me weak.</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Stupid bastard—he's stolen my voice.</p><p>Draco looks away from me, and that's when I realize I've been staring for far too long. I clear my throat and look down at the grass where his feet are now planted firmly, broom no longer hovering. While my arms erupt with goosebumps from the chill, my face burns so slightly.</p><p>"Sit behind me," he says, leaning back a little bit with just one hand on the broom, the other reaching for mine.</p><p>I take it tentatively after a hesitant glance, and I allow him to pull me towards him. Swinging one leg over the broomstick, I'm soon situated right against his back, feeling his body heat soak through his shirt and mine, which is really <em>his</em> too. I just never returned it, but he never asked me to.</p><p>Part of me wishes he asked me to sit in front of him so I could feel his chest in my back and his lips against my ear, but I know I'd be more likely to fall off that way.</p><p>"Hold on," he says softly, looking over his shoulder.</p><p>As soon as my arms are around his waist, he's pushing off from the grass and rocketing upwards towards the winking night sky.</p><p>The suddenness rips a sharp gasp from my throat, but I can't even hear it over the howling of the rushing air around us, strong winds caused by our movement brushing their cold, biting hands over me. My arms squeeze tightly around his torso while I tuck my head over his shoulder to see where we're going, wind blowing my curls back and definitely tangling them.</p><p>Elated laughter reaches my ears, and it takes me a moment to realize that it's come from my own lips. It sounds so foreign, and I think I like the sound of it, but <em>nothing </em>beats the softer laugh that leaves Draco's mouth.</p><p>We bullet up into the air for a few seconds more before leveling off, and without losing even a fraction of his velocity, Draco has us ripping through the air towards the great big moon sitting low in the dark. For a moment, I think we could be flying right towards it, that we'll be able to touch it with our fingers.</p><p>He then dips all of a sudden, making me shriek right in his ear while my eyes widen. The stupid boy laughs after leveling off again, and if my heart wasn't pounding so wildly and the thought of moving an inch didn't petrify me, I would slap his chest or something.</p><p>Eventually, he slows his speed down though. I liked rushing through the air, feeling like I could fall any second but also feeling like wings might sprout out of my back and take me up into the sky all on their own. It did its job in waking me up, though, which perhaps isn't good at three in the morning.</p><p>I don't care, either way. I sit there behind him on the broom panting to catch my breath from all my sudden shouts when he pulled stupid maneuvers—like flipping the broom upside to make me feel like I'd fall and crack my head open and pretending to lose control every now and then—just to scare me.</p><p>Now, the pace is languid in comparison, even with the wind whipping at my hair. I groan softly in exhaustion despite feeling wide awake, and I let my forehead drop to his shoulder while my arms around him finally relax a bit.</p><p>"You're insane," I whisper softly, and his back shakes with his rumbling laugh. "Oh, shut it. You <em>terrified</em> me."</p><p>"You seemed to enjoy it," he says softly, a smirk all over his voice.</p><p>"I was <em>screaming</em>."</p><p>"And? I can think of other things for which screaming is an indication of pleasure," he snorts. I frown softly, letting his words repeat in my head a few times. When the meaning hits, I gasp softly and give his arm a slight thwack, at which he swerved left and dips a bit. "Careful! You really wanna hit the person in charge of making sure you return to the castle in one piece?"</p><p>Im gripping his shirt for dear life, my eyes wide and my heart halfway up my throat. Still, I mutter bitterly, "You did that on purpose. My slippers almost fell off."</p><p>Draco snorts. "Your slippers are truly your greatest concern right now?"</p><p>"They're <em>very</em> nice," I say with a slight huff, my hand sliding up to the left side of his chest to feel his heart pounding nearly as fast as mine. "I do <em>not</em> want to lose them, thank you very m—"</p><p>Draco lightly kicks my foot with mine, and a horrified gasp escapes me when I look down to see my pink slipper hurtling towards the grounds below, landing with a bounce in the grass.</p><p>"Draco!"</p><p>"Oh, we'll go back to get it," he says, biting back snickers.</p><p>"I—My—" I sputter incredulously, looking at my now bare right foot, the biting cold stabbing at my toes. "I <em>hate</em> you!"</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Is that so?"</p><p>"Yes!"</p><p>The broom slows slightly until it's just inching along at a slow, leisurely pace. He turns slightly to look at me, eyes heavy and lips parted. "Then why did you agree to come along?" he asks in a husky timbre.</p><p>I'm struck by the hot fervor in his eyes, and if isn't until he looks back forward with a mildly triumphant smile on those haughty, complacently kissable lips that I manage to mutter begrudgingly, "I didn't exactly expect you to kick my bloody slippers off."</p><p>Draco laughs softly, and the noise eases a bit of the irritation that coils in my chest. "Then you truly don't know me, do you?" he teases softly, one hand letting go of the broom to trial his fingertips over mine. "You want to fly around a little more?"</p><p>I hesitate softly, feeling his hand cup mine briefly before dropping back down to the broomstick. I want to stay here, pressed against him with my head tilted up so I can kiss the stars as they whiz past, but I'm getting dizzy flying so fast with such little sleep in my system.</p><p>"I don't want to go back inside," I murmur after taking a moment to devise a careful response.</p><p>Draco nods slightly, and the light wind carries his scent to my nose. "Right. Just hold on for a minute more, I think I know a place you might like."</p><p>"Wh—?"</p><p>He zips right off at top speed, making me choke on my spit while my arms tighten enough to leave slight bruises on his torso. He doesn't seem to mind, though, not even when I mistakenly dig my nails into him to brace myself.</p><p>Not too long later, however, as we approach the castle, he begins to slow. To my mild confusion, however, he doesn't descend, not fully. No, instead we fly over the towers of the castle until we reach the very center of it where a part of the roof is flat.</p><p>He carefully lowers us until our feet are planted, and Draco waits for me to get off the broom before he does the same, brushing himself off and then turning to look at me.</p><p>My knees are already weak and trembling from having to stand after all <em>that</em>, so I purposefully avoid his gaze because I know it'll make me crumple. Instead, I look up at the sky surrounding us, down at the Forbidden Forest, and around at the rest of the castle with its looming towers with pointed roofs.</p><p>"Sit."</p><p>When I look at him, he's sitting down at the very center of the sole flat expanse of the Hogwarts roof, patting the space next to him. On his other side is his broom and his wand beside him.</p><p>Walking slowly to avoid falling over, I approach him and all but collapse beside him with a soft sigh. His left arm brushes against my right as I lean back on my palms and stretch my legs out in front of me, tilting my head up to look at the full moon. And then, my body feeling so heavy, I give into its urge with a small groan while letting it fall flat against the cold stone surface, my left arm under my head as a cushion.</p><p>Draco chuckles softly, but then he slowly lowers himself to lay beside me.</p><p>It's odd. I'm surrounded by cold on all sides, from the stone to the nighttime air, but where his arm touches mine is filled with pure heat.</p><p>Slowly, cautiously, my hand moves towards him. It first finds his wrist, tapping against the side of his watch. I feel his palm twitch a little as I slide my fingers down until they are encapsulated in the warmth of his, and then I let them tangle while my eyes shut. It's funny—for someone so fearful of growing blind, I find so much of my courage when I can't see.</p><p>And I wonder—Is it because <em>I</em> can't see? Or is it because that when I can't see, it almost feels like <em>he</em> can't either? Like how sometimes children while playing hide-and-seek don't realize that just because they can't see the seeker doesn't mean the seeker can't see them.</p><p>His fingers, previously limp, move to curl between mine, and a soft breath parts my lips at the potency of the heat that flames up when his palm presses against mine.</p><p>"Do you know—" Draco starts, his low voice making my breath hitch, "—what your name means?" He laughs breathily, though not sounding so amused. "That was a stupid question. You probably do."</p><p>His thumb rubs the back of my hand. "I do," I respond, my voice small in comparison to the soundless expanse of the sky.</p><p>"I took Latin as a child, and for the first few years of Hogwarts, my parents had me continue studying it," he says softly, now giving my hand a few intermittent and light squeezes. "A difficult language. I couldn't speak it if I tried, but I understand much of it. Celeste—It's a French form of the Latin word <em>caelestis</em>."</p><p>I turn my head to look at him. I've already looked at the night sky long enough to burn the image of the moon into my eyes, but now I'd rather do the same with the image of him.</p><p>"It means... 'of the sky.' <em>Heavenly.</em>" His lips hardly seem to move. "The night sky."</p><p>He turns his head to look at me, and my throat closes instantly. Because now that he's laying down, nothing, not even his lashes are in the way for the moonlight to bless his eyes. I realize, staring at him completely dumbfounded, that all the dark in the night sky has been poured into my irises, but his are made of all the light, of all the stars and the moon.</p><p>"I think..." he whispers, trailing off as he looks at me.</p><p>I want to cry all of a sudden from the ironic heat in his cold eyes. It doesn't burn me, not tonight. It wraps me in tender flames and holds me close, and there's nowhere else I'd rather be.</p><p>"I..." He swallows dryly. "I've always liked my name. I think it fits me," Draco continues softly, gaze dropping to my cheek and then back to my eyes. "Serpent. Dragon. That constellation right there." He points at it, eyes briefly slipping to look at it, but my gaze remains steadfast on him. "I know that I was named after it and not the other way around, but I like have a constellation in the sky. Even after I burn out, it'll still be there."</p><p>He tears his eyes away from mine and fixes them solidly on his constellation. His hand is holding mine tightly now, as if it's <em>me</em> due any time to soar to the stars.</p><p>"Though... Though stars <em>do</em> disappear eventually, even if it's after eons. One day, my constellation won't be there anymore."</p><p>My chest rises and falls with my heavy breaths, but I keep my mouth shut, not wanting to make a single noise. Not wanting to interrupt him, hoping to watch his lips move for as long as it takes for his constellation to burn.</p><p>"The night sky, though," he continues, his voice now a softer pitch, the sound of which I hang onto desperately, "even when it changes, even when it loses stars and gains new ones... it's still the night sky."</p><p><em>Kiss me</em>.</p><p>"It's... Salazar, I sound like an idiot here," he huffs, eyes momentarily closing, and my heart aches when he deprived me of the light in them by doing so, "but... it's undying. It's immortal. It changes, but it's still timeless. It'll come back every sundown, long after I'm gone, long after my constellation is gone. It's... eternal. Inextinguishable."</p><p><em>Kiss me</em>, I beg, wishing my lips weren't frozen shut so they could say it for him to hear.</p><p>"Celeste, I think..."</p><p>He turns to look at me again, and I decide right then that <em>yes</em>, he does belong to the heavens. That it wouldn't be shocking at all if he suddenly floated up to be with it, far off in the distance until I could see nothing off him but his shocking hair and the light in his eyes. Maybe he would find a place in his own constellation, become the dragon that guards the night sky.</p><p>"I think I'm a constellation," he says, eyebrows furrowing and lips pouting ever so slightly. "I think I'm a constellation, but <em>you—</em>"</p><p>
  <em>Kiss me, just kiss me.</em>
</p><p>Draco inhales sharply, cutting himself off I can hear the audible, dry swallow he takes, feel his fingers squeeze mine so tightly that I can hardly feel them, and then he carefully props his upper body on his left arm so he can lean over me a little bit, lashes fluttering. His hand lets go of mine from the odd angle they're put in, but his right hand comes quickly to touch my arm to replace it.</p><p>"I think I'm just a constellation, but you are—" He shakes his head suddenly, a short, sharp jolt to the side. Draco inhales softly, and then he exhales, "You are the entire night sky."</p><p>And he's done talking. He presses his lips together tightly and looks at me searchingly, waiting for me to respond. I don't have the words for him, not after that. I don't know what to say, what to think, but I know what I <em>want</em>.</p><p>My arm feels stiff as I lift it out from between the two of us. His breath hitches when my fingertips touch his jaw, and the sweet sound sends my blood rushing everywhere. My thumb drags over his soft, pink lip, and slowly, I pull him down towards me. I watch his eyes flutter shut before mine so the same, and when the tip of his nose touches mine, I move my hand to the side of his neck.</p><p>He can close the space if he wants to.</p><p>Draco inches forward just a bit more, and then his lips are covering mine. His right hand finds my waist, holding me firmly while my hand slides to tangle with the hair at the back of his neck.</p><p>There's nothing but the distant rustle of the wind in the trees of the forest and the occasional hoot of an owl far away to remind me of where we are, to remind me that we're up on the roof of the castle in the dead of night. None of that matters. None of that means anything.</p><p>His lips are soft and sweet on mine, moving slowly in a rhythm we find together. I carefully slip my left arm out from under my head, and in place of it, he placed his right hand for me to rest my head on while slowly and cautiously moving to hover over me more comfortably, his knees on either side of one of my legs.</p><p>I want to pull him closer, but I don't. I don't want to tug too hard, make him gasp and pull away. I don't want him to take it as a sign to move his lips faster. I don't want him to change anything, so I settle one hand in his hair to tug only lightly, the other cupping the side of his face.</p><p>Can he feel my pulse? Because my lips seem to throb with need even as he slowly swipes his tongue against them. They pulsate so fervently, and I wouldn't be surprised if he could feel it against his own pair.</p><p>My fingers tremble. I don't know what I'm doing here, if I'm kissing him right. I've only really kissed like this once before, and it was so many months ago while sitting at his piano when I first learned he played. That one ended far too soon and from my own clumsy mistake, so I force myself not to move a single muscle that isn't in my lips just in case I somehow ruin this one too.</p><p>His left hand strokes up and down my side, gently squeezing my him, dragging the heel of his palm against my waist. His fingers find the hem of my shirt, his jersey, and they slide in slowly to touch only a small strip of skin above the waistband of my pants. I make a soft noise at the simple touch, my face erupting with a fever. He pauses for a second, but then just as quickly, his lips are moving against mine again while his thumb rubs slow circles over the skin on my hip.</p><p>When his tongue makes a second swipe, I let my lips part against his. His tongue makes a tentative dip to meet mine, and this time, it's him making a subtle noise from the back of his throat when they touch.</p><p>His hand slips up a little higher in my shirt, now curving with my waist. His thumb drags against my ribs, making my back give way to a subtle arch. Where his fingers touch me, heat blooms like moonflowers, heat powerful enough to rival the bitter cold of the night. And I know this is the very hand connected to the very forearm that bears the very mark that I match in my own. I know it's dark magic is in the tendrils rooted deep down into his skin, so deep it's wrapped around his own magic. I know all that.</p><p>I know we have these marks, and I know I have those runes, and I know that despite how softly and carefully he touches me, nothing in the world is as perfect untainted as this feels. That when I wake up tomorrow, it'll be back into a world of dark.</p><p>It can't be so bad if I just want to be in his light a little longer, can it? If I want to hold onto the stars before they burn away?</p><p>It's hardly my fault. I can't think of a single person with a will strong enough to resist it, to resist him. He may as well have Imperiused me, because at least right now I feel bound to everything his lips do. They own me, they own me, and I'll figure out how to set myself free from their sweet, sinful clutches, but tonight I'll wear chains if his lips want me so bound. Tonight I'll let them write his initials on my skin with the tongue behind them if they desire to brand me in such a way. Tonight his lips can own me, and I'll pretend I'm letting them as if they couldn't make me do anything I don't want to anyway.</p><p>And I'll pretend that I'm not wishing the sun never comes up. That the stars never fade, that the silver doesn't give way to gold, that the day never arrives to end the night. When the sun comes, it'll burn the shackles I've slipped onto my own wrists, and I'll have to pretend that I'm glad.</p><p>Slowly, Draco begins to pull his lips away.</p><p>I keep my eyes closed, my head tilting up a little to keep the kiss going for as long as it can until our mouths are an inch apart. As soon as his lips are gone, the cold returns, especially as his hand slips out from under my shirt.</p><p>"I want to touch you," he whispers in a hoarse, uneven voice.</p><p><em>So why would you stop? You foolish, foolish boy</em>.</p><p>I know why, though. He wants me to say that I want him to touch me before he indulges himself. And I want to tell him to have at me, to take all of me that he wants, to not worry how much he leaves behind because I'll find a way to pull myself back together come morning.</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>He makes a small noise at the sound of his name.</p><p>My voice feels foreign, hoarse like his as if we'd been making out ardently rather than that soft kiss.</p><p>"Take me back to the castle," I exhale.</p><p>He doesn't react at first, and I can feel the soft exhale of his lips against mine, but then he slowly pulls away. My eyes peel open, watching him closely. His face is unreadable, jaw set firmly as he moves to sit up, reaching over to grab his wand and push it back into his pocket. </p><p>It's as he's moving to stand up that I grab his left wrist, making him freeze and turn his head down to look at me. Anticipation and something I could possibly mistake as hope lines the starlight in his eyes, but the starlight quickly begins to fade as his pupils swell in size.</p><p>My lips tremble as they part once more. I don't want to move, want to do a single thing but feel his mouth on me. I certainly don't want to speak.</p><p>I force it out anyway.</p><p>"Take me to your room."</p><p>
  <em>—</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0087"><h2>87. TO PLEAD FOR MERCY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>April 1st, 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Somehow, in the four minutes it takes to get in the broom and fly down from the center of the Hogwarts roof to the grounds, a thunderstorm erupts from the few dark grey clouds in the sky, blurring my view of the stars and making my grip on my broom slippery.</p><p>I'm forced to land far from the castle. The rain makes it hard to see, and the dark doesn't help in that department. Perhaps I'm paranoid, but the thought of being struck by lightning while midair doesn't sound so appealing to me.</p><p>When we land on the grass, I nearly slip backwards onto my arse from how wet it is. Celeste is shivering violently behind me as she swings her leg off of the broom and instantly wraps her arms around mine while I step off as well, catching me off guard. I glance down at her, feeling the rain paste my hair to my forehead, but she's looking down to avoid getting rain in her face while one of her hands comes up to pat sadly at her curls.</p><p>"Can you run?" I shout over a clap of thunder that makes me jump slightly in surprise while we begin a trudge towards the secret passage, our legs still shaking from the rough landing.</p><p>Celeste glances down at her feet, and I'd laugh at the sight of one bare and the other wearing a slipper if there wasn't rain pouring down my back and making my shirt stick to my chest. She then nods, though, tilting her head up to give me a furious, twisting expression of determination.</p><p>I untangle my arm from hers to grip her hand tightly, the rain making our palms slide around until she locks her fingers with mine and squeezes. We share a brief glance before bolting off towards the castle, both our nails digging into the other's knuckles so we don't lose each other. A flash of lightning briefly lights up the sky, illuminating the dimensions of the ominous thunderclouds hovering lowly above the castle, and a chill shivers its way down my spine.</p><p>A gasp rips out of Celeste's mouth as we approach the passageway, and instantly, she topples onto me, making my foot slip.</p><p>Down we go crashing to the wet grass, the air knocking out of my lungs as my back hits the ground. Celeste comes falling on top of me, her forehead hitting mine harshly and making the two of us groan. Her hand still grips mine and twice as tightly as she blinks water out of her eyes. My own vision takes a few moments to blur before she becomes clear in front of me.</p><p>Her curls are sopping, but they somehow hold part of their shape. One is pasted across her cheek, though, and it's all my effort not to move my hand from her hip to push that hair out of her face. She's panting softly with me, parted lips hovering over mine while her dark, dilated eyes flicker up and down my face.</p><p>A crash of lightning makes the sky glow an electric color once more, and when it hits, the world slows down for a few seconds. Just a few, only enough to cast a shine on her face and reveal ever inch of it to my eyes, from the way a few beads of rain water gather over her eyebrows, follow the bridge of her nose, a stray one clinging to her lip.</p><p>What lays atop me is no human entity. I've seen women with incomprehensible powers, Veela that could lure men into their taloned grasps with a single bat of their eyelashes.</p><p>This isn't the same, though. Seductive as she may be, it would be belittling to label her as nothing more than a magical seductress. She's so much more—a magic more powerful than the human eye is deserving to bare witness to, a magic that greedy men would beg to taste on their tongue, a magic that would make even the strongest plead for mercy.</p><p>The light disappears with a snap, and returns the distant rumbling and pounding of the rain.</p><p>Celeste cursed softly, pushing to sit up and come to a slightly shaky stand. I'm up on my feet a moment after her, waiting for her to slip her sole slipper back on before grabbing her by the elbow to continue making a run for the passage.</p><p>We manage to make it to the castle without toppling over again—not that I particularly minded having her on top of me, though the rain was a bit inconvenient—and when we do reach, I grab my wand in the pocket of my sweats and mutter under my breath, "<em>Dissendium</em>."</p><p>The stone takes far too long to slide open and reveal the narrow path, but when it does, I waste no time pushing Celeste in front of me and slipping in behind her, the passageway sealing itself once more.</p><p>It's a tight squeeze making our way down the magic passageway. It's completely flat, despite bringing us down to the dungeons, but it twists and turns without warning, and at some parts, we have to turn sideways to fit. Celeste shivers in front of me, her hand still clasping mine, though loosely now.</p><p>It's as we near one of the few torches that hardly illuminate the passage that she gasps and nearly falls over again. This time, I manage to grab her by her hips and pull her back towards me before she can crack her skull open on the stone floor, and as her wet curls come flush with my chin, I inhale her blackberry mixed with the rain and the cold win.</p><p>"How are you so clumsy?"</p><p>"Whose fault is it that I only have one slipper?" she bites back instantly, turning her head over her shoulder to direct a harsh glare that makes my stomach twist and explode into a horde of owls.</p><p>Her expression then softens slightly as her eyes drop to my lips, and I hold my breath while my pulse jumps and my face—already a little pink from the cold—heats up with a rush of blood. Celeste shakes her head, a few droplets of water flying onto my face, and she turns on her heel to continue on down the passage, walking on her toes to avoid getting stray rocks embedded into her right foot (the one without a slipper).</p><p>At the tapestry, I stand as close behind her without touching her as I can, knowing she senses me. She pulls it back to peer into the common room, and I lean forward so my head is right beside hers and my breath against her ear.</p><p>I sense her briefly glancing to look at the side of my face before she slips into the common room, apparently deeming the coast clear.</p><p>I follow behind closely, the tapestry fluttering back to its original spot behind me. I'm sure we're tracking water all over the floors, but I couldn't care less as I watch Celeste come to a stop a bit in front of the door to the boys' hall, her hands picking at her fingers as she turns slightly to glance at me, the look on her face telling me that she's unsure whether she should open the door—whether she should come with me.</p><p>I readjust my grip on my broom as I come up from behind her, hearing her inhale slowly but deeply when I reach my arm around her side to grab at the doorknob and twist it, the door slowly creaking open as I let it go with a light push.</p><p>"Are you just gonna stand here?" I ask, pulse jumping next to my throat.</p><p>"No, I—" She gives her head a curt shake. "No."</p><p>Celeste avoids my curious glance as she strides forward with as much dignity a girl with one slipper, sopping clothes that stick to her body, and a blade of grass sticking out of her wet curls. I bite down on the inside of my lip, following after her at a slower pace. Somehow, even with a little mud on her elbow, she's impossibly powerful.</p><p>—</p><p>I step out of the glass door to my shower with a slight groan, the steam seeping into my store muscles and occluding my vision as I carefully slide the glass back shut. A bead of condensation trails down between my two pectoral muscles, taking a slow path down between my abdominal muscles and disappearing below while I properly fasten my towel at my waist.</p><p>My hand grabs my wand from off the bathroom counter, and with a flick I cast a wordless charm to clear the condensation from off the mirrors so I can take a quick glance at myself.</p><p>I wince slightly when I see how red my skin is. It's almost like having it presented before me makes the raw tenderness so much worse, and the stinging that crawls underneath the surface of my palms, shoulders, neck, and chest worsens exponentially. I glance down at my hands, and where the Dark Mark sits hidden underneath my magic, my skin is littered with with bits of pink discoloration, some raw and bright, some old and fading.</p><p>Somehow, for some reason, magic won't let me conceal those.</p><p>I make quick work combing through my hair and moisturizing my body, cringing lightly at the way it feels on my palms when I'm done.</p><p>My clothes, however, are out in my room; I've never liked the feeling of having to slip a shirt or pair of pants on whilst in the steaming confines of a bathroom.</p><p>When I step out into my room, I'm hit with the change in temperature with a slight shiver. I close the bathroom door behind me, tossing my wand up onto my bed. It's as I'm walking forwards with my hands on my towel ready to pull it off that I sense a figure off to my right, and with a turn of my head, I quickly remember that Celeste showered before me and has been sitting in here waiting the entire time.</p><p>She's in the corner with her back slightly towards me, her hand raised up at the bookshelf against my wall to lightly trace the spines of the books with the tips of her fingers with a book tucked under her other arm. I scan her lightly, my hands falling from my towel.</p><p>She's in one of my shirts—a white one—as unfortunately, my jersey that she'd been wearing was soaking through and through and was still damp even when we put a few charms on it. And she's in my boxers, the sight of her thighs in them making me wonder if I should go back for another shower—a cold one—while I quickly glance back up. Her curls are tied up in a messy knot with a spare hair tie I found laying around that Pansy must have left behind once. I offered to let her use my shampoo and conditioner, but she laughed in my face and told me I was cute if I thought my products would work with her hair.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>She gasps and jolts back, reminding me of a cat so easily startled. I lift my eyebrows lightly while she whips around to look at me, face instantly falling into relief. She isn't usually so jumpy.</p><p>And then her eyes fall down past my neck, and her right hand falls limp. My neck burns a little hotter as her gaze tracks down from my shoulders to my stomach, eyes widening where my towel is starting to slowly slip lower down my hips—I've <em>never</em> been able to fasten a towel tightly enough—and then darting back up to my face.</p><p>"Should I—?" "Do you—?"</p><p>I cut myself off quickly, and she does the same. Celeste reaches up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, now holding the book to her chest while her gaze drops to my collarbones and back to my eyes.</p><p>"Should I go back to the bathroom while I put my clothes on?"</p><p>Celeste falters slightly, her fingers digging into the spine of the book while her other hand scratches lightly at the back of her head. "Well, should I leave while you wear your clothes?"</p><p>I tilt my head slightly, my eyebrow lifting. "I asked you first," I say slowly, reaching a hand down to subtly clasp the front of my towel and bring it an inch or two higher.</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"<em>I</em> asked <em>you</em> first."</p><p>Celeste glowers at me lightly. "<em>No</em>," she spits with venom, her chin turning up indignantly and her dark eyes daring me to prod her further, "that won't be necessary."</p><p>I scan her again, and then I walk over to the side of my bed so my back faces her and the glowing Black Lake. "Good," I say lightly, glancing slyly up at the mirror above my dresser on the opposite wall through which I can see Celeste with her eyes fixated on my back. I give my shoulders a slight roll, and her head tilts a bit. "I agree."</p><p>When I let my towel drop, Celeste's eyes widen and her hands drop the book.</p><p>I bite back a smile, watching with a lowered head through the reflection as she curses rather loudly and drops to the floor to pick the book back up.</p><p>I take my time pulling on my briefs, my shirt, and my sweatpants, all of which had already been sitting folded on my bed. Occasionally I sneak a glance at the mirror to see Celeste standing and reading from the book, but I get lucky once at first and manage to catch her glancing at me while I'm pulling my sweatpants up.</p><p>"You're blushing, aren't you?" I ask after a moment of debating whether doing so is a good idea or not, my hands fiddling with the knot on my sweatpants, a stubborn one.</p><p>The book snaps shut. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"I'm not even looking at you, and I can tell you're all heated up," I continue with a casual shrug, fibbing lightly as I glance up at the mirror briefly to see her glaring at me harshly.</p><p>I bite back a smile, looking back down. She's angled so she can't see a single thing in the mirror except for my bed, much to my amusement.</p><p>"I don't <em>blush</em>, Malfoy. I <em>can't </em>blush. In case you haven't noticed somehow, I'm <em>black</em>."</p><p>"Oh, it may not be <em>visible</em>, but I'm sure you're blushing."</p><p>"Why would I be <em>blushing?</em>"</p><p>"Caught a glimpse of my bare arse, didn't you?"</p><p>Celeste gasps softly while I turn around. She isn't looking at me, instead over at the piano while shaking her head, giving me the chance to scan her front. With a mild startle, I realize she must have been a bit damp still when she put my clothes down, because the white shirt she wears is a little see through—and by a little, I mean a lot, giving me an almost vivid view of her breasts.</p><p>My eyes dart up quickly right when she looks at me again.</p><p>"You're being ridiculous," Celeste rolls her eyes, turning to push the book back where it belongs up on a high shelf. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."</p><p>"<em>Right</em>."</p><p>"Anyway—" Celeste freezes after turning around. She then crosses her arms, pushing her chest up a little while squinting and leaning forward a little. "Wait..." Her eyes widen. "<em>You're</em> the one that's blushing!"</p><p>Now my eyes widen. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Look at you!" she scoffs, striding forward with an accusatory finger pointed up at me and only coming to a stop when it's pressed under my jaw and forcing my head up a centimeter, my eyes low to maintain contact with hers. A small smirk twists at her face. "You're all pink the face. Oh, how <em>lovely</em>, such a precious shade."</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"Accusing <em>me</em> of blushing when you're standing here like a virginal bride on her wedding night!"</p><p>"Oh, you're the blind bat between the two of us!" I snap back, slapping her hand out of my face and leaning down with a slight jeer so our noses are only inches from brushing. Her face is pinched with indignant resolve, though she inhales deeply at the proximity while her eyes flicker between my eyes and lips. "Bet you see all sorts of odd things..." I mutter under my breath, my own eyes finding her lips.</p><p>"Draco," she says in a soft, sleek voice, the silkiness making my shiver slightly while my pulse jumps, "you're typically as white as snow. I think I can tell when you're blushing."</p><p>If I was pink before, I must be a shade of fuchsia now. Despite the brilliant heat crawling my skin, I don't let my gaze wither away, even as she lifts a hand to lightly touch my neck with her eyes now steadfast on my lips and hers parted.</p><p>Her finger drags against my throat, and for a moment I can almost believe she's placed a collar on me and holds in her hand a leash. One tug, and I'd fall right in my knees for her. One word, one look, I'd do the same.</p><p>My own gaze falls to her lips, reminding me of what we had been doing before she told me to bring her to my room, what I believe we <em>both</em> intended on doing after reaching it before the rain ruined everything. What I wonder if she'd still be up to.</p><p>She doesn't move an inch, but it's as if she tugs on that leash and pulls my head closer so I can feel her breath on my jaw.</p><p>"Why are you blushing, anyway?"</p><p>I glance down to her chest. When I look back up, she's frowning softly. She looks down to see where my gaze fell,  and when she sees, she gasps in a choked fashion and steps back instantly, her arms wrapping over her chest.</p><p>"Oh, my—"</p><p>"It's a little see-thr—"</p><p>"No kidding!"</p><p>"Here, just—just take my shirt," I huff slightly taking a step back while she glares at me. "Oh, don't look at me like that, like I've charmed it to be that way!"</p><p>"Oh, you may as well have! Standing there, staring at my bloody breasts like a perverted little boy without telling me!"</p><p>"Oh, <em>I'm</em> perverted, am I?" I mock her, reaching down to pull my shirt up over my head with one swift motion, catching the way her dark eyes fall to my chest, expression going vacant, and then snap back up while she recoups that look of annoyance. "You're the one fantasizing about my <em>arse—</em>"</p><p>"I was <em>not—</em>"</p><p>"Oh, don't bother, I saw you ogling through the mirror," I cut her off harshly, her eyes widening while I fix the shirt so it isn't inside-out and toss it for her to catch.</p><p>Celeste opens her mouth as if to respond, but then she ducks her head and turns around, tossing my shirt onto the top of the armchair. I watch, the heat fading from my ears and my irritation fizzling away at an astounding speed, as her arms cross over and hands grip opposite sides of the hem of the white shirt, back arching while she pulls it up over her head. Her curls bouncing against her head as it comes up, and the sight makes me wonder how her <em>breasts </em>may have bounced.</p><p>I clear my throat and glance aside.</p><p>And as I move to turn around so that I don't fulfill her accusation of me being a perverted little boy, Celeste pauses in all her movements, the white shirt now on the armchair and the blue one in her hands.</p><p>I frown softly as she first turns her head over her bare shoulder, a curl that spills out of her bun bouncing slightly against the smooth, dark skin. Then, slowly, Celeste turns around, her hands clasping the shirt to her chest to maintain some of her modest. Her eyes first go to my chest, and then they careen up to peer at me through her eyelashes.</p><p>My mouth drops slightly, hand fisting at the material of the side of my sweatpants while my pulse thuds in my wrists. She sucks lightly on the insides of her cheeks, a thoughtful expression on her face.</p><p>And then, without warning, Celeste drops the shirt to the floor, her arms coming to her sides.</p><p>My eyes widen and my heart comes to a skidding stop. I can't look away from her—not with the way she's watching me with that heavy, dark gleam in her eyes, not with the way her hair is pulled back so messily, not with the way I can see her collarbones without looking at them.</p><p>Yes, she's most definitely a magic that can make even the strongest plead for mercy.</p><p>But she isn't merciful.</p><p>Even her smiles aren't merciful. Her smiles tighten the collars on weak and strong-willed men and women's necks. Her laugh makes them fall to kneel. Her whisper makes their head bow in submission. Her touch makes them cry for more.</p><p>She could cut them open, and they would ask to taste their own blood. She could plunge her hand into their chests, and they would hope that she'd pull their hearts out. She could leave them to die on the floor, and she would be their last, sweet thought.</p><p>Celeste scoffs, her hand coming on her hip while she stalks up to me. "Don't just <em>gawk</em> at me," she snaps with a roll of her eyes, stopping hardly a foot away, her hand coming forward to lightly touch my chest.</p><p>My voice comes out a hoarse whisper. "Are you—?"</p><p>Celeste's hand flies up to grip my jaw, making me stumble backwards at the power in her fingertips. She presses her lips to mine <em>hard</em>, other arm slinging around my shoulders to pull herself up and closer to me. The feeling of her bare breasts against my chest makes me frown while my hands slip to her back, holding her close to me. Where her hands touch my skin, fire erupts in blossoms, seeping into my blood and making it vibrate intensely.</p><p>My eyebrows furrow deeply while I continue staggering backwards, her hands pushing me on and the force of her kiss making it almost impossible to stay up on my feet.</p><p>My legs hit the bed, and I fall to sit on it. Celeste hardly gives me half a second to place myself properly before shes pressing a knee onto the mattress and climbing to straddle my lap, her right hand squeezing my jaw every so slightly and her left dragging through my hair while she makes small noises at the back of her mouth.</p><p>"Mmh," I groan out a muffled noise, face twisted with concentration to keep my lips latched to hers while somehow shifting back on the bed while she's on top of me. "Celeste," I mumble against her mouth. Her hands slide up my chest, squeezing my shoulders before dipping to my hair. Her breaths grow heavier as her tongue clashed with mine. "Mmph, <em>Celeste</em>."</p><p>"What?" she pants, pulling away for only half a second to scan me with blown eyes before leaning back in.</p><p>I stop her before her lips can touch mine, my hand on her jaw. "Slow down," I say lowly, looking carefully into her dark eyes while she licks her parted lips.</p><p>Her eyebrows press together, face twitching a little while her lips form a confused pout. "Why?" she asks, pulling away from me slightly to see me better. And then her eyes widen. "Oh. I mean, I can—I can go—"</p><p>"<em>No</em>," I interrupt quickly, though shes already swinging her legs off of me to sit beside me, her arm wrapped over her chest and her expression a little flushed. "I didn't mean <em>that</em>, I just... well..." I trail off slightly, my eyes slowly tracking down until they find the shadow of her cleavage where her arm tightly presses her breasts against herself. "Uh..."</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>"Right." I snap my eyes back up, feeling my face heat up tremendously while Celeste smirks at me knowingly. "I'm just saying... slow down. I mean, you <em>can</em> slow down," I say lowly, ears only turning red as she tilts her head curiously. "There's no... need to rush, yeah? We have the night, or what's left of it, at least."</p><p>She bites her lip, and then she releases it. "You want us to take our time," Celeste responds in a low, flat voice, in a statement rather than a question.</p><p>I nod, keeping my face as stoic as I can manage even when she drops her arms. I force my eyes to stay up, though, and I'm glad I do, because then I don't miss the way a wickedly devious smile tilts her lips up. She lifts her hand to push the hair from her loosening bun out of her face, and once again it's like a tug of that invisible leash.</p><p>"I can do slow..."</p><p>Her voice is like a low, silky, predatory purr, like that of a feline. Or perhaps like the sly, beguiling hiss of a reptile. She comes onto her hands and knees to carefully crawl back towards me, prompting me to slowly make my way backwards until my shoulders are against the headboard and there's no way for me to escape her. I prefer it that way, though.</p><p>"I just..."</p><p>She loses that wily timbre in her voice, instead adopting a mildly unsure one as she stop in her crawl when her lips ghost against my ear and one of her hands is on my thigh to keep her steady. I bite back a groan as I catch a whiff of her. Here she is, right on my lap wearing nothing but <em>my</em> boxers, smelling like <em>my</em> body wash, just like she's <em>mine</em>.</p><p>"I just <em>really</em> need you to touch me..." she continues in a slight mumble.</p><p>Her tone isn't seductive. It isn't trying to elicit the sharp flush it does to my cheeks, nor is it trying to make my heart race at all the thoughts it brings to my head. It's honest, even a bit embarrassed, and still, I think one touch from her might have me coming in my pants.</p><p>"Before I..."</p><p>She swallows nervously, and for some reason, the noise makes me suddenly so aware of how my eyes have fluttered shut. I open them to see her body before mine, still on her hands and knees. I can see down the slope of her back, and I wonder how much it would make her writhe if I kissed my way down her spine.</p><p>My hand lifts to glide down her arm. She shivers, and I run my fingertips back up to smooth over her shoulders. The muscles in her back flex slightly under my touch.</p><p>"I just need... I need you to touch me—and I mean <em>touch</em> me—before I start touching myself."</p><p>I groan audibly, my head instantly filling with images of Celeste sprawled out on my bed stark naked. One hand on her breasts teasing her nipples, the other hand between her legs playing with herself. Her whimpers and moans echoing off the glass wall partitioning my room from the lake. Her writhing making a mess of my bed, her hand making a mess of herself.</p><p>But I think I'd rather be the one to get her all messy, so I reach forward to grab her hips and pull her onto me, muffling her cry of surprise with my lips.</p><p>She then gasps in surprise when I push her hips down so her core presses against the bulge in my sweatpants, and at the feeling of her heat seeping through even the material of the boxers, my sweats, and my briefs, I throw my head back with a guttural grown and lift my own hips up a bit in a sort of attempt to get more.</p><p>Celeste leans in to press her mouth against mine again. Both our lips part instantly, tongues tangling lightly. She traces hers against my teeth while slowly rolling her hips on top of mine, and suddenly I'm not only thinking of how good it feels, I'm thinking of how she must be getting my boxers all wet. Slowly, I drag the heels of my palms down her palm, feeling her shudder. My left hand skips back around to her front, smoothing over her stomach before finding her breasts.</p><p>She gasps as my hands tuck beneath her knees and push her up so she's standing on them, her own hands flying to steady herself on my headboard. I tilt my head up to eye at her hungrily. Celeste looks down at me, her lips parted and wet and eyes blown out slightly. My hands pull her to lean over me some more until her breasts are level with my face, and when I latch my lips around one of her nipples, her face instantly crumbles with a weak cry of relief.</p><p>"H-<em>Hah</em>," Celeste chokes out, her back arching a little. One of her hands grips the top of the headboard, and the other tangled with and pulls on my hair, making me groan softly as I suck on the tender skin of her breasts. "Oh... Oh, Salazar," she moans, her hand shoving my face closer to her.</p><p>My eyebrows draw together tightly, head tilting while my tongue slips out to lightly flick the hardened peak of her breast. She jolts slightly, chest rising and falling dramatically and fingers tight in my hair.</p><p>My hands are on her arse, slipping under the leg sleeves so that my palms are flush with her skin. I knead the muscles with rough fingers, holding her close so she can't squirm away. Her moans sound choked, cut, and strangled, occasionally a ripe yelp ripping out her throat as my teeth graze against her nipples and scrape more harshly against the full meat of her breasts.</p><p>"D-Draco," she pants softly as I slip my right hand out of the sleeve of the boxers. "<em>Ah...</em>"</p><p>My hand comes up to occupy her left breast while my mouth works her right. She shudders as I pinch at her skin, but quickly my fingertips trail down her abdomen, tickling her side so her muscles tighten, and the pull the waistband of the boxers to dip inside and find that warm spot between her two plump thighs.</p><p>"Draco!" Celeste gasps and pulls away to look at me right when the tips of my fingers making contact with her slick folds.</p><p>My hand doesn't move a single inch while I, already missing the feeling of her breasts pushed up against my face, tilt my head up to look at her. "Is there a problem?" I ask coolly, as if completely unperturbed. My heart pounds at twice its typical speed at the thought that maybe she's changed her mind—maybe she doesn't want this.</p><p>And I can't help but think about the last time we were in a similar position, how she had been on me like this, how my hand had been where it is right now, how she made me stop and told me not touch her. And if she asked me now, I'd pull my hands away, but <em>Salazar</em> do I want to touch her. I want to feel how wet she is on my fingers, feel her walls clench around them, hear her moan in my ear.</p><p>"I..." Celeste is panting softly. Her left hand is on my shoulder, and the other has darted down to rest gently on my forearm where it disappears into the boxers.</p><p>Slowly, I start to slip my hand out. "I need to know your color."</p><p>Her fingers tighten around my wrist before I can fully bring my hand out of the boxers, and my eyebrows dart up. She's not looking at my face anymore, instead focusing on my chest.</p><p>"Green."</p><p>My body reacts to the sole word before my mind even has a chance to process it. My free hand lifts to bury my fingers into the roots of her hair at the side of her head and pull her down. Her breath hitches when her lips slam against mine, but what really makes her moan against me is how my right hand slips back down between her thighs to slide my fingers against her dripping core.</p><p>"Fuck, you're so <em>wet</em>," I give a slight groan myself, feeling Celeste carefully lower her hips to rest her weight on my lap. She really, truly is dripping onto my fingers, her arousal making it easy for them to slip between her folds and tease at her entrance.</p><p>"Don't tease," she murmurs with a small shudder, arms wrapping around my shoulders. "More..."</p><p>My head turns to brush my lips against her ear. She's making small sounds of distress at the back of her throat, needle little hums and heavy breaths of anticipation that draw my gut tightly and make my pulse threaten to go into arrest.</p><p>Here she is, the embodiment of sorcery, an impossible girl that could bring me to my knees and <em>knows</em> it. Here she is, sitting in my lap, muffling her whines by clamping her lips together. Here she is, so wet on my hand, writhing willfully. I would be stupid to think that I have any power of my own with her. Anything I have, she gives.</p><p>My left hand stroked the back of her head. I find the straining hair tie that's hardly holding her thickly curls together and tug it down, though it snaps almost instantly against my skin. I bite back a hiss, tossing it aside and moving my fingers back to her hair. She didn't wash it, so it still smells like the wind and the stars and her own signature blackberries.</p><p>"Who are you so wet for?" I murmur as she finally relaxed all her wait on my lap.</p><p>I try to ignore the way the back of my forearm brushes against the bulge in my sweatpants with every small movement of my fingers and wrist, but it doesn't help with the growing pool of pre-come that forms at her soft, submissive whine.</p><p>She's the least submissive person I know in every context of the word. In bed, out of it, she's demanding, controlling, domineering. She doesn't submit unless she wants, and even then, even when she does, there's still that collar on my neck that tightens with her every little noise.</p><p>"Hm, darling?" I whisper softly in her ear, my hand unable to decide whether it wants to play with her broken curls or rub at her soft skin. "Why are you so wet?"</p><p>Celeste buries her face in my neck, fingers tugging on the hair at the nape of my neck. She whines softly, and the sound goes straight down to my cock, giving it a slight twitch. Her breaths then heavy, but she's silent.</p><p>"Celeste, tell me."</p><p>"I—"</p><p>"Celeste," I say in a firmer voice, giving her hair a pull strong enough she moans, but not enough to pull her head back, "who made you this wet?"</p><p>"You—" Celeste pants softly, cutting herself off with a thick swallow when her throat goes dry. I glance down to see her toes curling and the muscles in her calves tensing even though my fingers do nothing more than tease her entrance, wholly ignoring her clit. "You," she whispers, pushing her hips down. "Draco... Draco, you made me this wet."</p><p>I let the tip of one finger inside her, and her hips shift again to get more of what I won't give. "What's that, <em>chérie?</em>"</p><p>"Draco," Celeste whines again, and I can feel how hot her face is against mine to accompany the embarrassed tremble in her voice. "I'm... I'm <em>wet</em> because of <em>you</em>," she managed to mumble, pressing her face into my neck. Her teeth then latch around a tendon, making me groan as she uses it to muffle her noises in a struggled attempt to keep quiet.</p><p>A thrill passes me. She's wet because of <em>me</em>. I knew that, of course, but to hear it from her own sweet lips...</p><p>"What about me, then, hm?" I prod on, my voice breathless and almost as needy as the sounds she makes.</p><p>Carefully, I let two fingers sink into her core, and Celeste let's out a loud, raw moan that makes me nearly come, my mind high on <em>her</em> pleasure and unable to remember properly whether we cast a Silencing Charm or not. She starts rocking her hips, fucking my fingers at a slow pace. I thrust my fingers at the same time, the sound of her arousal slick against my head mixing with her soft, sweet noises that punctuate every bit of my fingertips against her G-spot.</p><p>"You—Your—" She stammers, voice a little slurred and her nails digging into my shoulders.</p><p>Celeste throws her head back with a sharp cry of surprise when my thumb brushes against her clit. I couldn't help it—I wanted to keep from touching her there until she was begging me for it, but I couldn't hold back much longer.</p><p>"Go on."</p><p>"H-<em>Hands</em>," she forces out, her own finding my hair to pull on roughly. "Your hands..."</p><p>I slip my hand in her hair down her back to find her arse, giving it a light pull and squeeze while my fingers continuing coaxing and massaging at her walls at a languid pace that has her squirming for more.</p><p>"And... And your eyes," she pants out, biting down harshly on my shoulder to muffle something a cross between a sob and a moan when I pull my thumb away from her clit. I wince at the jolt of pain it gives me, but her fingers tugging at my locks distract me from that soon enough.</p><p>"My eyes?"</p><p>"The way you look at me," she exhales with a shaky sigh and a confirming nod. And then she sucks in a trembling breath and releases it with a frustrated moan, hips bucking down on my hand and all but riding my fingers.</p><p>I watch her in awe as she pulls her head out of my face to let it drop back, curls dancing around her shoulders and breasts bouncing lightly while she works herself on my fingers. I momentarily pause their movement to focus on nothing but the way her face is twisted with so much pleasure, almost like she might start crying soon.</p><p>But then I pull her back towards me and continue thrusting my fingers against her, getting out of her mouth a strangled gasp while her face goes back against my neck.</p><p>"Tell me more. Tell me what about me made you so wet, darling," I whisper, my eyes closing and my teeth locking on my lower lip for a moment before I release it to lean in and press my mouth to her neck. My left hand clumsily pulls her hair out of the way so I can hotly suck and lick down her jaw, find her ear and nibble on it so she squirms so sweetly.</p><p>"<em>Please</em>," Celeste sobs, her hands curling in my hair like I'm all she needs to keep her soaring up in the sky among all the stars, like I'm what's stopping her from being swallowed up whole by the earth. "Your—Your lips, I <em>love</em> your lips," she whispers quickly, and my stomach twists at her choice of words. Apparently as I fuck my fingers up into her, I hit a good spot, because she whimpers and adds, "<em>Perfect</em>, you're so..."</p><p>I stifle a groan, giving her earlobe a light suck before abruptly bouncing my leg under her. She makes a lovely sound of surprise, legs starting to shake a little.</p><p>"More."</p><p>"<em>Draco</em>," Celeste mumbles pleadingly.</p><p>She's never so quick to beg, so quick to say "please."</p><p>"Give me more, and I'll give you more," I whisper softly next to her ear, giving it a chaste kiss. "Just a little while longer, yeah? We're almost there, <em>chérie</em>. More."</p><p>She pulls her head out of my neck, her eyes closed while she slants her forehead against mine and pants softly with furiously furrowed eyebrows. I give her a rougher thrust of my fingers, and her jaw falls slack with a stifled cry. My eyes start feeling heavy, tempted to close, but I force myself to keep them open so I don't miss even a single twitch in her expression.</p><p>"Your—" She cuts herself off with a dry swallow. "Voice. Your voice..."</p><p>Carefully, I let my thumb slide back over her clit, rubbing slow circles while her face scrunches up a little and a squeaky sound of frustration escapes her.</p><p>I can help but think how <em>adorable</em> it is—how her eyes are shut so tightly, how her mouth is frowning with the effort to hold back her pants and moans, how she truly isn't so good at staying quiet, how she occasionally whispers pleads in a voice so quiet, I can hardly make out a single word. Her face is drawn with concentration similar to how she looks when she's trying to understand a difficult passage in a textbook, and the connection almost makes me laugh.</p><p>"My voice?" I whisper, and she shifts a bit so that her lips brush against mine.</p><p>Instantly, they part, letting me slip my tongue between them. Celeste moans, her tongue attempting to mimic mine. She tries to kiss me back, and her efforts truly are admirable, but when I speed my thumb up and curl my fingers tightly, her movements go all sloppy like shes fucked dumb. She tries anyway to kiss me, her teeth grazing my lip a little.</p><p>"My voice makes you wet?"</p><p>She nods, face scrunched up.</p><p>My left hand tucks into her hair to pull her ear towards my mouth. Lightly, I let the tip of my tongue trace the shell of her ear while my thumb speeds up on its own, and Celeste whimpers in my ears while her hips start moving again.</p><p>My voice drops to a low, husky whisper. "Like this?" I ask, and she curses audibly. I suppress a smirk, leaning my head against the headboard again to watch her. "More."</p><p>Celeste's eyes flash open, dark and looking at me so imploringly. "Draco," she whispers, the sound of my name on her tongue like a drug.</p><p>"One more, and you get to come."</p><p>"I..." She pants softly, and then she muffled a frustrated whine against my neck while her nails dig hard and drag lines into my arms. "F-Faster."</p><p>I give the side of her face a stern glance, but I oblige anyway. I know I'll be able to pull away right before she hits the brink of I have to, and for a moment I wonder if it's worth it. Because I want to see her hit bliss, but I know once she does, this will be over. I want her to writhe and moan for just a little while longer.</p><p>"The things..." Celeste's voice breaks into another whine, and again she clamps her teeth down around a tendon in my neck, biting so harshly that I groan and speed my fingers up. When she lets go, she speaks in an almost inaudible whisper. "The things you said on the... on the roof."</p><p>My breath hitches. I turn my head to look down at her, but her curls and my own shoulder block my vision of my face. It's only when she makes a small, pleading noise that I realize my hand has slowed too.</p><p>"Draco..."</p><p>That's enough to have me moving again.</p><p>My hand tangled with the roots of her curls to ease her face out of my neck, and she moans lewdly as my hand in her boxers thrusts it's fingers against her G-spot a few times more.</p><p>I then slip my fingers out her entrance to slide them up to her clit, feeling them wholly slick with her sweet, warm arousal. Celeste's eyes snap open as I rub them quickly against her clit. Her hips rise up as if to get away from me while one of her hands dips down to press my hand closer to her. She makes direct eye contact with me, and I'm just blown by the way her eyes are dilated so far, the way her face is so flushed even when so dark, how her eyelashes bat with her hurried blinks, how her jaw somehow falls more and more slack while she releases her pleasure with short, breathy pants.</p><p>Her lips move shakily to form wobbly words, maybe pleads, maybe my name, or maybe they're just high-pitched and punctuated moans. Her left hand is on my shoulder pushing me back, nails digging into my skin.</p><p>And then her eyebrows shoot straight up while her head falls back and back arches, breasts shaking with how hard her entire body vibrates. I don't stop moving my hand. Even when my fingers cramp, I flatten my palm out to rub the planes of my fingertips against that sensitive spot as quickly as I can, feeling the muscles in her thighs clench around mine.</p><p>And then it hits her, <em>really</em> seems to hit her. Her legs are shaking wildly, yet she seems to come over with a great rush of adrenaline as she lifts her hips up to slowly come to a stand on her knees, forcing me to raise my hand with her. Her hands are both on my shoulders, squeezing and pushing hard enough that I'm almost worried she might dislocate them.</p><p>She lets out a strangled moan, eyes squeezing shut tightly, and then her entire body is jolting while cut gasps leave her. She reaches down to grab my wrist and instantly pulls my hand out of the boxers before collapsing back down to straddle me again. Her head falls against my shoulder and her chest heaving with each greedy gulp of air.</p><p>I let my hand fall limp on her thigh, glancing down to see my fingers glistening slightly completely soaked in her arousal.</p><p>"Fuck," Celeste whispers under her breath, her hand rubbing up and down my chest and her lips brushing against my throat.</p><p>Slowly, I raise my left hand to gently pull her off my shoulder. She sways slightly, but she holds herself up straight and slowly drags her eyes up to meet mine. When my right hand comes to her mouth, she parts her lips without hesitation and doesn't break out eye contact for even a second while I slip two fingers into press lightly against her tongue.</p><p>I moan softly. I try to keep my gaze on her heavy eyes, but they prove to be too intense, so instead I choose to watch her lips close around my knuckles while she sucks gently her arousal off my fingers.</p><p>"Do you taste yourself?"</p><p>Celeste nods, her left hand holding mine while her right absentmindedly paws at her own breasts.</p><p>"Don't be greedy," I all but purr lowly. "Give me a taste too, darling."</p><p>She hums softly, moving to pull my fingers out of her mouth, but I shake my head. I grip her jaw a little tighter to make her lean in. Replacing my fingers with my thumb, I lean in to slip my tongue past her parted lips to brush gently against mine, tasting her arousal in her mouth while the pad of my thumb scrapes slightly against her teeth.</p><p>Celeste makes a satisfied noise, and then her hand slides down my torso to find that bulge in my sweatpants. I groan instantly as she mercilessly massages her palm against my covered and aching erection. My hips lift to get more and then drop back against the bed with a thud, and while I wish I could kiss her forever without a break in between, my head falls back against the headboard and my mouth drops open.</p><p>"Celeste," I gasp out in a choked voice, her hand working wonders even when there's two layers of clothes separating us. "You—You don't have to—"</p><p>She lips her hand under the waistband of my sweats to continue palming me from just over my briefs, and I'm ashamed to say that the sound that leaves me is much closer to a needy whine than it is a touch groan. Her lips ghost against mine, but she seems to change her mind and instantly bites gently on my lower lip.</p><p>Celeste pulls away slowly, letting my lip drag out between her teeth before letting go. Her curls tickle my neck as she leans in to find my ear, giving the shell of it a sharp nip before whispering—</p><p>"Quiet, Malfoy, and let me make you feel good."</p><p>I prefer my first name on her lips. After months of glares, sharp retorts, biting remarks—even if they were all well-deserved—it's refreshing to hear my first name on her mouth again. Shocks me every single time, and it forces me to remind myself that somehow, and inexplicably so, she forgave me.</p><p>But the way she's said my name just now... The way she purred it lowly, the way her voice was so silky and sly, how she's suddenly turned into something indomitable as if she wasn't whimpering and begging on my lap only moments ago. And this shocks me too, this also forces me to remember something. To remember that no matter how much she begs for me, no matter how she whines, no matter how wordless and weepy I make her, it's almost as though she's nothing but indulging me. She could turn it around at any given moment, and when <em>I</em> beg and <em>I</em> turn malleable for her to use however she wants, it's not an act. It's only the inevitable.</p><p>Her fingers skim the tip of my cock through the material of my briefs, and I gasp softly, my hips jerking.</p><p>Celeste laughs softly, a sweet noise laced with an intoxicating poison. She kisses me, a long, lingering press of her lips against mine, and then she whispers softly, "Is it me that has you this hard, Draco?"</p><p>I nod quickly, my eyes shut tightly.</p><p>Her hand then gives me a tight squeeze, and I let out a soft cry while my hands fist at the silk sheets, pulling them up where they're tucked so nicely under my bed.</p><p>She rubs a finger in circles over the damp patch where I've been leaking profuse amounts of pre-come just from having her the way I do on my lap. I curse under my breath, knocking the back of my head against the wood of the board.</p><p>"Salazar, you've practically come in your pants," she whispers. She doesn't have a teasing timbre in her voice and rather one of astonishment, but still I feel myself flush bright red from my stomach to my ears.</p><p>"Right, well, that's what happens when I have a pretty girl moaning my bloody name while she rides my fucking fingers," I bite back dryly, my hands finding her thighs to grip tightly.</p><p>Celeste laughs softly again, continuing her palming motion. "You think I'm pretty?"</p><p>"Quiet."</p><p>"Well, you think I'm a lot of things, don't you," she continues anyway in a thoughtful murmur that has my stomach twisting pleasurably and then in dread as I realize just what she's referring. "Those things you said on the roof, Draco..." Her voice is a ghostly whisper, so quiet that even I force myself to stay silent as her hand creeped under my briefs and clasps it's cold fingers around my cock. "Did you mean them?"</p><p>"What?" I whisper breathlessly, my hand reaching up to grip the top of the headboard and the other digging it's nails into her thigh while I tighten my face and lift my hips against her hand.</p><p>"Don't tell me you forgot what you said..."</p><p>Her voice is teasing, but when I open my eyes, she's watching her hand work me under my pants and briefs with a mildly disappointed expression on her face, gnawing lightly on her lip.</p><p>She then glances up at my face and back down before pulling my sweats and briefs down to my thighs with one fell swoop and then pushing my legs until I let my hips drop again. I open my mouth to respond, but she's grabbing my cock that's sprung up to rest against my stomach and pumping it up and down with a tight palm and at a vigorous pace.</p><p>"<em>Fuck!</em>" I gasp, my hips rising. She pushes them back down, making me start to slip down the slippery sheets from my sitting position to laying down propped up on my elbows so I can watch her hand stroke at me. "Ah, <em>ah</em>, Celeste," I shudder, stifling a loud groan as her thumb swipes over my tip during a tight stroke up. "Fuck... Fuck, just like that..."</p><p>She props herself over me, straddling one of my thighs and working me with a relentless right hand while her left plants itself next to my head. Her eyes hold a furious gleam, maybe a glare, and then she leans down to hit me with such an intense kiss that I fall fully into my back.</p><p>Celeste pushes her tongue into my mouth, tracing the roof of my mouth when I tilt my head up to moan softly at how her hand abandons my cock to massage at my bollocks. My legs, spread flat out, slowly bend at the knees while my toes curl into the sheets at some lame attempt to expend some of the adrenaline her perfect hand fills me with.</p><p>"Perfect, just perfect," I mumble against her lips, my twitching hands finding her arse to massage at and squeeze tightly.</p><p>Her breasts are squished tightly against my chest, and her golden locket dangles down to rest on top of my throat where that invisible collar sits. I open my eyes slowly to look at her hovering above me, those serpentine curls wild around her dark, smooth face. Her eyes are heavy with all the black of the night, and her plump lips glisten with both her saliva and mine.</p><p>"You look... You look <em>so</em> pretty like this," Celeste pants breathlessly, blown eyes watching me closely.</p><p>Her hand then pauses its movements as she swings her legs around to move to a kneeling position at my side, and then it starts pumping me up and down again while she's at a perfect angle to watch her hand work me and look down at my face.</p><p>My hand reaches lazily to stroke the side of her hair and then push it away to find the side of her face. I thumb at her lower lip, groaning as she takes it in to suck on gently while her strokes grow slower and tighter. She uses one hand to keep pumping and the other to solely stimulate my tip. Celeste smears the beads of pre-come that form and rubbing against the sensitive nerve endings there to make me moan loudly in surprise and arch my back off the bed while dragging my heels down the sheets.</p><p>"Maybe you forgot..." Celeste starts.</p><p>She leans down in her kneeling position until her mouth is just inches from my cock. I jolt as she blows a thin stream of cold air against it, running her thumb up the bulging vein.</p><p>"Or maybe you're too fucking embarrassed to admit it..." she continues, not looking at me as she rests a hand on my chest to rest on while keeping her hand pumping.</p><p>When her mouth clasps around my tip, it's only all my effort not to come right there and then. My eyes water slightly at how her tongue feels sliding around the sensitive skin, how she sucks gently and hollows her cheeks to close the tissue of her cheeks around the sides. She pops her mouth off just as quickly, continuing her rubbing and stroking and teasing.</p><p>"<em>I</em> remember what you said."</p><p>"<em>Celeste</em>," I moan, pulling at the sheets so hard I think I hear them rip. My back arches again while I dig the back of my head into the bed.</p><p>"You said..."</p><p>She hesitates softly, and her hand which had begun squeezing me with almost unbearable pressure loosens a bit. She continues pumping me up and down, though, but not quite like she's trying to rip my cock straight off my body.</p><p>"You said you—that you were a... a star? You said you were a star—"</p><p>"Constellation," I whisper, keeping my eyes shut while my legs tense. That swirling inferno in my gut is set to release at any given moment, but it feels like nothing compared to the heat burning my cheeks. "I said I'm—that I think—<em>thought</em> I'm a constellation."</p><p>Her hand continues moving up and down. It's slow and lax now, and purposefully so. She rolls her wrist with everything move up, brushes her palm against my tip to make me twitch and release more of that pre-come to lubricate my length as she carries it back down to my bollocks.</p><p>"And you said I'm..."</p><p>Her left hand takes control of my cock while her right dips back down to my bollocks. My breath hitches and leg twitched, and I grasp at the bedsheets desperately while willing myself to stay quiet.</p><p>This doesn't last long, though. She gives my bollocks an expert twist while stroking her thumb over the side of my tip, and I'm groaning out a curse while my legs tremble slightly. My hands pat wildly at the bed, and I grab at her left arm. She instantly slips her hand away from my erection to slide it against mine, making me grateful for something to hold onto tightly while her cool right hand continues pleasuring me.</p><p>"You called me the night sky, didn't you?"</p><p>She's pressing soft butterfly kisses against my stomach, lightly making trails with her tongue from my navel to the base of my erection before blowing cold air onto it. I shiver audibly, squeezing her hand tighter.</p><p>She then presses a chaste kiss to the tip of my cock. She pulls away as if to gauge my reaction—I moan and throw my head back into the bed, nearly breaking her fingers. Celeste leans back in to blow gently, and then she's kissing it again the way she'd kiss my lips.</p><p>Her tongue is out rolling over it, collecting pre-come greedily. She presses open-mouthed and audible kisses, moaning against my sensitive tip while my low groans slowly progress into higher, needier moans, my left hand finding her head to tangle with her hair. I do my best not to push her down onto my cock, but I can't help from tugging on her curls harshly.</p><p>Slowly, her paused hand on my base begins pumping me again while she continues kissing my tip. I whimper softly, hips rising while she traces and outlines me with the tip of her tongue.</p><p>"It's so... It's too good," I pant weakly, my voice sounding foreign and whiny. "Celeste..."</p><p>Celeste only groans with her mouth on my tip, lips clamped around the very top of it and tongue continuing its lavishing against my slit. I curse softly, letting go of her hair when my hand cramps with the urge to shove her head down. Instead, I ball it into a fist to hit the side of against my thigh several times while holding her hand so hard, I'm sure my nails are digging imprints into it.</p><p>Her hand squeezes mine back twice as hard, thumb running over the back of my palm. I open my eyes lazily to see her head tilted and eyes open to watch my face. Her head bobs slightly in an attempt to get both the side and top of my tip, and her eyes grow heavy when they lock with mine.</p><p>She briefly pops her mouth off to take a deep, panting breath, licking her lips. Her throat bobs as if she's about to swallow all the saliva that's accumulated in her mouth, but then she seems to think better of it and instead leans over to spit it down on top of my cock.</p><p>I grunt, managing to stifle my noise to that much. Then her hand slides up to rub with a flat palm the saliva over my tip, and I moan so loudly while slamming my fist into the bed repeatedly and lifting my hips. Celeste's hand continues pumping me up and down while she leans back down to continue kissing me, this time with soft peppers and the occasional slip of her tongue down my slit.</p><p>"I'm gonna—Fuck, I'm gonna—"</p><p>"Are you gonna come, <em>mon chéri?</em>"</p><p>The nickname sends a jolt down my spine and straight up my cock, and with gritted teeth I groan. My back arches far off the bed, heels dragging against the sheets and my hand nearly twisting her poor wrist.</p><p>She's quick, slipping my tip against her tongue to capture what I come in her mouth. My back falls down to the bed while she pumps me slowly and tightly, coaxing out what's left. I give something between a soft moan and a whimper as her tongue brushes against my tip to swallow back all of it, and then she lets me go to crawl slowly back up towards me.</p><p>My eyes are hazy, threatening to fall shut. I only barely manage to keep them open a sliver to see her hover over me, her breasts heaving and her curls wild. Her finger tips brush my hair out of my forehead, and her arm trembles from having to keep her weight up.</p><p>She must be tired, I realize, and after managing to slip my briefs back up my thighs, I lazily loop my arm over her back and tug her down to collapse on my chest.</p><p>Celeste's lips part to exhale a sigh next to my ear, and I shiver.</p><p>Slowly, I kick my sweats down from my upper thighs until they're tangled with my feet, managing to hit my foot against the side of the wooden bed frame in an attempt to cut myself free. I groan in pain, jolts running up to my knee, and Celeste laughs softly in my ear.</p><p>She swings her right leg over mine, using it to pin down the sweatpants so I can pull myself free. She kicks them onto the floor for me, her hand rubbing up and down my chest and her head shifting to position itself more comfortable on my shoulder.</p><p>And the she shivers, pulling herself closer to my own body while my skin crawls with goosebumps at her proximity.</p><p>"Cold?" I ask hoarsely, my softening cock aching at the intensity of that orgasm and my heart still pounding in my chest.</p><p>She only nods.</p><p>Luckily, the covers got kicked a bit down from all our writhing, so there's no having to get up to pull them out form under our bodies. Celeste buries her face in my neck, all but climbing to lay on top of me when I pull the covers up over our bodies and touching my hand to my wand on the nightstand to lazily <em>Accio</em> a spare blanket for a little more warmth.</p><p>My minds a little fucked from all that, though, so I accidentally summon <em>all</em> the spare blankets.</p><p>Celeste doesn't seem to mind, though, even though after ten minutes I start baking underneath all the unnecessarily insulation. She only presses herself closer to me, that leg swinging higher over my hips and making me wonder if she's trying to be sly and get me hard again.</p><p>"We should clean ourselves up," I whisper.</p><p>Can she feel how hard my heart is beating? If she does, she'll know it's not because of what she did to me. That was over ten minutes ago.</p><p>"I don't want to move," she mumbles back, her curls tickling my neck while she nuzzles her nose against my jaw. "You're warm."</p><p><em>I'm burning up</em>.</p><p>"You'll regret not cleaning up in the morning."</p><p>"It <em>is</em> morning, dumbarse," Celeste groans. She then lazily picks her head out of my neck to look at me, both arms folding over my chest and unfortunately blocking my view of her cleavage. Her eyes are heavy, close to shutting, and her lips wear a vague smile. "Just use some Cleaning Charms."</p><p>I roll my eyes, but I unwind my left arm from around her back and move to touch my wand again. My head is turned to look at my hand, but I can feel her gaze burning into the side of my face while I whisper a few charms. I don't want to risk another Nonverbal when my mind has been so muddled by her.</p><p>"What did you mean, Draco?"</p><p>Her soft, whispered words as I shrug my arm back under the covers to hold her again—and not so slyly rest my hand on her arse—make me freeze. I stare at her hips, finding them wholly less intimidating than her eyes.</p><p>"What did I mean," I repeat blankly, a flat statement.</p><p>"When you said..."</p><p>Her fingers start absentmindedly drawing shapes on my chest, tickling me slightly. Her locket sits on my chest as well, the gold pendant of a gorgon's skull cold and heavy on my skin. I glance down at it briefly, looking at the empty sockets where the gorgon's petrifying eyes would be and instead one of the snakes winds out of.</p><p>My hand slides a little lower to nudge inside the sleeve of the boxers. I rub against the back of her thigh, and she lifts her bent knee to give me more skin to touch.</p><p>"I don't... I don't know what it meant..." I murmur truthfully, still unable to meet her strong gaze and instead focusing on how her tongue pushed against her lower lip.</p><p>"Oh," she whispers.</p><p>"But I know I <em>meant</em> it."</p><p>Her breath gets stuck in her throat, and so does mine. Then, slowly, Celeste lowers her head back down onto my shoulder. I look up at the ceiling for a few seconds, and then I let my eyes fall shut.</p><p>We have to get up soon. Get up, make sure we've picked everything, board the Hogwarts Express to go home for two weeks. I've never dreaded it more.</p><p>"Maybe..."</p><p>I slide my hand up from her arse to her back, giving her shoulders a slight knead before eventually resting my hand to gently cup her head. In response, she moves the hand on my chest to curl against the side of my face, her fingers moving daintily to trace my features. To feel my eyelashes bat, to follow the bridge of my nose, to push at my lips.</p><p>"Maybe you aren't <em>just</em> a constellation," Celeste whispers softly, her lips brushing against my skin.</p><p>And she says nothing more. I want to ask her what she means, but something tells me that she, just like I, hardly has a clue herself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0088"><h2>88. RUNAWAY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
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  <strong>
    <em>April 1st, 1997</em>
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</p><p>The five of us sit at the dinner table, the air filled with noises of a crackling fireplace and utensils scraping against fine china.</p><p>Aunt Colette didn't want us to go to the Parkinsons' manor for dinner, even though we'd been invited. She said she had an announcement and that she wanted to have a nice dinner—with all kinds of French food made by the House-elves—with the family and family only.</p><p>She didn't have to say a word. As soon as she and Mother, who apparently has been back for a few weeks now, Apparated is home, her announcement was staring us in the face with a big beam, saggy neck, and wrinkles that extend all the way back to the top of his pale bald head. A Lem Spindlewheel, a ripe eighty-six years of age, and a simple engagement band on his left ring finger to match the ornate one on Aunt Colette's.</p><p>Blaise hasn't said a single word since.</p><p>In fact, none of us have. Aunt Colette tried a little harder to get him to say something—<em>anything—</em>whether about Mr. Spindlewheel—who happens to be very big in the business of cauldron-making—but eventually even she gave up on that. So now we sit and pretend we have appetites sustainable for all that's been prepared, from the salmon timbales entrée to monkfish with chorizo fish course, to the main course that we're currently tucking into.</p><p>No, Mr. Spindlewheel is the only one out of the five of us that has said a thing. Either he doesn't notice the tension settled over the expensive oak table, or this is his lame attempt at diffusing it, but every now and then he'll make a remark of faux expertise on the food served, saying something about how the timbales would be much better if there was a bit of <em>lemon</em> in the sauce, or perhaps this chorizo had a bit of Abraxan in it because it doesn't taste very <em>porky</em>.</p><p>In fact, he's currently going on and on about how the way the vegetables have been steamed doesn't really agree with the taste of the wine, but I don't take my time tuning him out where he sits at the left head of the table across from Aunt Colette.</p><p>Instead, I look up to where Mother sits on Aunt Colette's right hand side. I briefly glance to her left where my father's empty seat is, and then I look at her again.</p><p>It's been months since I last saw her—five to be exact. She's been all over the world for work, apparently, which isn't anything new. We already travelled quite a bit as a family, but as I entered school, my parents would travel even more during the bulk of the year. A month in Turkey, a month in Indonesia, another three months in the Netherlands.</p><p>She's cut her hair. It's always been on the shorter side, especially in comparison to her sister's longer tresses, but now the curls stick closer to her scalp, displaying her ears and neck.</p><p>I watch her take a sip from her wine, and from over the rim of her cup, her eyes flutter open and settle directly on mine. They're dark and unreadable, but they search me so clearly with the desire to know what I'm thinking.</p><p>I'll give her a piece of my mind later, but first, I'll let Aunt Colette have her family dinner.</p><p>—</p><p>To my genuine surprise, I don't end up having to seek my mother out.</p><p>After the dinner is over, Blaise is the first to storm up to his room, nearly knocking the dinner table over with the sheer force he stands up with. I follow after closely behind, ignoring my mother's following gaze. I knock on his door, which has been slammed shut, but when I get no response despite all my calls of his name, I decide to give him his space.</p><p>I hardly doubt that <em>I'm</em> in any state to make him feel better, anyway.</p><p>In my room, I begin to unpack my trunk, though half my belongings end up in the wrong spot as my mind is occupied with writing the perfect, angry speech that I'll deliver to my mother as soon as I storm into her room.</p><p>I don't come up with anything.</p><p>And as the last sock is stuffed away—in the incorrect drawer, at that—I turn on my heel, ready to for the shouting match of the century, and the door to my room swings open all on its own.</p><p>I freeze in my step, watching as Mother steps in and closes the door behind her. She gives my room a quick scan, smoothing her palms over the front of her robes, the light catching on her wedding ring, and then looks at me.</p><p>My shoulders drop. Somehow, without three other people in the room, it's easier to see her so much more clearly. Her face has grown more gaunt and hollow, shadows heavy under her cheekbones and the bags under her eyes poorly hidden with magic. Even despite this, she stands straight and tall, just as formidable as ever. A little worn, but as still as a rock.</p><p>"You should have written," I murmur, my voice soft but bitter, my trembling hands curling into fists.</p><p>Her chin turns up a little. She lifts a hand as if to tuck her hair behind her ear, but her knuckles only graze the shortened curls before dropping. "I know," Mother responds solemnly, her gaze firm as she takes another short step into my room.</p><p>I glance at the door behind her, my jaw clenching and my chest starting to swell with irritation. "And you should have <em>knocked</em>."</p><p>Her eyebrows lift. She glances over her shoulder with an expression like she wants to disagree and bite back, but then she says simple, "I'll knock next time."</p><p>"Will you ever even be home for a next time?"</p><p>"I'm leaving again after the break—"</p><p>"Of <em>course</em> you are," I scoff under my breath, turning back around to face my bed and trace my hand over my empty trunk.</p><p>"—but I'll be back sooner. And I'll write to you when."</p><p>"You couldn't have written before? At all? Since we met in October?"</p><p>She's silent. I close my eyes tightly, and when I hear the floorboards cream slightly as she takes another step forward, I wince and hunch my shoulders a little bit. She's feet away, but it's like I can feel her right behind me, and I just want to shout at her to leave.</p><p>"I <em>know</em> I should have, Celeste," Mother says in a sharp voice, her robes rustling a bit, "and I know I don't have an excuse, but I <em>couldn't</em>, alright? I've tried picking up the quill and ink, but I couldn't do it. Can you understand that much? I'm trying to apologize—"</p><p>"Well, I haven't <em>heard</em> an apology!" I spit, turning back around so quickly that my curls hit me right into the face, and I feel a little ridiculous blowing a stray one out from over my nose.</p><p>"I am <em>sorry!</em>" she snaps right back, taking a step towards with with fire ablaze in her eyes. It holds fast for a few moments more, the muscles on the sides of her face twitching with each and every clench of her jaw. And then she deflates, looking completely beside herself to have to do so. "I'm sorry. I <em>am</em>. I'm not perfect, nor will I ever claim to be."</p><p>I glare at her furiously. "Yeah, you claim you know you aren't, but there's no room for argument with you, is there?" At the confused gleam that briefly crosses her eyes, I pull my wand out of my pocket and mutter a low charm to reveal everything concealed on my body, every rune and mark. Her eyes instantly find the rune on my cheekbone, and her breath hitches. "Doesn't matter if I yell at you, does it? Doesn't matter if I curse you out, you won't tell me what the <em>bloody </em>hell is happening to me!" my voice grows louder with a slight roar.</p><p>Her eyes slowly grow wide, stuck on my cheekbone and glazed over as if she hasn't heard I think I said. "How many?" she then whispers, voice ghostly.</p><p>"<em>Four</em>."</p><p>Her face pales visibly. "Tell me what they are."</p><p>"Raido, Nauthiz, Isa, and Ken—"</p><p>"Kenaz?" she interrupts, taking another step forward with eyebrows knitted together with the most emotion I've ever seen on her face. "Did you say—?"</p><p>"Well, I <em>would</em> have, if you hadn't interrupted me."</p><p>My heart pounds, echoing in my ears while her eyes slowly drag all over my face, from my eyes to my cheek to my neck. She swallows heavy, straightening her spine, and my gut grows heavier and heavier until it's practically hanging at my feet.</p><p>"You're still not going to tell me what's happening, are you?" I murmur hoarsely, taking a few steps back until the backs of my knees hit the side of my bed. I feel a little sick, sweat starting to bead at my forehead, and the cold dread turns freezing.</p><p>"I don't..."</p><p>"Mother."</p><p>"There's no reason for you—"</p><p>"<em>Mother</em>."</p><p>"Let me worry about things, and—"</p><p>"<em>MOTHER!</em>"</p><p>She goes still. And then her dark eyes narrow at me while my pulse shudders. "Do <em>not</em> raise your voice like that."</p><p>I watch her, completely and utterly dumbfounded, and then rage swells inside me like air filling a balloon. It takes everything in me not to lash my wand about and set everything in this room on fire. Instead, I clutch it with a grip so tight it makes my entire arm shake, and I bite back the urge to call my mother names.</p><p>"I'm <em>cursed</em>, aren't I?" I sneer, taking steps back towards her with my chin tilted up and my hand turning my wand in its grip. "Aren't I, Mother?"</p><p>She pales further, but she doesn't twitch or flinch in the slightest even as I come up within three feet of her.</p><p>"<em>You</em> gave me a <em>fucking curse!</em>"</p><p>She stares me down stoically, the only change in her demeanor the way her breaths come faster and heavier, making her chest heave a bit.</p><p>"You—You told Father you didn't want kids, and then you went and got yourself knocked up anyway by some other fucking man, and now you given me a <em>fucking curse!</em>"</p><p>Her eyes widen, and her chest halts as she stops breathing.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em> you! Salazar, it wasn't fucking enough that <em>he</em> had to die out of the two of you," I spit, shaking with blind rage while my vision starts to blur. I take another step forward, giving her a rough push on her shoulders that sends her taking a step back. "No, I had to find out on my own that <em>he was never even my bloody f—</em>"</p><p>"You can insult me all you want," Mother interrupts with a low sneer, now advancing on me at a slow, predatory pace that makes me scowl and take my own step back, "but I will <em>not</em> let you insult <em>him!</em>"</p><p>I glance off to the side.</p><p>"How <em>dare </em>you say he wasn't your father after everything he did for you?! You <em>stupid</em>, <em>ungrateful</em> little—"</p><p>She cuts herself off, eyes closing tightly while mine sting a little. I watch with a tight throat and slightly agape mouth as she shakes her head and runs her hand raggedly through her hair, uncaring whether she breaks her short curls.</p><p>"I didn't mean that," she murmurs hoarsely, gaze off to the side and mouth forming a grimace. "I didn't mean that at all. I'm sorry. We should resume this conversation when we've both cooled d—"</p><p>"No," I interrupt smoothly, swallowing back on a dry throat and tilting my chin up, "please, Mother. There's no need to cut this short. Tell me, tell me what you've always wanted to say. Tell me <em>all</em> about what a <em>burden</em> I am on you, how you never wanted me anyway, how I'm nothing but a <em>stain</em> on your—"</p><p>"He gave you his memories, didn't he?" she mutters softly, dark eyes flashing back up to mine.</p><p>"So what if he did?" I whisper with a sneer. And then my face drops. "Don't you <em>dare</em> try to take them away from me. I'll fucking—"</p><p>"<em>Stop</em> cursing," she says smoothly. "I'm not taking anything away." Mother turns her chin up, scanning my room with sharp eyes as if looking to see his memories out in the open just like that. "He used to talk about it, about giving them to you. It was a long time ago, though. I didn't know he would actually go through with it," she says lowly.</p><p>I clench my jaw, watching her with trembling fingers and an urge to lunge at her. "When were you planning on telling me that I have a curse?"</p><p>She doesn't look at me still. "Whenever it was time."</p><p>I scoff, throwing my hands up in half defeat. She's now eyeing me carefully, a small frown on her features as if it's me out of the two of us that's acting outrageously.</p><p>"Whenever it was time? Really? Well I've got four bloody runes and have woken up <em>blind </em>before, so—"</p><p>"I have glasses for you," she says simply.</p><p>"Wonderful! Now, how about an explanation?" I ask dryly, giving her a cloyingly sweet smile that I see her biting a glare back at. My eyes continue stinging, but I just blink as quickly as I can manage, resisting the urge to rub at them. "You don't think it's about time, now?"</p><p>"I am <em>handling</em> it, Celeste."</p><p>"What do you <em>mean</em> you're handling it?!"</p><p>"What do you think I've been doing running around the world like a madwoman, huh?" Mother finally snaps, her eyes widen as she steps towards me with her hand raised in a fist with one finger out to point. "You can't <em>really</em> think that all of it—<em>everything—</em>has been because of <em>work</em>. Why do you think we've never stayed in one place for more than a few years? Why do you think your father and I spent every free moment in every country you could possibly think? Why do you—?"</p><p>"I don't <em>know!</em> I don't know <em>anything!</em> You're supposed to tell me these things, Mother! I'm not supposed to find out through a box of my dead father's memories, I'm supposed to find out through <em>y—</em>!"</p><p>"<em>You!</em>" she shouts, panting wildly, and my mouth falls shut. She doesn't yell, she doesn't lose her composure, and that's what's always irritated me about her. "We did it, we did <em>everything</em> for <em>you!</em> Scoured every inch of this planet looking for a <em>cure</em>, looking for anything and everything that might help <em>you</em>, following even the faintest whispers and rumors just for <em>you!</em>"</p><p>A stiff, trembling smile finds my lips. "Well. I'm <em>so</em> sorry for being <em>such</em> a burden on you all these years. I know it must pain you to spend all this time thinking about the daughter you never wanted."</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous," she spits, looking at me incredulously.</p><p>"When were you gonna tell me?" I whisper dangerously, my wand starting to shoot off sparks in my tightly clenched fist. "When were you going to tell me? That he wasn't my father? That I shared blood with some other man."</p><p>Mother glares at me harshly, her black eyes hard as stone. Her jaw clenches and her body remains still even as my wand shoots off larger sparks, one landing on the floor right next to her foot. My own heart pounds loudly while I glance between her eyes.</p><p>"I wasn't."</p><p>"Oh, for Salazar's—"</p><p>"What difference would it make?"</p><p>"Are you <em>kidding</em> me?"</p><p>"Alaric couldn't have been more your father even if you had his blood," she snarls, her hand raised with a pointed finger jabbing at my shoulder accusatively. "You know <em>nothing</em> Celeste. You know nothing of what you speak about."</p><p>"No, I don't? Well, then I suppose I just <em>imagined</em> those memories, imagined you turning him down when he proposed, imagined it when you said you didn't want kids, when you said you didn't want <em>me</em>. Merlin, you know, you <em>never</em> deserved him," I snarl lowly, and her eyebrows twitch a little while her face slowly drops. "He was too good for you. Too damn good. I don't get how he married you after you went and got pregnant with some other man after turning <em>him</em> down. You didn't deserve that from him. He should have turned you away that night."</p><p>She glances between my eyes. And then she turns on her heel, my blood glaring as I watch her storm up to my door and swing it open.</p><p>"And I'm not going to that stupid debutante ball!" I shout after her from my doorway while she continues down the hall.</p><p>"You're going," she snaps back simply, disappearing around a corner.</p><p>—</p><p>The window is open and let's in the moonlit breeze that is far too cold for April, but I can't be bothered to get up and close it.</p><p>It's been hours since my mother came into my room, but my heart hasn't receding to a normal pace yet. It thunders still in my chest, casting an echo that blocks out every other noise in my ears, makes my veins run with rushing blood.</p><p>I lay in my bed tangled with the covers, my hair tucked back into a scarf. At some point while I was showering, Mother apparently came back into my room, because on my nightstand sit a pair of glasses. When I first saw them, they were a horrible cat-eyed pair, but as soon as my fingers picked them up and brought them to my face, they transformed into a clear-framed pair with slightly rounded lenses.</p><p>And they completely perfect my vision, but I hate the nose pads.</p><p>I'm not sure what time it is now, though it's likely pushing one in the morning. For the most part for the past two weeks, I've gotten little to no sleep, and when I have, it's been plagued with nightmares. That Sleeping Draught simply doesn't work on me, I know, but I don't know what will happen to me if I use the one from the apothecary.</p><p>Well, I do know. I just don't know if I can handle it.</p><p>But now everything in me is itching to pry that bottle open and guzzle its entire contents down my throat. I don't care if it burns me on its way down, I don't care if I never wake up from it again. There's only one person I want to talk to tonight, and there's only one way to talk to him.</p><p>I lay in bed for ten minutes more before abruptly ripping the covers off. Cheeky, who sits at the edge of my bed, purrs lowly, but I ignore him as I come to sit at the edge of the mattress. The floor is cold where the tips of my toes press against it, but I ignore this as my hands move all on their own to pull the drawer of my nightstand open. My fingers tremble furiously, the Nauthiz rune that sits on my knuckle a blur. The bottle nearly slips from my fingers and shatters onto the ground, but I manage to let slip one, two, three drops into my untouched glass of water before shoving the bottle away.</p><p>The glass all but freezes my palm as I clutch it tightly. I look down into it where the dark liquid dissolves, leaving the water inconspicuously clear.</p><p>And after a moment of hesitation, I throw my head back and take the water down in one breath.</p><p>—</p><p>When I open my eyes, I'm relieved to see all white.</p><p>It's as though I've put the glasses on—which I haven't. Everything is as clear as day, lines sharp and defined, shadows deep and in contrast to the pale surfaces that cover the bakery. The swinging sign from the ceiling, the display case covered in white pastries, the sleek booth I sit in.</p><p>Everything is white except for him. He sits straight and tall, skin as deep as it's always been and dressed in that same crisp black robes set as before. The golden and silver embroidery danced at the collars and down the front, and the buttons glint in the glaring light that seems to be coming from no particular source at all. His light beard is crisp and and sharp, as if someone in the afterlife owns a barbershop. And he neither smiles nor frowns at me, only stares at me as if there isn't anything else in the world he'd rather be placing his attention in.</p><p>My heart shudders slightly. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing feels sufficient. How does one address their father when seeing them for the first time in months? I'm hardly counting the last time, I was barely functioning enough to think...</p><p>Just the sight of him makes my throat close, makes my eyes sting, makes me wonder how I even got this far without him.</p><p>I glance down to see a steaming cup of coffee before me. My fingers reach out for it tentatively, retracting with they nearly burn and then clasping around the handle anyway. When I look back up, the cup raised near my lips, he's watching me just the same, hands clasped on top of the table.</p><p>"Hello, Father," I whisper steadily.</p><p>He doesn't react other than a quick scan of my face, and at the settlement of disappointment in my gut, I lower my eyes and take a tentative sip of my coffee. It scalds my tongue, but this is no normal place, and as soon as the thought that the coffee is too hot crosses my mind, its temperature instantly lowers.</p><p>"So," I exhale, keeping my eyes on the way the coffee ripples as my shaking hands lower it back down to the table, "you're staying silent, still?"</p><p>Not a single word, though his finger rubs slightly over the back of his palm. My throat tightens until it's nearly impossible to get a breath in or out, much less a word, but I wait until it passes even as my eyes start to water a little. He looks at me closely, only tilting his head when I look up to blink away any daring tears. His expression harshly twitches.</p><p>"Say something," I whisper, giving him a pleading look. "Please. Anything."</p><p>He only blinks.</p><p>I slink down in my seat, tapping my fingers against the sides of the cup. I was afraid of this. I even anticipated this. But I somehow convinced myself it wouldn't happen, that it wouldn't happen just like last time, that maybe this time he'll speak to me. Tell me he loves me. Maybe tell me what it's like, being dead, and tell me what's happening to me and why.</p><p>"I... I saw Mother for the first time in months today," I say softly, my eyes closing as our conversation, or rather, argument, from earlier in the night replays in my head. My brows knit together as dread settles like a heavyweight in my stomach, hearing her words and my own, hearing my worst fears me confirmed. "She admitted it. She finally admitted it. I suppose I've known for a while now, but..."</p><p>My hand lifts to clutch my gorgon skull locket. "That's what this is for, isn't it? That's why you and she always made me wear it, why she got so angry if I ever took it off..." I continue in a hoarse whisper. "I think... I think I remember her telling me when she told me about how you two had linked it to her bracelet and your ring that there were other spells on it too. Other protection spells than the one that... that took you."</p><p>I peer at him. "The locket has been protecting me from the blood curse somehow, hasn't it?"</p><p>Father does nothing but stare right back at at me, his eyelashes batting with each blink, his scars gleaming as if lined with gold.</p><p>"Shoddy job it's done... It's still happening, isn't it?" I murmur with a weak attempt at a smile, one that fizzles away as the steam from the coffee warms my chin up. "Still going blind as a bat, still cold all the damn time assuming that's not just some freak coincidence, still finding runes on my skin all the time."</p><p>I glance down at my hands, turning my left one upwards. Sure enough, my Dark Mark and Nauthiz rune are as clear as day. And that's when I realize, with a cold sensation on my chest, that he doesn't know. How would he? He's dead.</p><p>I look back up slowly, this time not bothering to blink away any tears. They'll fall if they have to. "I have so much to tell you," I murmur with a tight smile, my head tilting slightly. "I don't—I don't know if you'll ever speak back to me, if you'll even shake your head or nod or anything, but... you've always been good at listening. That's what I miss, you know? I—I mean, I miss all of you. But I miss being able to talk to you. Having someone that I actually <em>want</em> to listen."</p><p>I sniff slightly. "I just... I just don't understand <em>anything</em>. Even the things that are supposed to make sense. And things I should have known. And—<em>Shit</em>, even stupid <em>blood</em> purity makes no sense anymore. I—It was <em>you</em>, you that told me about it. You that told me about protecting magic and traditions, about natural order of things and inherent superiority. <em>You</em>. You and Mother."</p><p>"But—But then that day in the Ministry—<em>shit</em>, I don't even know <em>why</em> I was there—you were..." I shake my head, eyes shut tightly as I struggle to find the words. "You weren't with them. The Death Eaters. You didn't agree with them, you didn't agree with <em>him</em>. I mean... I overheard you earlier in the year. It was during New Year's Eve," I mutter, my mind briefly flashing to that kiss I shared with Draco. "You refused to join the Death Eaters, refused to do whatever it was that the Dark Lord wanted from you—something from the Hall of Prophecies, right?—but then that day in the Ministry, you said to Lucius Malfoy that you held more worth to the Dark Lord than just that. And you also said..."</p><p>I close my eyes tighter still, my fingers tapping furiously against the tabletop.</p><p>"It was a quote... Wilhelm Stekel, I think. 'The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of a mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.'"</p><p>I look at him imploringly, my hand reaching across the table to grab one of his. He lets me take it and clasp it tightly, but he makes no movement of his own. No tight squeeze back of my fingers, not even a flicker of his eyes to recognize that I'm holding his at all.</p><p>"What is it? What's the truth, Father, please?" I whisper, squeezing his hand so tightly that he should at least wince in pain. "That blood purity is worth it all? Or that blood purity is never worth blood<em>shed?</em> I don't—I don't understand..."</p><p>He doesn't flinch even as my nails dig into his skin.</p><p>I bring my left hand forward as well, turning it palm up to reveal the grotesque mark writhing in my skin, the same coiling and unfurling out of the mouth of that skull.</p><p>"Look what he did to me," I beg, my eyes starting to water again. Father stares back at me, blinking gently and giving his head a slight tilt. I can tell it's not that he doesn't understand me—he just won't communicate. "<em>Look</em>." His beautifully hazel eyes eventually drift down to my inner forearm. "Look what he did, what I've done. I've taken the Mark you refused, but I—I didn't have a choice." My voice breaks slightly in fear of the disappointment he doesn't show on his face. "Please don't be angry with me. I didn't have a choice. I see even Mother didn't when she brought me there to take it. She did it to protect my life."</p><p>He inhales loudly and exhales slowly, still looking at me completely stoically.</p><p>I swallow thickly. "I have to kill a man. Albus Dumbledore."</p><p>No recognition, <em>nothing</em> passes his face. He only lets his hand remain limp where I squeeze it tightly.</p><p>"And... And the curse... You can see my runes, can't you? I have four now. Raido I got when you... you know. Mother told me that it mean the end of your journey marks the beginning of mine. And I got Nauthiz a bit later," I murmur, glancing down to watch the way his skin lightens when I press my thumb into the thick of his palm. "Pain and suffering. Lovely, isn't it? Then I got Isa, right on the back of my neck. Cold, vision, identity. Whatever is happening to me loves it's irony. And then Kenaz. The one right on my face. Transformation."</p><p>My left hand shakes as it reaches for his. I trace lines over his veins with my extended forefinger, wondering if I'd feel a pulse if I tried to.</p><p>"I'm cursed."</p><p>I twist his ring on his finger slowly. His hands aren't as warm as I remember them to be.</p><p>"I know that. She knows I know that. And she still won't explain. She still won't tell me what I'm cursed with. She still won't tell me anything."</p><p>His hazel eyes hold an odd gleam. I glance between them, as if the answers to all my unasked questions sits in his irises. And then I slowly pull my hands away from his.</p><p>"I need answers."</p><p>—</p><p>When I open her unlocked door and push it open, I see that the candles are still lit in her room. My mother is standing at the window across the room, one hand on the windowsill and the other holding a generous cup of wine. She sees me through the reflection in the dark window and turns her head over her shoulder.</p><p>Before anything can come out of my opened mouth, she nods towards the armchairs sat in the corner next to the windows and murmurs, "Sit."</p><p>I pause in the doorway for a moment, looking at her for clarification, but she only turns back to the window and takes a gentle sip from the wine.</p><p>Glancing once over my shoulder, I step in tentatively and close the door behind me, a shiver passing my shoulder. She's deathly still even as the floorboards creak under my feet, and even when I've sunk into one of the armchairs, her dark eyes gaze out onto the grounds.</p><p>"Are you hungry?" she asks.</p><p>I shake my head, unsure if she can even see the gesture.</p><p>"Thirsty?"</p><p>My eyes slide down to her cup. For wine?</p><p>"Do you want water?" she clarifies, pressing the rim of the cup to her lip.</p><p>"No. Thank you."</p><p>Mother nods simply. She then turns on her heel, taking a deep sip of the wine with her eyes closed. Without looking at all, she smoothly walks over and around the empty armchair to sit in it across from me, swallowing back the sip and setting the glass down before exhaling crisply and finally opening her eyes to lock with mine.</p><p>"I won't tell you everything," she warns lowly, crossing her ankles and leaning into the side of the armchair regally, "but I'll let you ask what you want."</p><p>I scan her briefly, my throat starting to close. She only stares back at me unflinchingly, making me wonder if any of the things I said to her earlier in the night, anything I've ever said to her in the past has stuck with her. If it bothered her at all. "Why do I have a blood curse?" I ask simply, but my voice comes out a little croaky. I hadn't bothered doing anything except slipping my glasses on before coming here at three in the morning, and suddenly, I regret turning that water down.</p><p>Her head tilts. "Same reason why anyone has a blood curse. One of their ancestors made someone unforgivably angry a long, long time ago."</p><p>I frown lightly. "Who was she? Assuming she was a woman, of course. What was her name?"</p><p>Mother glances down at her wine glass as if regretting ever putting it down. "Climence Zabini," she says, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. "She lived long ago in the fourteenth century."</p><p>"Tell me her story. Why was she cursed?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>My jaw clenches tightly enough that I wouldn't be surprised if my teeth cracked open, but I force myself to exhale slowly and count internally to five before accepting it. "Fine. Then... What exactly was she cursed with?"</p><p>"No," she repeats herself, leaning forward to pick her glass up.</p><p>I bite back the urge to use my wand to make it explode, or perhaps just reach out physically and shove it off the table.</p><p>Mother eyes me carefully as I exhale forcefully through my nose. She lifts an eyebrow when my fists clench and eyes fail to hide a single bit of my fury, but still I hold myself back. Choose to accept it. I'll learn eventually, whether it's too late or not.</p><p>"Why won't you tell me what I'm cursed with?" I ask with gritted teeth, chest feeling tight and placing pressure on my heart and lungs.</p><p>She falters slightly, her forefinger tracing the rim of the glass. Mother glances down into the wine, her nail nearly dipping into the dark liquid, and then she murmurs, "Because I'm figuring it out. I'm working on fixing it. And there's no need for both of us to have to think about it."</p><p>"I'm <em>already </em>thinking about it, Mother."</p><p>"If you knew, it would be all that plagued your thoughts. You're seventeen. You should be worrying about more juvenile things."</p><p>"Mother," I sigh softly with twisted eyebrows and a small frown, shifting to sit at the very edge of the armchair, "don't you think that's already all I can think about? I have a whole task to worry about, not to mention exams coming up if that even matters anymore, but all I can think about are the stupid runes coming up all over my skin without any <em>warning</em>."</p><p>Mother glances between my eyes, her owns slightly widened and her grip tightens on the stem of her wine glass. "Celeste," she starts, her voice a whisper, "I don't want you losing hope."</p><p>I clench my jaw, waiting for her to relent.</p><p>When she doesn't, I sigh and lean back in the armchair, plucking my locket from where it sits on my chest. I first look down at the pendant, scanning the gold gorgon's skull, and then my eyes flash up to hers. "Tell me about the locket."</p><p>Mother tilts her chin up and inhales deeply, but then she gives a slight nod. "Fine. That locket has been in the family for nearly as long as the blood curse has. It was made specially for the family, after all," she says, running her nails through her short curls carefully without breaking them while I lean forward. "It slows the curse down. It keeps it from taking over you by the time you're sixteen. There's a protection for each symptom, each facet of the curse. That's why I don't let you take it off, why I've had you wear it ever since you and your magic began maturing."</p><p>My head falls back against the seat, too tired to hold itself up. The look in her eye tells me her entire body would crumple like mine if she didn't have too much dignity to let her spine curve. "Oh."</p><p>She inhales deeply, tapping her nail against the glass while taking another sip. Mother exhales crisply before asking lowly, "Do you have any other—?"</p><p>"What do the runes mean? I mean, I know what they mean, but why am I getting them?"</p><p>I can practically see her age before my eyes, her own getting tired and heavy. Mother takes another deep swig of her wine, polishing off the very last drops before placing it onto the table a bit too enthusiastically and grabbing the already open bottle that sits there and filling it up about half-way.</p><p>"Runes are an old form of magic," she says before taking a small sip, her eyes closing while her throat bobs to swallow. "Runes were... how people performed magic before wands, before even most spells. It's an outdated form, but you will still see it occasionally. Our social security runes, or identifying prisoners, staff, sometimes on traditional objects and magical ones too. But most commonly, runes are used in transformation magic." Her eyes open to look at me meaningfully, imploringly.</p><p>My mind goes back to earlier, when I'd mentioned the Kenaz rune, the rune of transformation, and she'd panicked briefly.</p><p>My heart turns to stone and drops to my gut. "I'm transforming," I echo back, feeling faint.</p><p>She nods slightly. "Yes."</p><p>"I'm a Maledictus, aren't I?"</p><p>She only glances between my eyes, face slowly growing solemn.</p><p>I glance away, fingers tapping frantically on the arms of my chair and all my blood rushing up to my head. "Mother..." I whisper faintly, remembering that night with Draco, the Dark Lord, and Nagini. Blood. Sister. Remembering that conversation Mother and I had in the tea shop all those months ago.</p><p>"Nagini isn't your... aunt, is she?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>My head snaps up to see my mother looking at me incredulously, her head tilted and eyes squinted. My face warms slightly as the wine in her cup ripples a bit, and I mutter, "Well, she's a Maledictus, and you said your aunt had the blood curse like I did, so—"</p><p>"You're not turning into a snake, Celeste," she interrupts, eyes closing and head shaking slightly. "You're not turning into a snake. My aunt is—Nagini isn't my aunt. She's..." Mother looks down into her wine, and maybe I'm imagining it, or maybe her eyes are watering slightly. "You don't know her. You won't know her."</p><p>I nod slightly, slinking into my seat. My eyes slide shut while my heart thrums quickly, and I hear Mother sigh softly.</p><p>"Any other questions?"</p><p>So many, but not a single comes to the forefront of my mind. I know when I wake up tomorrow—if I ever go to sleep—I'll do so with a million more to ask, but instead I simply say, "I'm not going to the ball."</p><p>"Yes, you are."</p><p>My eyes flash open, momentarily seeing red. "I am <em>not</em>," I spit back, my teeth gritting.</p><p>Her own eyes narrow, a short curl wrapped around her finger. Mother then shakes her head, taking a few small sips of the wine and responding lowly, "You don't have a choice in the matter. You're attending the ball—and then you're attending the luncheon, the dinner party, and you'll be smiling the entire time."</p><p>"<em>Mother—</em>"</p><p>"It's <em>not</em> up to you."</p><p>"I have more important things to worry about than a stupid debutante ball, than <em>coming out</em>," I spit at her, standing up from the armchair so abruptly that my vision momentarily goes black, forcing me to lean down and hold into it for support. "I have a <em>task</em>. I have this <em>mark</em>. I have the <em>runes</em>, I have—" I hesitate softly, thinking about the dream—if I can even call it that—and decide perhaps that if I don't need to know about the curse, then Mother doesn't need to know about the Sleeping Draught. "I have more important things than the ball. How am I meant to complete my task if I distract myself with—?"</p><p>"That is <em>why</em> you must go," Mother interrupts curtly, polishing off the wine again. She sets the glass down and moves as if to fill it up once again, but then she hesitates and retracts back into her armchair. "Any other year, Celeste, <em>any</em> other year, I would have considered humoring your desire not to attend. But the most crucial thing you can and must do right now is be <em>normal</em>. Raise no suspicions. It is expected that <em>every</em> Pureblood boy or girl attend, and any one who doesn't will be the talk of the year—of the next <em>two</em> years. Celeste, it's important you attract the least amount of attention possible, and by attending, <em>that </em>is how you become part of the blur."</p><p>I only clench my jaw, wholly irritated that I can't find a flaw in her argument. That she's right, so insufferably right. That I have to go, that she wins, whether even she likes it or not.</p><p>Mother gazes at me tiredly, elbow on the arm of the chair and fingers holding up her head by her temple and cheekbone. Her fingers play with the embroidery on her velvety robe. "You know," she starts, voice low and fatigued, "I didn't want to go to mine."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows slowly. "You didn't?"</p><p>She shakes her head, eyes drifting back down to the wine. "I hated the idea of it. All of it. It's not what it used to be, of course. You won't find any engagements being made at the ball, any daughters being sold into business deals. No, you'll just find them being displayed like something that can be sold <em>one day</em>."</p><p>"This isn't making me more amenable towards attending, Mother," I mutter softly, glancing away towards her bed. It looks too big for her. It looks like it would be cold even during the summer.</p><p>"I ran away just an hour before we were meant to leave. I never attended."</p><p>My head snaps back so I can stare at her with a small frown and furrowed eyebrows. I scan her slightly downturned face to look for a hint of a lie, an exaggeration, a joke even if I don't think I've ever heard her make one. There's nothing, though, nothing but the jaded expression that I've seen indenting her face over the past few months—years, even, if I truly think about it.</p><p>"My entire family went searching for me for a little while, and then my parents gave up and went without me. Col, though, your aunt went to find your father before she left with them. Told him that I wouldn't be there. He found me, of course, since I didn't go very far. There's a meadow up the hill past this manor. The two of us spent the rest of the night there dressed for a ball and getting dirt all over our clothes just sitting there," Mother murmurs, eyes glazing over and a soft smile pressing to her lips. "His was the only one I wanted to dance with, anyway."</p><p>She then turns to look at me, completely grave. "They, everyone, didn't stop talking about me for <em>years</em>." She then smiles tightly, adding, "Maybe getting pregnant, marrying your father just a month before having you and after years of separation didn't help, though."</p><p>And then Mother stands back up to return to her spot at the window. "It's late," she says, peering down at the grounds. "Go back to bed, Celeste. We'll talk more in the morning if you want to."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0089"><h2>89. WHEN FLOWERS BLOOM</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>April 4th, 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>"Merlin's beard, you see the mustache on him?" Blaise whispers loudly as he approaches me where I lean against the wall of the foyer to my own manor, making me roll my eyes.</p><p>"Who, the one with the monocle?"</p><p>"The mon—? Oh, my goodness, I didn't even see that," he mutters, a mild look of disgust falling over his face. "He looks like he's straight out of a caricature, doesn't he?"</p><p>"Speak any louder, Blaise," I drawl casually, briefly glancing down at my watch, "I don't think he's heard your commentary."</p><p>"Oh, quiet. You going in or not?" Blaise questions, gesturing towards the two grand doors standing ajar right across from where I lean, taking a step towards them and turning to face me with an inquisitive lift of his eyebrows. "Shouldn't you be in there with you mother?"</p><p>I inhale deeply, giving my eyes a slight roll before pushing off the wall and moving to enter the drawing room, reaching a hand up to adjust the silver bow-tie knotted at my neck.</p><p>"I was waiting for you, dumbarse. Where's the rest of your family?" I scoff, walking in front of him into the ballroom where the orchestra music grows a bit louder, intentionally keeping my gaze where the walls meet the ceiling to avoid locking eye contact and making some<br/>overly enthusiastic stranger think that means I want to make conversation.</p><p>"They won't be joining until later," he responds casually from behind me, and I glance over my shoulder with a humorous smile to see him looking around the drawing room with an impressed expression. "Your mother went all out, as per usual."</p><p>My smile slips slightly. I glance over at where she stands greeting guests left and right. One couldn't possibly tell from the beam on her face just how much effort it took her to get up this morning. "Right. Why wouldn't she, after all? You should see the ballroom."</p><p>It's always been the Malfoys' honorable obligation to host these debutante balls and coming outs of all kinds. Perhaps Mother could have passed the opportunity down to a family more willing—such as the Parkinsons, whom I know from Pansy are mildly irritated they don't have the responsibility—since our current circumstances don't allow for a mood capable of cultivating such an event, but Mother had decided that <em>not </em>hosting and throwing the even would raise more suspicion than she could afford.</p><p>And my pulse thrums much faster than it should at the prospect that the few Death Eaters that couldn't find some other residence for the night—particularly the escapees from Azkaban—and that we've sequined tightly in the West Wing of the manor may somehow get out.</p><p>But, yes, Blaise is right. Mother really did go out. Tapestries adorn every single wall, made with rich velvets and silver and jewels, images of mages and dancing witches and wizards swaying to the orchestra's music. The ceiling is slight with silver pixies, and if I strain my ears enough, I can almost hear their distinct chime above the cellos.</p><p>The drawing room slowly but surely fills up with the family of the debutantes, suitors, and otherwise as well. I spot faces I've seen daily as well as faces I haven't seen in years, their lively chatter high above the music by now. Some have clearly traveled from far, and few I know live only a single Apparating away.</p><p>"How many tantrums do you think Pansy threw?" Blaise murmurs to me as we now stand side by side.</p><p>I stand beside my mother, directly across from the now closed tall, grand doors through which the debutantes will be coming through.</p><p>I glance away from him, instead peering down to the side of my mother's face. She's wearing that gracious smile still, nodding at something someone beside her says. Mother doesn't turn to look at me, but when my gaze falls on her, I feel her hand slip to my arm.</p><p>"At least two," I muse back, fiddling with my bow-tie again, "but she's <em>definitely</em> chewing Celeste's ear off about it right now." And then I pause, frowning slightly. "Well, she would be, if they weren't—"</p><p>At that, the doors burst open with a gust of magic that sweeps across the room and blows even my hair back all the way across it.</p><p>A hush falls over the drawing room. All the guests lining the walls to make room for the debutantes turn their heads expectantly while the orchestra comes to a lull, and as soon as the violas pick up a sweet melody, a man comes walking past the threshold and into the drawing room.</p><p>And so it begins. One by one, the debutantes' fathers step into the drawing room and call out their daughters' names before blending into the crowd to make way for the debutantes accompanied by their mother. First walks in Valeria Abbott accompanied by her mother and following her balding father. For an event talked about so heavy and spoken of so prestigiously, my attention wanders away rather quickly. There are only so many pot-bellied fathers, smugly smiling mothers, and anxiety-wrecked daughters one can look at before getting tired of it all. They all do the same: the father walks in and announces his daughter and wife, and together the two enter the drawing room, walk up to Mother and curtsy to her—as she is hosting the event, after all—turn and curtsy to the rest of the room, and make their graceful exits.</p><p>I'm all but falling asleep next to Blaise, who has taken to playing with his cuff links to keep himself from doing the same. Girls come and go. Millicent Bulstrode, Xiomara Burke, Flora Carrow, Rumiko Fawley. Daphne Greengrass flashes us a short smile that I nearly miss before turning around, and Mehr Macmillan looks scared out of her wits.</p><p>When Pansy's father enters the room, Blaise jabs my side with his elbow to wake me from my distracted trance. I nearly smack him upside his head before remembering where we are, and when I see Pansy and her mother entering the ballroom, a small smirk finds my face.</p><p>For once in her life, she hasn't been forced into a pink dress. No, this time, she's wearing a dusty blue color. And I know it isn't the color that's placed that sour look on her face, no—it's has to be the lace and ornate flowers lining it, and the tight corsage on her wrist, the flowers of which only form buds unlike the bloomed blossoms on all the other girls. She flowers fiercely, looking wildly different without her piercings, thick liner, and choppy short hair (which has apparently been charmed to appear long and sleek).</p><p>Even when she locks eyes with me, her sneer doesn't disappear. Pansy gives the most half-hearted curtesy I've ever seen, and the smirk on my face dissolves into a mildly sympathetic look that she rolls her eyes at before turning around to curtesy to the rest of the room.</p><p>And then all my interest fades away again as more girls come by. Narine Prewett, Milena Rowle, Keya Shafiq.</p><p>And, of course, Celeste Zabini.</p><p>First there's confusion when Blaise's mother, Colette Zabini, steps past the threshold. A murmur passes the crowd almost like a wave, and then there's a hush as everyone realizes almost simultaneously why a father isn't presenting the next and in fact <em>last</em> debutante. My hand twitches slightly as my side as I unconsciously straighten, taking in the beam on the newly engaged woman's face as she calls out—</p><p>"Presenting Celeste Zabini, accompanied by her mother, Corinne Zabini."</p><p>Blaise's mother disappears into the crowd, covertly slipping past people to make her way towards Blaise. I don't notice her, not really, not when seconds later, in step her older and sister and—most importantly—her niece.</p><p>It's like a hush falls over everyone. Like the soft whispering that never ceases finally crumbles away, like the members of the orchestra have suddenly forgotten how to play. I can't blame them. Seeing what they are seeing, I'd completely forget how to sight-read music too. I nearly forget how to breathe.</p><p>Or maybe I'm just imagining it, but it doesn't matter. Not much matters. Not much except for how <em>good</em> she looks in that brushed red dress.</p><p>It's been a few days since we last... <em>talked</em>, much less seen each other. Instantly, my heart rate jumps to a thousand miles an hour, my mind flooding with images of having her on my lap whimpering my name while my fingers stroked her, or having her hand around my cock and mouth working wonders on it. The way she curled up next to me after, the way she didn't let even an inch of space come between us for the rest of the night.</p><p>My hand darts up all on its own to loosen my bow-tie a little bit, finding it hard to catch a decent breath as I watch Celeste cross the threshold with a gentle step. Her face is neutral, tired even, but regal with its high cheekbones and demanding eyes. Her mother lightly brushes her arm, and instantly a slight, tight smile finds her painted lips. It's forced and shallow, but it makes my heart shutter a little bit in my chest and head grow faint.</p><p>I know it isn't really me that she's approaching, but still it feels that everyone surrounding me has melted into the background, that once she reaches where I stand, she'll take my hand and pull me along to dance with her to the orchestral music that I'm not entirely sure is playing or not.</p><p>It's a simple dress, rosette in color and flowing from her waist down. It's modest, but it bares her arms and cheekbones in full, and the subtle gold embellishments scattered along the skirt of it glint in the light. The corsage on her wrist is bound in tight buds, but as she nears, one of the flowers slowly unfurls.</p><p>When she comes to a stop and bends into a smooth curtsy, I catch sight of her hair. Her curls shine, all pinned back into an intricate bun at the back and bottom of her head while a few strands lay free to frame her face. As she pulls upright, her eyes jump from Mother's to mine. That tight smile on her lips begins to dwindle away, but when I furrow my eyebrows lightly in confusion, it comes back with a touch of amusement.</p><p>Feeling lightheaded, I watch as she and her mother turn to curtsy to the rest of the room before taking their exit.</p><p>My pulse still pounds even as we eventually make a transition to the ballroom where almost instantly the guests begin dancing. Mother gives my arm a squeeze before parting ways with me, and I briefly watch her smile at someone who pulls her into a conversation before turning back to Blaise who is heavy in his own with another suitor.</p><p>The debutantes come back in after a little while, a few of them bright-faced and eager, a few of them looking like they might pass out. Already suitors approach them to sign their dance cards—to reserve a dance with them later, as they're expected to share dances with us later on in the evening—but I don't move from my spot. I let my eyes do the moving, let them rake the crowds looking for a red dress and dark eyes.</p><p>"So, how'd I do?"</p><p>It's Pansy's bitter voice that makes Blaise and I turn to see her tugging at the straps of her blue dress, clearly irritated by the lace covering it and scratching her shoulders. She wears a fierce scowl that scars the beauty that her parents painted on her, but it makes me grin, grateful to see at least an ounce of my friend in her genuine state.</p><p>"Oh, just <em>wonderful</em>, Panz," Blaise drawls, playfully picking up a lock of her long black hair (causing her to slap his hand away). "You had the brightest smile of all of them."</p><p>"Mm," I nod in agreement, picking a flute off a passing tray—which only carries sparking water, unfortunately, as Mother didn't want drunk suitors and debutantes on her hands—and taking a sip from it. "But my favorite part was when you not-so-covertly flipped the entire crowd off while curtsying."</p><p>She responds with a sarcastic smile, nose scrunched up and brown eyes crinkling. Her face then drops into a dead glare while the corsage on her wrist begins to wither.</p><p>"You killed your flowers," Blaise says bluntly, his head dropped to squint at the corsage. "Merlin..."</p><p>"I didn't <em>kill</em> them," she snaps, pulling her hand up to her chest to cradle the corsage, "they're charmed to bloom with our mood."</p><p>I glance back down at the flowers she wears, and when one of the wilted petals breaks off and flutters down to the floor, I smirk softly. "I see you're in a brilliant mood," I deadpan, and I know Pansy would take this chance to stop on my foot with her heels of her parents weren't standing just feet away talking to some other couple.</p><p>"Fuck off. Now, are you two signing my dance card or not?"</p><p>I lift an incredulous eyebrow while Blaise snorts. "Really? You actually want yours to be signed? I figured you'd try your hardest not to have to dance with any of the suitors," I muse softly, glancing over her head to see if I can catch a glimpse of that red.</p><p>"Yeah, well, it's a stupid concept. Wearing this <em>stupid</em> card on our wrists, having <em>stupid </em>boys sign their <em>stupid</em> names so that they are 'promised' a <em>stupid</em> dance with us. As if we're something that can be rented," she spits spitefully, another two petals falling down, one landing on Blaise's shoe.</p><p>He kicks it off. "So... You want us to sign, why?"</p><p>"Because, if I don't have at least one name on it, my parents won't be happy," Pansy grumbles softly, glancing off to the side where they stand. She then sighs, closes her eyes, and holds her left hand out limply. "<em>Please?</em>"</p><p>Blaise and I share a glance, and with a roll of my eyes, I reach forward and turn her wrist inside out to grab the little booklet and attached pencil, muttering dryly, "How can I say 'no' when you ask so nicely?" I'm not sure if she hears the added "bitch" at the end, but Pansy spares me a small smile and the petals on her wrist lose a little bit of their curdled form as Blaise and I scrawl our names on the booklet.</p><p>I don't sign many more after that. The three of us end up in conversation with Daphne afterwards, the entire time during which she's staring across the ballroom at Theodore Nott. It's when she suddenly blurts that she wants to make him jealous, so could I <em>please</em> sign her dance card when he looks over? that I give in and pick her wrist up, passing the card and pencil over to Blaise and throwing a glance over my shoulder to see Nott glaring at me furiously.</p><p>And then I catch a flash of red, and I couldn't care less who is getting jealous over whom.</p><p>Without a word, I meander away from Blaise and Pansy, craning my neck subtly to see if I can find that red again. When I do, I run a hand through my hair to make sure it's neat. Her back is faced towards me, the bun her curls are in hibbing slightly as she talks to one of the suitors. My eyes flash over to him, darkening when I recognize him as Nathaniel Rosier. He flashes her a beguiling smile, and as she moves in what seems to me to walk away, her plucks her wrist. His mouth moves to say something, and when she seemingly responds, he proceeds to sign her dance card, kiss the back of her hand, and move into the next debutante.</p><p>I realize I'm frozen where I stand only when she turns around, looking mildly irritated, and then locks eyes with me.</p><p>I blink, stiffening first before letting my shoulders drop. Her dark eyes scan me lightly, and mine do the same with her, but it's difficult with so many people walking and dancing about between us.</p><p>And without a thought, I go striding towards her. Her hand picks up the locket dangling low on her chest to fiddle with, but when I slow and come to a stop in front of her, she drops it and lets her hand fall to her side.</p><p>Celeste squares her shoulders, turning her chin up with that flicker of defiance she always has even when she has no reason to be defiant. It's as if she's daring me to challenge her, but the only challenge I see is keeping from ogling at her while she can see me doing so. Her breaths are a little heavy, as if it's she that crossed the entire ballroom in nearly ten seconds.</p><p>Her lips twitch. "Malfoy," she greets lightly, her hands moving to clasp behind her back.</p><p>I lift an eyebrow at her when her eyes drop to scan me more carefully, taking in the suit I wear. It isn't anything much special, my coat identical to all the other suits. It's only our bow-ties that vary.</p><p>"Celeste," I respond back, and her gaze flashes back up to meet mine. And then I glance aside where Rosier is currently leaning against a wall talking to a blushing Milena Rowle. "Was he... bothering you, or anything?"</p><p>When I look back at her, it's <em>her</em> eyebrows that lift ag me inquisitively. Celeste pushes herself up on her toes briefly, curls bouncing as she drops back onto her heels. "Why are you asking?" she queries smoothly, her voice silky, low, and tugging on my gut.</p><p>I bite down on my cheek. "Just because."</p><p>"Just because? Because you <em>care</em>, Dray?" she teases softly, and the way my nickname leaves her tongue in a whisper makes my heart jump a little.</p><p>"<em>No</em>," I respond forcefully, grateful that the heat on my ears hasn't reached my face. "I'm just asking to ask. Doesn't mean I <em>care</em>."</p><p>"No?" she quips back, her lips forming a small smile that I can't pry my gaze from. "So... If I said that he <em>was</em> bothering me, you wouldn't care?"</p><p>My gut twists. "<em>Was</em> he?" I respond smoothly, managing to keep the urgency out of my voice.</p><p>Celeste's lips twitch again, and this time she can't seem to be able to suppress them as they spread upwards into a slight beam. She glances down at her feet, her feet loose curls bouncing while she stifles a small laugh. That heat creeps to my neck as I watch her with a small frown, pulse skyrocketing as she looks back up with glittering eyes.</p><p>"He was signing my <em>card</em>, Draco," she says to me lowly, a smirk tugging at her mouth. "That doesn't count as bothering a girl, does it?"</p><p>I suck my lower lip in between my teeth, and her gaze briefly drops to watch. When it picks back up, she swallows thickly and then tilts her head inquisitively, silently prodding for me to respond.</p><p>"Well, were you feeling <em>bothered?</em>"</p><p>She smirks back instantly, her head giving way to a slight shake. "Tell me, Draco," Celeste murmurs, her right hand drifting up lazily to gently fix my bow-tie, forcing me to bite back a shiver as her cold knuckles brush lightly against my throat, "was <em>Daphne</em> feeling particularly bothered when you signed her card?"</p><p>I still, giving her face a scrutinizing scan. "Daphne?" I echo back, and when her head bobs with a nod, it's my turn to flash a fleeting smirk. "Why were you watching me sign Daphne's card?"</p><p>And now Celeste freezes. Her eyes widen just fractionally, the dark brown in them shimmering where they remain stuck on my own eyes. She then darts a hand up to tuck her loose curls behind her ears, glancing aside and muttering, "I wasn't <em>watching</em>, I just <em>saw</em>."</p><p>"Right," I murmur back, recognizing the amusement in my voice.</p><p>She glares at me lightly. I respond with a smug smile.</p><p>Celeste then loosely wraps her arms around herself, giving me a slight scan before angling herself away a bit, eyes roaming the ballroom. "So..." she starts casually, seeming to take interest in something across the room. "Sign very many cards yet, Draco?"</p><p>"Mm, no," I murmur back, taking a small sip from my sparking water before looking away from her as well.</p><p>"<em>Really?</em>" she exhales back, a laugh in her voice.</p><p>I inhale deeply. "I meant, not <em>yet</em>."</p><p>"Ah, not <em>yet</em>," she echoes back, and through my peripheral vision, I see her turn back to look at me. Her hands play with that locket of hers, gaze searing a burn right into the side of my face. "So you plan to, then? Have your name on as many cards as possible?"</p><p>My gaze falls on Nott and Daphne standing side by side, both of them very pointedly ignoring the other while engaging in conversation with another debutante or suitor.</p><p>"Oh, yeah. <em>All</em> of them, even," I smirk back before turning to look at her to see an incredulous expression on her face. "What, you don't believe me? You don't think I could do it?"</p><p>Celeste's eyebrows lift complacently. "Oh, I don't mean to <em>discourage</em> you, but... well, you should really get a start on it, shouldn't you? There are only so many spaces for names on a girl's dance card, and..." Her eyes flick up to mine, lips slightly parted to suck in a sharp breath. "And some of the suitors have taken to signing their name <em>twice</em>, so..."</p><p>"So, what, your card's all filled out?" I ask lithely, giving her a casual look while my pulse hammers a bit violently.</p><p>She turns her chin up. "<em>No</em>." And then Celeste glances down at her left hand where the dance card dangles from her corsage, the white and pink flowers on it slowly growing. "But it will be soon," she continues smoothly, her other hand carefully brushing against one the flowers, "so if anyone desperately wanted to have a place on it, I'd advise them to ask for one <em>soon</em>."</p><p>I inhale deeply, my lips twitching with an uncontrollable tilt. "Is that so?"</p><p>"It is."</p><p>"Alright, then. I'll pass the message along," I quip back in a low, dry voice, leaning down a bit so she can catch it and managing to catch the way her breath hitches softly in return.</p><p>Celeste glances down at my lips and back up to my eyes so quickly I may have imagined it. She then squares her shoulders. "Good," she murmurs, voice a bit breathless, "that's... that's good."</p><p>My heart picks up in pace, if a quickening is even possible or not. I straighten up slightly, peering down at her while she stares back up at me challengingly, something hesitant in her eyes. And then I glance aside briefly at the heat that creeps along my neck and brushes my ears, and swallowing back whatever pride has blocked up my throat, I open my mouth to say—</p><p>"Give me your wrist, then, unless you plan on the two of standing here like this all night."</p><p>Celeste's eyes widen a fraction. She then blink quickly, lightly shaking that shocked expression off her face to replace it with her typical haughty one.</p><p>"My wrist?" she echoes with a cock of her head. "Why should I give you my wrist, Draco?"</p><p>I exhale a laugh, closing my eyes while my tongue pokes at the inside of my cheek. "Celeste," I start lowly, dry amusement lacing my voice, "don't play stupid, now. We both know you're a lot smarter than most of the minds in this—"</p><p>"Only most?" she interrupts, voice teasing and eyes glittering with the twisted smile she wears.</p><p>I pause, blinking at her simple, and I bite back my own matching smile. "Let me sign your dance card, Celeste," I finally concede to her, my fingertips twitching and pulse shuddering at the prospect of hearing "no."</p><p>She wouldn't say no, would she? She wouldn't tease and smirk like that and drop all those little hints just to say no. Unless she would. Maybe she can be cruel like that. I can never tell whether she's flirting with me or insulting me, but to be fair, I can't tell when I'm doing the same with her.</p><p>Celeste's lips part to suck in a sharp breath. "What makes you so sure I want you to?" she then mumbles, her voice breathy and uncharacteristically weak.</p><p>My blood freezes where it is, like a single bat of her eyelashes has solidified it into stone. I stare at her, the small smirk I wear permanently etched onto my lips.</p><p>"I mean," she continues, glancing down at her left hand where the flowers on her corsage continue their tentative bloom, "you said 'give me your wrist,' as if you knew for <em>sure </em>that I wanted your name on my dance card." Her head tilts up to peer at me through those long lashes, a mix of hesitancy and amusement written in her dark eyes. "How can you be so sure of something if you don't... ask?"</p><p>My face floods with heat, and I <em>know </em>it shows because her eyes crinkle with a small laugh that she instantly slaps her hand over her mouth for.</p><p>"I—"</p><p>"You're so <em>cute</em>."</p><p>Now my breath hitches. I blink at her blankly, my ears feeling about ready to melt off.</p><p>Celeste's eyes widen, and by no fractional amount. Her mouth drops slightly, and then she squeezes her eyes shut and looks away, her hand now anxiously tugging that locket along its chain.</p><p>"Sor—"</p><p>"Will—?" I pause when I hear her speak. "What?"</p><p>Her eyes stay shut, but her face twists like she wants the floor to open up and swallow her. I have to say I understand the feeling.</p><p>"Just... What were you saying?"</p><p>I swallow thickly, glancing aside to where Daphne and Nott look immersed fully into a heated argument. When I look back at Celeste, she's fiddling with the flowers on her corsage, her head tilted down and away from me with those few loose curl hanging in front of her face. I watch her closely for a few moments, and it's only when she glances back up with a resolute expression on her face that I notice the smile that's been tugging on my lips.</p><p>She frowns in confusion, tilting her head.</p><p>I glance up over her head quickly, running a hand through my hair while more blood floods to my cheeks. <em>Cute</em>, she called it, and with how crimson my face feels, I figure I must look bloody <em>adorable</em> right now.</p><p>"I was wondering..." I start, letting my eyes slowly drag back down to her expectant ones, "if perhaps... if maybe you'd want to share a dance with me later tonight."</p><p>Her eyes flutter as though threatening to fall shut. Celeste's hands drop to her side, and then she picks them back up to pick at her fingertips. A slow smile pulling one side of her lips higher than the other, she holds her left hand out wrist up, the dance card and pencil dangling from it revealing itself to me.</p><p>"I guess I wouldn't mind."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows, first feeling relief drain my face of the excess blood, and then rolling my eyes are her quipped response. "Wouldn't <em>mind</em>, hm?" I mock back, squeezing my hands to keep them form shaking before gently taking her hand in mind and picking the little pencil up. "You don't have to lie. It's okay to admit that you look forward to it."</p><p>"Oh, really?" she laughs back, her voice lacking that tense quality it had before. "You think very highly of yourself, Malfoy. Don't fool yourself. I'm practically doing you a favor letting you sign my dance card."</p><p>I smirk softly, scanning it to see most of the dances having a name scribbled next to it.</p><p>I already knew Carlier wouldn't be here, as he's returned to France for the break. It would be nice if he stayed there permanently, but for now, seeing the card lack his pompous name is satisfying enough.</p><p>I choose the first blank one I see, careful to write my name in a clear, neat script. My fingers brush against her wrist lightly before I let go of the pencil and turn her arm back around, peering at the nearly fully bloomed flowers she wears before looking back up to where she's watching me carefully.</p><p>"Well," I murmur softly, giving her wrist a slight squeeze before letting it go, "if you're doing me a favor, then I suppose I should thank you, shouldn't I?"</p><p>Her chest swells with a deep inhale, eyes darkening a little bit. Celeste shrugs slightly, glancing back down at her wrist.</p><p>I give her a short laugh. "I'll see you then. But, for now, I have cards to sign, ambitions to fulfill," I quip dryly, seeing her smirk while I turn on my heel, feeling very overheated despite the light quality of my suit jacket.</p><p>I don't make it very far before she speaks again.</p><p>"Draco."</p><p>My name on her lips makes me stop. I turn my head over my shoulder to look at her inquisitively, seeing her back straight, shoulders squared, and eyes fixed on me with a spur of determination. The look makes something coil in my stomach, and so I turn to face her fully, wondering how exactly my heart seems to match the tempo of the orchestra when the music is so slow and my pulse is so frantic.</p><p>"You know," she starts, her voice a bit distant. She seems to realize this, and with an upward tilt of her chin, she takes a few steps closer to me. "You know," Celeste begins again, though I'm distracted by the beautiful golden clips in her hair, "the debutantes are meant to choose the suitor with whom they'd like to dance for when we're meant to dance in front of everyone else."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows. "I <em>did</em> know that."</p><p>"Apparently, it's some pathetic attempt to make this whole thing more 'progressive.'"</p><p>I lift an eyebrow. "Right," I murmur, pulse thundering, though I don't dare show any of the churning gears in the back of my mind on my face.</p><p>"So..." she murmurs, gnawing lightly on her lower lip in a way that makes me wanna reach down and pull it out. "Have you been... Have you been asked?" Her eyes peer up at me curiously, but the look on her face is otherwise unbothered.</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>Her eyebrows lift. "Oh," she quips lightly.</p><p>"I told Flora to ask someone else instead, though."</p><p>Celeste's mouth parts. "Oh..." she repeats more slowly. And then she straightens herself up, a haughty expression on her face. "You really shouldn't have done that. It's <em>embarrassing</em> to be one of the only suitors not dancing for the first dance," she says matter-of-factly, and I bite back a small smile.</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>"Mm?"</p><p>"Are you trying to ask me something?"</p><p>"<em>No</em>."</p><p>"Fine, then. I suppose I'll go find Flora and see if she's found someone else yet, but if not..." I hesitate softly, smirking at the way Celeste jaw grinds, "if not, I think I'll share the first dance with her. Or, perhaps, someone else."</p><p>Celeste turns her chin up. "No."</p><p>My lips twitch. "No?"</p><p>"You're not dancing with her."</p><p>"I'm not?"</p><p>"Or any other girl."</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>."</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"And... This is for the entire night?" I question with a faux veneer of curiosity, smirking at the glare she gives in return.</p><p>"I <em>mean</em> the first dance," Celeste snaps slightly, crossing her arms.</p><p>"<em>Right</em>, okay, and why not?"</p><p>"Because <em>I'm </em>asking you to dance with me," she responds simple, arms tightening and chin turning up while her eyes scan my face quickly.</p><p>My neck floods with heat again, pulse skipping a beat. "Are you?"</p><p>"<em>Yes</em>." Celeste's gaze then drops, her face briefly crumbling to reveal just how difficult this must be for her, which only makes my smirk grow. "And... And before this gets to your head and inflates your ego, I'm only asking you because the only other two boys I bother talking to are either my cousin or in France, so..."</p><p>I lift my eyebrows, my gut twisting tightly and that small smirk disappearing. "Oh, I see. So if your little pet Papillon was here, you'd—"</p><p>"Why are you so worried about someone that's not here?" she interrupts with a slight crease of her brows and tilt of her head, glancing between my eyes searchingly.</p><p>I scan her back. And then I exhale softly, running a hand through my hair and then quickly fixing it when I remember where we are. "Well?" I quip. "I haven't heard a question. You haven't asked yet."</p><p>Her eyes widen, and that smirk finds its way back to my lips.</p><p>"Well—I—" Celeste abruptly straightens up, glaring at me defiantly as though she isn't trying to get me to share the first dance with her. She then points an accusative finger at me, sputtering, "That's cause I'm not asking you, I'm... <em>demanding</em>."</p><p>I glance away, unable to bite back a smile. "That's true, you <em>are</em> very demanding."</p><p>Celeste glowers, her face simply written all over with embarrassment. "<em>Malfoy</em>."</p><p>I shake my head. "I <em>suppose</em> I wouldn't <em>mind</em> sharing the first dance with you."</p><p>—</p><p>And so, soon enough, the dancing does commence.</p><p>First comes the music, the bright waltz music sounding as though it's being produced by each minuscule particle of air rather than the musicians in the corner, schooling and reverberating off the high walls of the ballroom. It's a practiced waltz, and with every other suitor in the room, I come to a slow stand, folding my hands behind my back. Directly across from me is Blaise, who gives me a sly look before turning to look blankly forward.</p><p>And then we take four slow steps forward. I resist the urge to scratch at something tickling the back of my neck, realizing it must be her intense gaze fixated on me.</p><p>I come to a stop, briefly glancing up at the ceiling where multicolored pixies dance amongst themselves, and then I turn on my heel. Celeste sits perched on a chair in front of me, her hands folded demurely over her lap and a clam expression on her lips. A flicker of a smirk reaches her eyes when they lock with mine, making me vaguely aware of the pink dust on my cheekbones.</p><p>I fold with a deep bow with every other suitor.</p><p>Straightening back up, my arm reaches out to hold a hand out. Celeste glances at it, and then she promptly slips her cooler one in it. I bite back a shiver at the touch, instead helping her to a stand.</p><p>Her arm slips to curl around mine. The music slowly grows as each pair comes towards the center of the ballroom, the chatter of those watching ever so present. And it comes with the smell of sweet flowers blooming on every debutante's wrist. The smell of blackberries so rich in comparison.</p><p>We take our positions, each pair forming a circle on the floor. I bow, she curtsies, and the dancing begins.</p><p>With a bright uptake in the music, her left hand comes to my shoulder, her right in my left, and my right hand finds an appropriate place on her back. We move in a circle, and then Im suddenly dipping her down. It's a well practiced dance, but still her breath hitches slightly, making a smug smile find my face.</p><p>Celeste glares slightly, digging her nails into my shoulder while I pull her back up. Her face is close to mine, close enough to notice the exact shade of plum on her lips, the way she gets a small dimple underneath the left corner as she hums lightly to the music. And the way it comes as naturally to her as it does me, like the waltz has been poured into her blood with gold.</p><p>My heart pounds faster than even the music, making me nearly forget which tempo I'm meant to be following. It's difficult to think about anything else than how her hair is pinned back just perfectly, how she's avoiding my eyes.</p><p>"Why didn't you come find us?" I murmur lowly, hardly moving my lips.</p><p>Celeste smiles slightly, glancing over my shoulder. "What?"</p><p>"In the ballroom. You never came to find..." I hesitate for a moment, catching myself before "me" can skip past my lips. "Us. Blaise, Pansy."</p><p>"Pansy's why," she says back simply.</p><p>"Still fighting, then?"</p><p>"Put the two most stubborn people in the world in a fight against each other, and it won't end."</p><p>"Don't you think it's about time?"</p><p>The music, just as I've anticipated, suddenly grows dramatic, and under at least a hundred watchful eyes, Celeste and I spin in quick, dizzying circles that make the skirt of her rosette dress lap against my calf. It ends with a deep dip towards the floor that makes her gasp again and clutch my shoulder tighter. Her hand holding mine squeezes it, bright but dark eyes wide and on mine with our noses just centimeters away from brushing.</p><p>And then the music slows again, and I carefully straighten her back up, continuing the slow waltz while feeling her fingertips creep closer to the back of my neck, pulling herself closer to me. Slowly, we move in a circle clockwise around the ballroom's dance floor, but as the the music begins gaining gravity, our eyes lock knowingly.</p><p>Once more, the waltz music picks up with a dramatic flourish, sending us in quick spins and around the circle once or twice before my hands come down to her waist to lift her in a spin, once, twice, and then our hands go back to their original positions.</p><p>She looks slightly breathless, but it doesn't seem as though it's because of the dance. "Maybe it's about time," she then murmurs, her curls in her face while we turn, "but I hardly doubt it's <em>enough</em> time to make her ready to talk. Or listen."</p><p>"And you?" I murmur back, my fingers tracing the buttons lining the back of her dress, following the curve of her spine as low as I can reach without it drawing any attention. "<em>You</em> are ready to talk? Or listen?"</p><p>She's quiet for a few spins, and then her heel comes down on my foot so hard that I only barely manage to stifle a pained groan.</p><p>"<em>Witch</em>..."</p><p>"My bad."</p><p>My eyes flash angrily to her smug ones, and then they widen. "You did that on <em>purpose</em>."</p><p>Celeste scoffs and rolls her eyes, giving another jump in the air along with every other debutante without my hands moving from her back or her hand. "Of <em>course</em> it was on purpose," she whispers back, her voice soft at such a low murmur. "Do I look like someone who would genuinely mess up?"</p><p>"You're insufferable, Celeste."</p><p>"Oh, I'm not a mirror, Malfoy," she snaps back, and that's when with the music, every suitor in the room spins their debutante outwards, back into their arms, and then towards the center of the circle.</p><p>The music has a brief lull in which Celeste and I stare at each other, her two loose curls falling back down to her face and her dress settling. I swallow thickly, and when the violins begin again, I pull her back towards me with a little too much vigor, her chest almost bumping into mine.</p><p>"I keep thinking you'll make me fall," she whispers breathlessly as we continue down the circle.</p><p>I give her a spin, and then when her back is to my chest, I take her hands from behind so we can continue the waltz. My pulse pounds next to my throat as we spin on our axis, Celeste moving from my right shoulder to left.</p><p>I lean my head down fractionally so my lips brush against her ear. "Do I look like someone who would genuinely make you fall?" I whisper, and she shivers.</p><p>I dip her again, and her hands squeeze mine. Straightening up, she turns back around to face me, hands finding their places. Celeste's dark eyes hold me captive with the way they watch me so closely.</p><p>"Maybe," she murmurs, letting me give her a short spin. "maybe intentionally."</p><p>"Just don't give me a reason to, then."</p><p>She gives me a cross look, but when I just smile at her, it quickly melts away with a roll of her eyes. She glances aside, but when I catch the slight smile she wears, my own grows rather proudly and the wings my heart wears give a strong flap or two.</p><p>The waltz continues for some time more, the duration of which Celeste and I don't exchange many more words. I only spin her, dip her, relish the way her hands squeeze mine or my shoulder with every sudden turn, listen closely for the chance to hear her hum, lean in closer with every whiff of her scent I get.</p><p>And when the music begins to come to its last lull, the last few moments before the next dance—a simpler one, thankfully, much like the rest—begins, Celeste and I slow our steps until we've nearly reached a stop.</p><p>"Who are you meant to dance with next?" she asks, her eyes sharp.</p><p>I smirk slightly. "Can't remember whose I signed. You?"</p><p>She shrugs. "No clue who signed their name for which dance." And then Celeste pauses, her eyebrows rising. "Except..."</p><p>My smirk grows. "Except..?"</p><p>The music comes to an end. She gives me a devious look as those watching applaud us, and it is only moments after she should have that she starts pulling her hands away from me, concluding the end of the dance. From here, all those that attend will be free to dance, and I'll spend my night spinning debutante after debutante.</p><p>Celeste lifts her left hand to tuck her curls behind her ear, letting me see the corsage she wears. The flowers are in full bloom, bright and practically glowing.</p><p>What was it that Pansy had said about them? That they bloom with the wearer's mood?</p><p>"I'll try not to step on you when we dance again later tonight," she teases softly, but the snark in her voice doesn't reach her oddly softened eyes. And then she fails miserably in holding back a grin, instead turning her head away as if to hide. "But I won't make any promises."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0090"><h2>90. KISS ME AGAIN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>April 7th, 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>It's raining a little today.</p><p>It's cold and wet, and as I trudge through the grass, I can practically feel the mud caking to the soles of my shoes. Little drops fell against my shoulders every now and then, few and far between, and the sky is a dead, dismal light grey. It had rained and thundered all through the night, and now the sky is draining of its last bits of water.</p><p>When Mother came to my doorway this morning, I thought she would scold me for being late to breakfast, maybe remind me of the dinner party tonight.</p><p>She asked if I would like to visit him with her.</p><p>She walks a few paces in front of me, as, after all, I've never visited him before. She's the only one out of the two of us that knows where to find him.</p><p>The grass is immaculately groomed, as if the best way the groundskeeper could think of respecting those buried underneath it was to keep the land prim. It doesn't make much sense, though, does it? They're dead. How many damns could they or would they give whether their grass is short or not?</p><p>And as we walk, I see the occasional dandelions sprouted from the ground. They're so yellow, embracing the light rain with open arms. Far too bright for the wet grass and sludgy mud and grey clouds. They remind me of the corsage still on my nightstand, as the flowers are long lasting, and I wonder what my father would have thought of me attending the hall. Would he have been proud to see me grown up just a bit more? Or adamant that I skip the way my mother did?</p><p>I would have liked to have him present me.</p><p>As we round up a hill, I see a black marble mausoleum beginning to make itself clear through the slight fog that hangs in the air. Mother slows and glances over her shoulder as if to check to see I'm still with her, and when we lock eyes, I drop mine to another dandelion on the ground.</p><p>We both stop at the top of the hill, the mausoleum standing tall and silent. In gold lettering spells out "ZABINI" across the front, surrounded by two columns with serpents wrapped around them. The door looks heavy, like it might take an entire army to push it open, but as Mother starts up the steps, it swings open silently.</p><p>I watch hesitantly first a few moments as she disappears into the mausoleum, sucked into the dark. My fingertips tremble slightly at my sides as I glance it over, taking in the black marble with its white veins running like spiderwebs.</p><p>And then, swallowing thickly and feeling my pulse speed up a bit, I walk up the short steps and past the door before my mother can wonder where I am.</p><p>The inside is colder somehow, but though I can't seem to find a source of light except for a bit of the pale grey outside, I can see everything inside clearly. The ceiling is high, and the walls are lined with plaques and golden writing, my surname surrounding me. At the very center is a tall, regal statue of a woman who looks eerily like my mother, like me.</p><p>I watch Mother glance down at the flowers in her arms, and then she carefully places them in the crypt vase next to what I'm assuming is my father's name.</p><p>When I take another step towards her, she flinches, and her head snaps to the side to see who it is. Her dark eyes are intense, but when they land on me, they soften. Glancing away from her, I continue walking towards her anyway until I'm beside her a few paces back.</p><p>
  <em>ALARIC B. ZABINI</em>
  <br/>
  <em>April 6th, 1956 - June 18th, 1996</em>
</p><p>His name looks cold. It's written in gleaming gold, polished to perfection. And it looks cold. Too still.</p><p>Just like he is in my dreams—or <em>not</em> dreams, wherever it is I go when I fall asleep with that draught. My eyebrows furrow slightly as I stare at his name, stare at the photograph beneath it where he's smiling at someone off camera. His mouth moves to speak, maybe laugh, and his eyes crinkle. But when I saw him last night and the night before too and every single night before that since I got home from Hogwarts for the holidays, he was a statue.</p><p>Doesn't move much except for the occasional tilt of his head or a lean back in his seat. Doesn't make a noise, not even the sound of his breath. Doesn't speak. Doesn't interrupt me once or respond to me as I tell him how the day went.</p><p>I stare at his plaque for a minute longer, and when I come to the conclusion that the marble slab is no more likely to speak to me than <em>he</em> is, I turn on my heel to walk out.</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>It's my mother's voice that speaks, and it does nothing to stop me. I don't go very far, anyhow. No, I step past the threshold and down one step before dropping to sit right there on the steps, my arms over my knees and my hand reaching up to push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. Somehow, even with the nose-pads, they always manage to slip.</p><p>And for a moment I wonder if they've stopped working until I realize that my vision is blurry for a reason beyond what glasses can fix.</p><p>I strain my ears, trying to hear anything. Even the light drizzle doesn't make a noise as it drops to the ground. There's no howl of the wind or even a faint whistle. Everything is still, dead, and cold.</p><p>But I hear a faint "happy birthday, my love," and moments later, there are footsteps approaching me from behind and emerging from inside the mausoleum.</p><p>"Don't sit there, Celeste."</p><p>I don't make any indication to suggest that I've heard her soft, tired voice. I only pick my locket up from inside my cloak and drag it up and down the chain, my father's ring occasionally hitting against my knuckle.</p><p>"It's wet from the rain, and it probably has mud all over it."</p><p>My chest feels hollow except for my heart, and my heart beats against the inside like it's desperate to burst through and land right down next to my feet. I inhale deeply, shakily, my shoulders hunching together, and a small drop of rain lands right on my glasses, making me flinch.</p><p>And then she sighs heavily. I turn my head just slightly to peer at her, watching as she first points her wand at the steps to dry it. She then pulls her scarf off from around her neck, and as it falls to the ground, it transfigures into a thin blanket that covers the steps.</p><p>And then she promptly sits on top of it, smoothing out her robes and sitting with a pin straight back and hands folded on her lap.</p><p>Her eyes glitter slightly as she stares out past the hill and down where a few more mausoleums and gravestones dedicated to other deceased Purebloods litter the grass here and there. And then they close, her stiff body deflating with another heavy sigh.</p><p>I turn my head away from her and back out at the grass and the grey sky.</p><p>"I... I wanted to... <em>thank</em> you."</p><p>My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek a little too hard, and all my muscles tense.</p><p>"You did well at the ball. You smiled, you danced, you didn't act out in any way. And at the luncheon yesterday too. I..." I hear her swallow audibly, like it's physically difficult for her to get these words out. "I know it couldn't have been easy for you, especially since you didn't want to go so badly. I'm glad you understood the importance."</p><p>I stay quiet, watching an earthworm in the grass slowly crawl away. I can feel Mother's gaze on me, but I don't turn to meet it.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>"Sure. Yeah. You're welcome."</p><p>She sighs again, and my lips twitch in irritation. I clench my hands together tightly, biting back the urge to snap at her to just shut up.</p><p>"I know I haven't been fair."</p><p>This makes my head turn to look at her, but this time, my mother is the one looking away and out to where the rain has grown to a more respectable drizzle, though the roof of the mausoleum extends enough to cover the steps.</p><p>"I've been thinking about it," she continues, her voice soft and hesitant, yet still containing that permanently haughty edge, "and I can't think of an excuse. I have <em>reasons</em>, but... they don't quite suffice as proper excuses." Mother blinks, eyes starting to glisten again, but her face remains stoic. "I know I make mistakes, but I just... I just really hope you can understand that <em>everything</em> I do, I do because I care for you. Maybe not everything is right, but I do what <em>I</em> think is right."</p><p>Her head turns to look at me imploringly. "Whether you ever forgive me or not for everything I've done and all the things I've been all these years, at least understand that I've only ever had in mind what I hoped would be best. For everyone, but especially you."</p><p>My chest heaves with each silent but ragged breath I take. I stare at her for a few moments more, my mouth all but glued shut, and I turn away to pick at a blade of grass near my feet.</p><p>"If things were different, I never would have said no to your father," she continues quietly, and somewhere in the distance a bird tweets. "I didn't <em>want</em> to say no, so yes, if things were different—"</p><p>I interrupt bitterly, "If you didn't have to have <em>me—</em>"</p><p>"I wanted children." She doesn't sound nearly as frustrated as I do or feel. "I wanted, or at least let myself dream about, at least having two." And then she snorts slightly, a behavior so unbecoming for her than my eyebrows flash up in confusion. "I'd never wanted children before falling in love with your father, if I'm being honest. I didn't like the idea of it. I didn't see the appeal. Something about him, though... Having a family with him—a big one—seemed so..."</p><p>I try to pick up another blade of grass, getting annoyed when it splits in half without even pulling out.</p><p>"I told you already about how my aunt was only so much older than me. I got to grow up and watch her... <em>succumb</em> to the blood curse," Mother murmurs lowly. "It skips generations. Usually every other, sometimes it appears in two consecutive. The magic is strong. And I saw her fall to it, and when I did, I swore I wouldn't let the same happen to another girl again. It's..." I glance at her, seeing her rubbing her face with her hands. "It was... Agonizing. For her, for everyone that loved her."</p><p>My stomach twists, and though I didn't have much for breakfast this morning, I feel like I may throw up anyway.</p><p>"That's the truth. It was difficult for everyone involved, especially her, of course. My mother was losing her younger sister, my grandmother her daughter, and I my only aunt. I don't..." Her voice sounds stuffy, like there's something clogging her throat. "I don't enjoy talking about it. You'll find her name in the mausoleum if you decide to look for it. Carise Zabini."</p><p>I exhale harshly, aggravated, but before I can speak, she begins again.</p><p>"I know I'm not the best mother," she says, her voice oddly harsh. "I know I'm not what your father was, and I know—" Her voice chokes slightly, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, not wanting to know what her face may look like. "I know I won't ever be. But I—"</p><p>Her voice breaks again, and I physically turn away as if that'll block out the noise.</p><p>"I... <em>love</em> you so tremendously—and I <em>know</em> it's not an excuse, but..." She gives a distinct sniff. "I really just wanted to take care of you. Protect you, keep you happy, and the best way I knew how was to... keep you oblivious as long as I could."</p><p>I turn my head and open my eyes to look at her, pulse threatening to rip straight through my throat. Her eyes are heavy with tears, but from what I can tell, not a single one has spilled. She gazes up at the forlorn sky, blinking frequently to keep her eyes as dry as possible.</p><p>"I know you think I should have told you, prepared you from the start, and..." Mother grimaces lightly. "To some extent, you're right. I should have. You're already so strong, and I am <em>so</em> proud of you for that, but there's nothing that..." She shakes her head, sniffing again. "Maybe I should have, but <em>Merlin</em> did I just want to believe I could <em>fix</em> it for you, find a cure in <em>some</em> corner of this planet, take care of it before it took you. I..."</p><p>She turns her head to the side, shoulders trembling a little. "How was I meant to tell my daughter that she's cursed? I should have, I know, I had <em>years</em> to say it. But I didn't. I couldn't find the words, and I didn't <em>want</em> to." There's a brief pause. "I even made your father take an Unbreakable Vow swearing he wouldn't tell you until we both agreed. I'm sorry. I made him lie to you, keep secrets from you."</p><p>My eyebrows twist together tightly. That sickening feeling still hasn't dissipated, and the tightness of my chest doesn't help. I swallow thickly, glancing down at her hand where she still wears her wedding ring.</p><p>"You turned out so strong, so beautiful, so intelligent," she continues, her voice trembling with more emotion than I've ever heard on her. "And I can't apologize enough times for failing to protect you."</p><p>We sit quietly for a little while. It's not comfortable in the slightest. I keep my head forward staring at a dandelion a few feet ahead, but occasionally, I can feel my mother's gaze turning to me like she's trying to read what I'm thinking. I don't know what to say. I'm not sure what to say, at least not until minutes pass.</p><p>"Please, just tell me."</p><p>Her eyebrows twist.</p><p>"I can't do it. But... maybe your father can."</p><p>—</p><p>I stare at the very spot I was laying writhing on months ago on the cobblestone ground of the garden.</p><p>The dinner party at the Malfoy Manor ended about an hour ago. It was relatively small in comparison to the ball and luncheon, as only five debutantes, five suitors, and their respective families were invited. As soon as it ended, the manor opened up to more guests for the following cocktail party, and now even though I've snuck out to the gardens, I can faintly hear the music from inside.</p><p>I'm not sure what possessed me to come out here.</p><p>I caught a glimpse of it while coming up to the grand entrance of the manor. It was dark out even then, but the moon hangs with enough light that I can see the faint glow of the pond and the way all the types of moon flowers beam up at the sky.</p><p>And I shuddered at the sight, remembering only one hat it was like having the cobblestone scrape up my palms and back while I screamed for Bellatrix to relent, the way she pawed through my mind like it was just there for her disposal.</p><p>And after hardly swallowing a bite, after exchanging all the shallow words and stiff smiles and avoiding both my mother's eyes and a more cerulean pair, after the crowd became thick enough that my absence wouldn't be too noticed, I slipped away and out into the garden, wondering partially if I'd run into Bellatrix again. Wondering why I'd ever even risk it.</p><p>It's cold out, especially in the cocktail dress I wear. Dark plum in color, it only hardly reaches my knees, and the cap sleeves are virtually useless in keeping me warm. I could have gone to grab my coat before slipping out, but I just couldn't be bothered, so here I stroll slowly now with my wand tightly in hand.</p><p>The statue of Morgan le Fay stands still and tall at one end of the pond, and in her arms is that very basin from which I watched a memory once. The pond glows, something luminescent swimming below and making bubbles rise to the surface. And, of course, there's the silver-leafed tree, which I notice now has copper-colored flowers beginning to bloom.</p><p>I glance around to make sure no gaunt-faced wild-haired witch is in sight. It was shocking to me when I learned that the Malfoys would be hosting despite the manor being overrun by Death Eaters. I assume they're all holed away tightly in a sectioned off part of the manor. Surely they've been warned not to slip out, but since when are Death Eaters known to do what they're told?</p><p>I glance up at the topmost levels of the manor. The windows are all dark, but that doesn't ease the feeling like someone is watching me through them. </p><p>"What are you doing out here?"</p><p>I gasp and whip around, holding my wand out in front of me and ready to blurt a spell at whoever it is. Half-expecting Bellatrix herself, I freeze at the sight of her nephew with his hands out in front of him, hair slightly tousled from the light breeze and his eyes sharp on mine.</p><p>"Just needed some air," I respond lowly, slowly lowering my wand while my already goosebump-covered arms crawl with a claw-like sensation.</p><p>His eyebrows lift slightly. "There wasn't enough of it inside?"</p><p>"Fresh air." There's silence after that, and following a beat of hesitation, I continue, "What about you? What are you doing out here?"</p><p>Draco shrugs lightly from where he's standing at the silver tree. He reaches up and easily plucks one of the copper flowers from a low hanging branch, giving it a few twirls between his fingers. "I saw someone out here through the window," he says casually, giving me a fleeting look, "so I thought I'd see who they were and what they were up to." His eyes then narrow. "Not to mention this is <em>my</em> manor."</p><p>I don't bother even giving him a roll of my eyes. I just look back at the statue of Morgan le Fay before carefully lowering myself to the metal bench behind me. The cold bites at my thighs, but I ignore it.</p><p>"Are you... alright?"</p><p>I cross my ankles carefully, glancing up at him when he begins strolling towards me lithely, one hand shoved into the pocket of his pants.</p><p>I shrug. "Why wouldn't I be?"</p><p>"You're not acting quite like yourself." He stops a few feet in front of the bench, and my eyes rest heavily on the black tie he wears against a silk green shirt, his suit jacket fitted perfectly. "You haven't been all night."</p><p>My stomach twists.</p><p>"Watching me closely, were you?" I murmur, dragging my eyes up to his and flashing him a tight, cheeky smile.</p><p>He shrugs, kicking a loose stone down the cobblestone path. He watches until it stops skipping against the ground before turning back to look at me, head a little ducked and his hair falling for his eyes to peer through.</p><p>"You're more interesting than listening to people's mothers prattle on and on about their perfect, precious little children," he scoffs dryly, hand fidgeting with the knot at his tie. "Though I suppose the highlight of the evening was most certainly when Rosier's father accidentally flung a spoonful of dessert across the room."</p><p>My eyebrows first furrow, and then they rise with widened, shocked eyes. I peer at him closely to detect any hint of a lie, asking, "That didn't actually happen, did it?"</p><p>"It did. You must not have been paying any attention," he quips, his own eyebrows rising pointedly at me.</p><p>I swallow thickly, scanning his face. The moonlight comes from behind him, giving him a glow so similar to that night he took me on his room. His hair looks soft, tempting to run my hands through over and over, and his eyes cut so deep into me that I wouldn't be surprised if I bled out right here.</p><p>"Can I sit?" he asks softly.</p><p>"Your manor, your garden, your bench."</p><p>"You're <em>right</em>," he sighs sarcastically, and then he places himself down on a bench, leaving a foot of space between the two of us.</p><p>I can't help but think how much warmer it would be if he would just move a little closer. I shiver slightly, sinking a little low on the bench and wrapping my arms around myself while my eyes find the pond again. My pulse has slowed since he startled me, back to the same languid pace as for. It surprises me. I'd figure that my body would be rushing in panicked adrenaline being out here, but instead, my every muscle just feels tired.</p><p>"Hold this for me."</p><p>Before I can react, Draco grabs one of my hands and presses something into it. I gasp softly, caught off guard, and look down to see the copper flower in my palm. The petals stretch as wide as my palm does, glinting in the light.</p><p>And then I look up to watch as Draco leans forward a little to tug his suit jacket off by the sleeves, hair falling back into his face and his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt.</p><p>When he pulls it off, he gives it a slight jolt, and then he turns back to me. I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out when his hand brushes against my tailbone to make me straighten my back off of the back of the chair. He then drapes the jacket over my shoulders, and the way his scent surrounds me makes me close both my eyes and mouth.</p><p>I open my eyes a moment later, looking back down at the flower. When I look up, Draco's silver gaze is fixated on me, dragging up and down my face with an unreadable glint.</p><p>I hold the flower out for him. "Here."</p><p>He glances down at it, and then he shakes his head. "Keep it."</p><p>I watch him for a moment longer, and then I look back at the copper flower. I give it a small twirl between my fingers, faintly catching its sweet aroma.</p><p>And then without daring to lift my gaze to him or look away from the flower, I shift down the bench a little until my arm is wedged behind his and my thigh is pressed firmly against his.</p><p>He tenses, but he doesn't say anything. And a pulse of silence passes before his arm starts moving to drape across the back of the bench, muscles brushing against my shoulders. I wrap his jacket tighter around myself with one hand, the other carefully holding the flower.</p><p>With a sigh of defeat, my head drops onto his shoulder.</p><p>"Tired?"</p><p>"Something like that."</p><p>I twirl the flower a few more times, and my free right hand moves to draw shapes on his knee with my finger. He flexes lightly at this, and I hear the soft puff of his exhale.</p><p>"So something happened," he deadpans back.</p><p>"Just..." I swallow thickly, trying to find the proper words to explain everything. "Just some bad news. That's all."</p><p>"Oh." His voice sounds croaky as his hand moves to find my shoulder. I hold back a jolt of surprise, feeling his fingertips graze my skin. "Do you want to..?" He sounds stiff, like he's completely unsure of what he's doing, and for some reason, that makes me smile slightly.</p><p>"Talk? No, thank you. The only person I'd like to talk to about it won't respond, so..." I murmur under my breath, thinking about my father in his all black attire and silent glory.</p><p>"Right," he nods slightly. "Pansy."</p><p>My eyes flash wide open, and the vision of hazel fades away to choppy hair. I bite back a groan, my hand twitching with the desire to squeeze tightly around the flower. His fingers press into the joint on my shoulder while he throws his head back with a sigh to look at the sky.</p><p>"I'm not ready to go back," he murmurs softly while I slide my nails over his knee, breathing in and out slowly to catch every bit of his subtle cologne.</p><p>"Hm?" I hum back, staring at the cobblestone path.</p><p>"The castle. I'm not ready to go back to the castle, to the task," Draco continues, his right hand rising into the air with a flourish and back onto his lap, his finger touching mine. "We have less than three months to..."</p><p>"Mm, that's a sweet thought," I undertone dryly. "You really know how to romance a girl."</p><p>"<em>Romance?</em>" he laughs back incredulously.</p><p>"Mhm. Woo, court, whatever you wanna call it."</p><p>"<em>Please</em>, I'm not trying to romance, woo, or <em>court</em> you," he scoffs lightly right as his fingertips skim over the back of my palm, goosebumps crawling all the way up my arm.</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"Oh, no. If I were, I promise you you'd know."</p><p>I sink my teeth gently into my lower lip, my knee bouncing slightly. When I catch myself, I quickly ground my feet to the ground, concentrating on keeping them still. A light breeze picks up again, nearly snatching the flower from my hand and blowing my curls back a little.</p><p>"This is where she did it," I say, my voice dull, my shoulders limp, my eyes unblinking.</p><p>"Wh—?"</p><p>"Bellatrix. When she..."</p><p>His head picks up form where he had let it rest on the back of the bench. I feel his gaze fall on me, sharp and as biting as ever, and though his shoulder has suddenly grown hard against my temple, I don't move a single muscle. My body has frozen entirely.</p><p>"When she... <em>tortured </em>me," I continue, the word sounding heavy and uncomfortable on my tongue, "It was..."</p><p>Draco inhales sharply. "Oh, right. It was here, I know," he mumbled, and his fingers squeeze my left shoulder again.</p><p>My eyebrows twist together, pulse coming to a brief stop. "You <em>know</em>?"</p><p>He swallows thickly and audibly, and finally I lift my head off his shoulder to tilt it up and watch him with confusion, a frown on my lips and a crease between my eyebrows. His jaw clenched lightly as his now thunderous eyes glance between mine, and then his head drops a little while his gaze falls on the very spot on the concrete where I'd begged for his aunt to let me go.</p><p>"She made me watch from my window."</p><p>My frown deepens, and my hand on his knee moves to his thigh to help me sit up a bit better. He jolts slightly at the motion, eyes blown and darting up to mine, though when they see the solemn expression I wear, his cheeks gain a slight tint.</p><p>"She made you..?"</p><p>"I—I mean, she had a Carrow twin take my wand and block me from leaving the room," he continues, head bobbing a little while he looks away from me, fingers drumming against my shoulder. "And my window's right up there—" He points aimlessly at the manor without sparing it a glance, "—and I have a perfect view of the garden through it."</p><p>My heart pounds wildly while I scan his face, watching a thin strand of his hair fall to tangle with his lashes, watching the way his lips press together and then release, looking even redder when his tongue darts out to wet them. I watch my own hand reach up without realizing what it's doing, watch as it pushes his hair out of his forehead.</p><p>I think back to that night. I think I vaguely remember a lit window which, in my state of mind, I had mistaken for a massive star in the sky even with the silhouette in it.</p><p>"Why did she <em>make</em> you <em>watch?</em>"</p><p>He looks at me, brows knitted in confusion, a frown on his face like the answer is so obvious. "Because I wouldn't like it, of course."</p><p>I watch him carefully, my fingers trembling slightly and my eyes having a hard time tearing away from his. My head is tilted up to his, his down to mine, and he looks at me with such a captivating gleam in his eyes. Something silver in the storm clouds, some kind of the star in the dark.</p><p>My breath shudders slightly, and he frowns lightly. His right hand lifts to my arm, rubbing it lightly over the sleeve of his jacket as if to warm me up, and I don't know how to tell him that that shiver had nothing to do with the cold. Something twists and grows in my gut, making it hard to breathe. Holding the stem of the flower between my left thumb and forefinger, I raise my hand to his chest, letting the petals brush against his jaw. His Adam's apple bobs lightly, and I wonder what it would feel like under my lips.</p><p>"And I..." His voice is steady, but it's faint. "Your screams..." Draco swallows thickly once more. "I don't think I could forget them."</p><p>He has the prettiest lips in the world. I decide it right there, watching them move, examining their graceful dips and curves.</p><p>"I'm so sor—"</p><p>"Did you bring me to my room that night?" I ask curiously, my throat tight and pulse racing.</p><p>He pauses. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"I think I passed out in the garden, but I woke up in my room. Was that you?"</p><p>He blinks a few times. "Well, I couldn't stop her, could I? I figured at the very least—"</p><p>His lips taste as good as the look.</p><p>He makes a muffled groan of surprise, briefly ripping away from me to scan my face in with blown eyes of disbelief, but then his hands grab me by my waist and my jaw and pull me back.</p><p>This time, it's me gasping against his mouth, but he swallows it, brushing his lips against mine slowly, sensually, like he's trying to memorize the feeling. I know I am as I snake my hands up to his hair, dropping the flower to instead grab his white locks and pull on them. His hands tug me closer still, so while careful not to fall off the cold metal bench, I swing my leg over his lap.</p><p>The bench is cold on my knees, but everything about him burns me. His arms wrap around my waist and pulls me flush to him, and then when my hands cup either side of his face, his tongue slips to draw a line on my lower lip.</p><p>His hands are hungrier than even mine, squeezing at the skin revealed by the semi-low back of my dress, slipping behind the straps to feeling my shoulder blades, massaging the sides of my thighs. They're quick and greedy, but his mouth takes its time with mine. He leans in to keep it pressed to mine when I pull away to take a breath, deciding that I would drown in him if I inhaled more of his musky smell.</p><p>"Where do you think you're going?" he mutters huskily, his fingers carefully slipping to the very roots of my hair, tugging lightly and using the grip to make me all but fall onto his chest.</p><p>"<em>Draco</em>," I whimper lightly, brows knitting together tightly as he gives the muscles in my thighs a deep massage, making me dig my fingers into his shoulders.</p><p>"You don't really think you can kiss me like that and get away with it, do you?"</p><p>He whispers the words against my lips, his hand briefly wrapping around my neck. He gives it a light squeeze, making me gasp, before bringing it down and back to my waist.</p><p>"We should—"</p><p>He swallows my words with his mouth, the tip of his tongue tracing my teeth.</p><p>"<em>Draco—</em>"</p><p>He closes his lips to give a lingering, gentle kiss against mine, fingertips inadvertently tickling me and making me shiver. He kisses me again, slowly, softly, and I melt against his chest with my ears hot and heart pounding.</p><p>I think I'd fall right to the ground if he wasn't holding me so tightly. His lips ghost all over my face, tickling under my jaw and pressing on my cheekbones. With my eyes closed, I tilt my head up to catch them with mine, but he only lets them brush teasingly before pulling away.</p><p>"You were saying?" he rasps, and though there isn't an ounce of sarcasm in his voice, my face heats up.</p><p>"That we should go back inside before anyone notices we're gone," I whisper back, my hand leaving his shoulder to fiddle with my locket. I won't look at him, but I can feel how closely he's watching me. It makes my chest explode with heat.</p><p>"Kiss me again first."</p><p>I don't complain or respond. My lips do the thinking for me, pressing back against more forcibly than before. His hands ravage up and down the backs of my thighs, threatening to slip under the hem of my dress as I ride higher on my knees until his head is thrown all the way back against the bench and my own is bent over his.</p><p>My curls fall on either side like a curtain, likely tickling his cheeks, but he only slips his tongue against mine and makes a soft noise at the back of my throat when I pull on his hair again. I make a similar, louder noise when his hand squeezes my thigh right below my ass, heart jumping a bit.</p><p>I cup his face with one hand, tracing his cheekbone with my thumb. His teeth have come to play, nipping lightly on my lower lip and unafraid to clash gently against mine. He chuckles lowly when they do, and the sound makes my stomach drop.</p><p>My thighs starting to ache a little, I carefully lower myself to sit fully on his lap. His hands go to my hips and instantly pull me closer to him so that I'm right on his crotch, and he groans softly against my mouth.</p><p>Wanting to hear the noise again, I almost instantly begin pushing my hips down against the subtle bulge in his pants, and this time he curses.</p><p>Well, I <em>think</em> he curses, but it's hard to hear over the loud, telltale crack of someone Apparating.</p><p>I jump away from him quickly, forgetting where I am, but as panic floods me at the prospect of cracking my head open on the cobblestone, I somehow land on a soft mattress instead.</p><p>Blinking away the blurry spots—I <em>refuse</em> to wear my glasses when I'm meant to look good—I carefully sit up to see Draco also sitting on the bed, his face flushed and clearly as perplexed as I feel. He glances around his room with a small frown, and that's when I notice the little copper flower that I dropped got caught in the collar of his shirt.</p><p>"When I said that we should go inside," I pant softly, pulling the hem of my dress down a little, "I didn't mean to your <em>room</em>."</p><p>Draco's eyes roll and cheekbones turn pink. "I didn't Apparate on purpose," he huffs, running a hand through his hair. "It just... happened."</p><p>I bite back a smirk unsuccessfully, my own face heating up a little as I watch him carefully. "Too excited to control yourself, Malfoy?"</p><p>His cheeks go fully red. "Piss off."</p><p>I bite back a laugh, instead shrugging and promptly slipping off the bed. "Fine," I quip lightly, fixing my dress up a bit more and glancing in the mirror to make sure my hair is alright, "if that's what you—"</p><p>I don't get to even take a single step away before he's grabbing me from behind and heaving me onto the bed. My breath hitches as I land on my back, Draco hovering over me with one of his hands loosely gripping my wrist and pinning it to the mattress. His other hand is planned next to my head, pulling a bit on one of my curls.</p><p>I couldn't care less, however, because it's the playful smirk on his lips that captures. That smirk, and the way his eyes are so dark and devious on mine. How his soft hair falls forward, how <em>good</em> he smells.</p><p>I reach my free hand up to touch his lips, my pulse practically ripping a hole in my wrists, and then I pluck that copper flower from the collar of his shirt.</p><p>He frowns softly, watching as I pull it to hold between our faces. His silver eyes are on my face and mine on his even as I give it a few twirls, and then with a small smirk finding my lips, I reach up to tuck the blossom behind his ear.</p><p>His eyebrows dart up.</p><p>"Pretty," I coo teasingly, choosing to believe that's a fib.</p><p>Truthfully, the correct word would be "beautiful."</p><p>"Pretty?" he echoes back. His hand sneaks up to touch it, but I'm quick to slap it away, earning a roll of his eyes. "Really? I look pretty? Pretty enough to kiss, maybe?"</p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>."</p><p>"<em>Shut</em> me up."</p><p>I pull him down a little closer, my eyes growing heavy until they're open just enough to see him licking his lips in anticipation. It's when I feel them brush against mine that I hear the voices.</p><p>"Blaise, I <em>already</em> checked, they weren't—"</p><p>"Yeah, well, they might be now, so—"</p><p>The door bursts open, and instantly we push away from each other. Just like that, I snap out of whatever trance Draco put me in. Just like that, that faux sense of safety fades away, and the reality of my world comes back. The reality that my cousin thinks he's failed me, that my best friend <em>hates</em> me, the reality that I'm meant to kill a man by the end of the year, that my mother has lied to me, that my father is still dead, that I'm <em>cursed</em>.</p><p>And my stomach twists when I remember the memory I watched today after leaving the mausoleum.</p><p>I'm panting even though I've hardly moved, and my lips tingle even though we didn't kiss, but I move to sit up properly, praying we were quick enough.</p><p>The look on Blaise's eyes tells me otherwise.</p>
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<a name="section0091"><h2>91. I LIKE YOU ON YOUR KNEES</h2></a>
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    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
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    <em>April 10th-15th, 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>The door to my compartment slams open, making me jolt in surprise and nearly drop the book I'm holding. I look up to see who it is, heart pounding.</p><p>"When's the last time Blaise spoke to you?"</p><p>"The dinner party. <em>Before</em> catching us."</p><p>"Damn it."</p><p>"You?"</p><p>Celeste groans loudly, lightly hitting her head against the doorframe before stepping into the compartment and sliding the door back shut (after making sure her fat grey Chicken is safely inside, of course).</p><p>"<em>Same</em>," she spits spitefully, dropping onto the seats across from me, "except I <em>live</em> with him, so not only do I get to deal with his silence, I also get to deal with him glaring holes into my head!"</p><p>"Better than living with the Carrows," I deadpan, scanning her and the uniform she's already wearing, and then looking back down to my book.</p><p>I can practically <em>hear</em> the scowl on her face melt away into an uncomfortable grimace. "Yeah. Fair enough."</p><p>I flash a quick glance at her. She's looking out the window with her arms crossed and a soft pout on her lips.</p><p>"Did you need something?" I then ask coolly, flipping a page in the textbook and crossing my ankle over my knee.</p><p>"Hm? Oh, no, I just—" I give her a peculiar look when she cuts herself abruptly, watching as she tugs the sleeves of her sweater down and slumps a bit in her seat. "I didn't know where else to sit, if I'm being honest," Celeste murmurs with a slight shrug, her eyes averted. "I don't really talk to anyone but Blaise, Pansy, and Maxon, and the three of them are sitting together. I mean, Maxon is great, but he doesn't balance out Blaise and Pansy," she rambles, hands gesturing vaguely as she speaks. "So then I was looking for somewhere to sit, and I <em>was</em> thinking about sitting with the other girls, but..."</p><p>I bite down lightly on the inside of my lip to keep a smile from spreading. She pushes her hair out of her face and turns her chin up haughtily without prying her eyes off the floor. On her lap sits her Chicken, licking lazily at his paw.</p><p>"Why are you sitting all alone, anyway? Because of Blaise? Don't you have your Quidditch friends to sit with?"</p><p>I don't look away from her as I say, "I do, but I was looking to be alone."</p><p>Celeste's eyes widen marginally. She drops the curl that she was fiddling with, and then she stands up with her back straight. Chicken lightly jumps to the floor before it can be thrown off.</p><p>"Then—"</p><p>"I don't mean you."</p><p>She scans me, eyes still wide and teeth gnawing at her lower lip. Celeste fiddles with her tie, and then she gives a curt nod before sitting back down across from me, legs pressed tightly together.</p><p>We sit in silence for a little while longer. The train, which was stationary when she first came, slowly begins the journey towards the castle until its familiar chug hums at the back of my ear. I continue reading from the textbook, often reading the same page over and over again before understanding it because my eyes keep getting drawn to her legs, her hands, her lips.</p><p>Honestly, it's a bit irritating. I think she might actually be doing it on purpose—being distracting. She just keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs, pushing her hair out of her face, dragging her finger down the page of her <em>own</em> book.</p><p>And somehow the silence is both comforting and unbearable at the same time. Like I want to break it, but I'm afraid to see what will happen if it shatters.</p><p>"Is that on the Vanishing Cabinet?"</p><p>My eyes flash back down to the book when she speaks first.</p><p>"What?" I manage to cough out in a remarkably unaffected voice.</p><p>"The textbook you're reading. Is it for... the task?"</p><p>I nod, my pulse still sprinting as if I've been caught doing something I shouldn't have. "Yeah, but—" I curse myself mentally when the second word slips out.</p><p>She tilts her head. "But?" she prods, her voice low and curious.</p><p>I suck my cheeks in lightly, my fingers bending the corner of a page from how stiff my hand had gone. "Just..." I shake my head, shrugging casually. "Just having a, uh, hard time getting through it, that's all. I keep reading, but nothing is really sticking."</p><p>Celeste doesn't respond even for moments afterward. Frowning softly at her silence, I glance back up at her to see her staring at me, her eyes glittering yet blank, her teeth working at her lip.</p><p>And then she blinks and shakes her head as if to clear it, a soft smirk turning my lips up.</p><p>"Show me, maybe I'll have a better time," she responds smoothly, looking away from me as she gets up and sits back down right next to me.</p><p><em>Right</em> next to me. Her thigh presses tightly to mine and her elbow inadvertently rams right into my arm. Apparently, I do a poor job at stifling a pained groan, because she curses softly before shifting away just a little. Enough so that our arms don't clash, though her knee presses to my leg as she leans over a bit to read from the book.</p><p>Her Chicken follows, of course. It takes a seat right on my foot.</p><p>I look at her. She's squinting furiously, and she leans in closer still, her hand coming down on my thigh to steady herself. I just barely manage to keep from jumping, my blood rushing and ears starting to burn.</p><p>"What... <em>Oh!</em>"</p><p>Her free hand then digs in the pocket of her robes until it comes up with something I can't quite see clearly. It's not until she unfolds the frames and slips them onto her face that I realize.</p><p>"You got glasses," I note, my voice low and raspy to my ears.</p><p>"Hm? Oh, yeah."</p><p>"When?"</p><p>"Beginning of break," she murmurs distractedly, lips pulling into a soft frown. Her hand squeezes my thigh lightly as she reads from the book in my hands, her face a single tilt away from meeting mine.</p><p>"I didn't see you wearing them," I mutter back under my breath, taking in the frames and the shining dark eyes behind them.</p><p>Celeste shrugs softly, her curls tickling my shoulder. "You only saw me at the ball, luncheon, and dinner," she says, sounding distracted with her eyebrows twisted and eyes scanning the book.</p><p>"Why didn't you wear them then?"</p><p>She snorts. "<em>Please</em>. I don't think glasses like these suit events like <em>those</em>. It's difficult to look very elegant with a bit of plastic on your nose."</p><p>I swallow thickly, giving her a heavy look. The glasses slide down the bridge of her nose a little, and I take the chance to let one hand leave the book to reach and push the frames back up with just one finger. Her breath hitches lightly and eyes tear from the pages to look at me. That creases look of concentration melts away, dark eyes glancing between mine and practically shimmering behind the lenses.</p><p>And I smirk softly, because she has to be stupid if she really thinks that. Because even with a bit of plastic and glass in front of her eyes, they still burn holes into me and petrify me where I sit.</p><p>"I disagree," I say simply, feeling a flush crawl to my neck while I turn my attention down to the book.</p><p>I can feel her watching me for a few moments more, but then she clears her throat and shifts a bit closer to me to continue reading. It's when her head ducks down closer to the pages that I tear my eyes away from them and stop pretending I'm even reading. Instead, I watch how her nimble fingers trace the words, how her lips move to mouth them.</p><p>As we near the castle, my Mark burns more and more. I can tell it's not really burning, but the anticipation coursing through my veins that makes my body ache. Makes my stomach churn, makes me feel like I might heave right there. Because it's April 10th, and there is only so much time left for me to complete this task.</p><p>I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the seat, feeling Celeste bump into me a little as the train rattles on. I push past the sound of the train and the wind outside, instead finding the soft puffs of her inhales and exhales coupled with the occasional turn of a page.</p><p>After a few moments, my eyes open all on their own to peer at her lazily. The book is in her own hand now, but it rests on my lap with her hair falling like a curtain. She ticks it behind her ear to reveal the right side of her face to me, and then her fingers move to pick light at her lower lip. I'm tempted to reach out and pull her hand away, but instead I watch her quietly.</p><p>And for some reason, it reminds me of that night so many months ago where we'd laid down in her bed and she's read to me from a book. I can't remember the book, but I remember her voice. I remember wanting to fall asleep to the sound of it.</p><p>So with little force, I slip into her mind, pushing past the memories and the thoughts to get to the little voice that reads the words.</p><p>And I nearly do fall asleep to the sound of it until minutes later when Celeste gasps so sharply.</p><p>My eyes snap open and I sit up straight, heart pounding in alarm. She picks the book up and brings it closer to her face, dark skin visibly paler and eyes widened. With a frown and an ever growing pulse, I reach out to carefully clasp her arm.</p><p>"What—?"</p><p>"I found it," she whispers, voice breathless and meek.</p><p>I blink. "What?"</p><p>"I <em>found</em> it," she repeats, timbre now louder but shaky. She looks up at me with daunting eyes. "I found how to fix it."</p><p>—</p><p>"You're really annoying."</p><p>"Keep walking, Malfoy."</p><p>I shoot Pansy a glare over my shoulder, but still I pick up both her trunks in one hand each and walk over from the common room and through the ajar door into the girls' hall. She follows behind, sighing contently while I wonder why she had to fill two trunks with rocks for a break that lasted last than two weeks.</p><p>At her door, I resist the urge to set them down while waiting for her to unlock it. And when she pushes it open, she only makes it a few steps in before gasping.</p><p>"Get. <em>OUT!</em>"</p><p>Her shrill shout startles me, and instantly I drop her trunks to the floor to stride forward and see what—or who—it is.</p><p>"Out! Out, right now!"</p><p>"Oh, <em>fuck</em> off, Pansy," Celeste scorns back, dropping her trunk on top of the bed and shooting a sharp glare at the short girl in front of me. "This is <em>my</em> room too."</p><p>"Yeah, <em>right</em>, it is!" Pansy scoffs, storming up to the bed to drag the trunk to her side and snaps it shut without closing it, earning an offended gasp. "<em>My</em> room, <em>my</em> rules, and the rules say that <em>bitches aren't allowed!</em>"</p><p>"Oh, but <em>you're</em> allowed?" Celeste quips back sarcastically, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose as she snatches the trunk back to her side. "I am sleeping here. You don't get to just kick me out like that! The room might have <em>your</em> name on it, but that doesn't make it yours."</p><p>"Actually," Pansy sneers, "that's <em>exactly</em> what makes it mine."</p><p>"<em>Pansy!</em>"</p><p>"<em>Get out!</em>"'</p><p>"N—"</p><p>Pansy, with some newfound strength likely powered by angry adrenaline, grabs Celeste's trunk and promptly tosses it onto the floor. I flinch at the loud crashing sound, gripping the doorframe and watching as it falls open.</p><p>"I'll fucking <em>kill—!</em>"</p><p>"Stop it," I snap loudly, stepping into the room just in time to grab Celeste by her arm before she can literally lunge at Pansy, who looks <em>very</em> offended.</p><p>"Let me <em>go!</em>"</p><p>"Why? So you can tear the hair out of your best friend's head?"</p><p>"She is <em>not</em> my—" "I am <em>not</em> her—"</p><p>"Oh, <em>both</em> of you shut up," I all but snarl, harshly tugging Celeste into my side when both she and Pansy move as if to pounce at each other. "You're both acting like idiots, you know that? Fucking <em>idiots</em>."</p><p>Pansy glowers at me harshly. "I don't want her in my room!"</p><p>"Fine!" I spit back, fingers digging into Celeste's arm in frustration.</p><p>She turns to look at me, scowling. "'<em>Fine?</em>'"</p><p>"Let's go."</p><p>"<em>Draco—!</em>"</p><p>"I said, let's <em>go</em>."</p><p>I drag her towards the door, giving her a gentle push that she resists. She whips around with a sharp glare through those glasses, but when I return with one of my own, Celeste only inflates her chest with an angry exhale and storm out into the hallway.</p><p>I reach down to grab her trunk, holding it closed without shutting it, and as I straighten up, I give a still standing Pansy a harsh look.</p><p>"You're gonna regret acting like this," I say simply, my hands shaking a little.</p><p>"You can get out too."</p><p>The door slams shut right behind, courtesy of her magic. I give it a scathing looking and then turn to see Celeste leaning against the wall opposite the door, her arms crossed tightly and her expression still wrathful.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em> you."</p><p>I ignore her, setting the trunk down on the floor. She kicks off the wall with a rough sigh and opens it up, cursing loudly at the broken ink bottles and all the spilled ink seeping into her clothes.</p><p>"I—I <em>hate</em> you," she spits ruefully, her voice starting to tremble as her hands grasp at a like of her sweaters, ink getting all over her palms. "I'm gonna—I'll <em>kill</em> her, I swear, I'll—" Celeste's voice breaks, and her hand comes up over her mouth. "Look what she <em>did</em>."</p><p>I reach and pull her hand away from her mouth, ignoring the gaggle of second year girls at their door watching us in awe. "They're just sweaters, Celeste," I say quietly, my knuckles already ink-stained.</p><p>"She—"</p><p>"It only takes a simple spell to clean it."</p><p>She makes a harsh noise of frustration, her hands now taking their anger out on her curls. "I want to... <em>Fuck</em>, I just..." She clasps one of the spilled ink bottles, her arm trembling like she's about to launch it down the hall to crack a thirteen-year-old's skull open with it.</p><p>I pry it out of her hands carefully, shooting a cut glare at all the lurkers that make them quickly disappear into their own dorms.</p><p>When I look back at Celeste, the hallway at last unoccupied, she's glaring over my shoulder at Pansy's door. So with my pulse leaping out my skin and my head a little dizzy, I reach a slightly ink-stained hand up to clasp her chin, gently directing it to face me, and I lean in to press my lips to the corner of her mouth.</p><p>"I hate her," she whispers harshly when I pull away.</p><p>"You don't," I murmur back.</p><p>Before I can sit back down on my heels, her hand wraps around my tie and pulls me back in so suddenly that I have to plunge my hands into her trunk to keep from falling right on my face. My breath hitches lightly as she presses her mouth fully on mine, the smell of ink potent but nothing compared to the intoxicating lure of her skin.</p><p>"Why did you do that?" she then murmurs when she pulls away an inch, her hand on my tie holding me where I am.</p><p>"Do what?" I mumble back in half a daze.</p><p>"Kiss me."</p><p>It takes me a moment to realize that she isn't telling me to kiss her but asking me why I did. I bite my lip, looking at hers, and I rasp, "Why did <em>you?</em>"</p><p>Her grip on my tie tightens, and then she lets me go entirely. I fall back a little, watching as she scrambles to pack her trunk back up, her hair falling in front of her face. I vaguely hear her mutter a soft apology before she darts away in the sixth year girls' dorm with her belongings.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>APRIL 15th, 1997</b>
</p><p>"<em>Harmonia Nectere Passus</em>."</p><p>I don't look up from the Transfiguration essay I'm working on.</p><p>"<em>Harmonia Nectere Passus</em>."</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>"<em>Harmonia Nectere P—</em>"</p><p>"Just sit down," I sigh softly, looking up from my parchment in time to see her whip around and flash me an angry glare.</p><p>"You <em>interrupted</em> m—"</p><p>"Sit."</p><p>Her eyes harden still, dark and stony and threatening. I lift a singular eyebrow at her, knowing that as indignant and stubborn as she is, this is a silent argument in which she doesn't even like her own side. So when nearly a minute passes of her burning holes in my eyes, she sighs heavily and shoves her wand away into her pocket before storming up to the ratty sofa and dropping onto it like a deadweight.</p><p>The springs creak slightly, and then they go quiet. I glance over at her to see her sprawled out over the sofa, her knees bent and shoes inches from my thigh. Her arms are folded below her head and eyes open tiredly to look at me, and even when I catch her, she doesn't look away.</p><p>"We missed dinner, didn't we?" she then asks, her voice rigid and quiet.</p><p>I lift an eyebrow. "Dinner was hours ago."</p><p>A frown curves her plump lips. "Really? What time is it?" Celeste asks, groaning softly as she moves to sit up next to me and peer at my watch.</p><p>Before I can even check, she's snatching my left arm away from me, holding my hand in hers and using her other to tap on the face. It lights up with magic, and she cursed at seeing its well past one in the morning.</p><p>"We missed dinner," she wisely comes to the conclusion, frown deepening. "<em>Damn</em> it."</p><p>"Hungry?"</p><p>"Uh, yeah, <em>obviously</em>."</p><p>"Let's go, then."</p><p>"Wh—?"</p><p>She protests a little bit as I all but drag her out of the Room of Requirements, leaving all our belongings except our wands in there behind to recollect later. As soon as we step out, however, the door morphing into the stone wall, she wisely grows quiet, though the ferocious expression on her face does the shouting for her.</p><p>"Where are we going?" Celeste whispers in my ear, her hand clutching the sleeve of my white buttoned shirt tightly while I carefully creep down the corridor.</p><p>"Kitchens," I quip back quietly and casually, glancing around the corner before leading her on.</p><p>It's well past midnight, so I can't imagine very many professors patrolling the halls right now. Still, occasionally a few of them will be up doing <em>Merlin</em> knows what.</p><p>"<em>Kitchens?</em> Are the kitchens even open?" she asks curiously. "And what's your plan if we get caught?"</p><p>"Well, the plan is that we <em>don't </em>get caught," I respond smoothly, earning a slight pinch of my arm, "but if we do, I'll just say I caught you sneaking out and was bringing you back down to the dungeons." Celeste gasps softly, and I smirk at her while giving the Prefect badge on my shirt a tap.</p><p>"<em>Asshole</em>."</p><p>"Sure. And the kitchens? They're <em>always</em> open."</p><p>She then yelps softly as I tug her along, but then she's striding beside me just as quickly, her hand having slipped down from my arm to hold my hand. She gives it a tight squeeze at every turn of a corner, and whenever we hear a noise that could easily be an approaching professor, she presses herself close to my side and whispers profane curses under her breath that make it difficult not to laugh.</p><p>And when we reach the portrait of the pear, she stares at it with the most comically unamused and unimpressed expression I've ever seen her face.</p><p>"You've <em>really </em>never been to the kitchens?"</p><p>"I've only been here two years, Malfoy. What's the password?"</p><p>I smirk.</p><p>And five minutes later when we're already inside the kitchens and the portrait has sealed itself, she's still raving on and on about how <em>stupid</em> the notion of tickling a pear is while I sit at one of the counters with an apple in hand and chewing on a bite.</p><p>The kitchens are simple, almost everything made of steel, from the sinks to the stove to the little island in the middle. Celeste is currently tucking into a slice of cake that we probably shouldn't have cut, but then again, the House-elves probably shouldn't have just left it out there for anyone to just come by and see.</p><p>"This is good," she mumbles, voice muffled with her hand over her mouth. She then swallows and sighs happily before scooping another bite with her fork and holding it out towards me. "Want?" she teases lightly, eyebrows arched skyward.</p><p>I glance down at the chocolatey cake, and then I shake my head. "No, I—"</p><p>She's already walking towards me, a childish grin lighting up her face and mischievous resolve in her eyes. I smirk softly, shaking my head as she reaches me and pushes my knee to stand between my legs, holding the fork up next to her mouth.</p><p>"You can have it yourself," I say smoothly, taking another bite out of my apple.</p><p>I can feel a little bite of my juice trickling into my lower lip with the crunch, and apparently, it catches her attention too, because Celeste's darkened gaze fixated heavily on my mouth for several before she looks back up and lifts the fork higher.</p><p>"Try it."</p><p>I'd rather try <em>her</em>, I decide as I watch her gnaw on her lip.</p><p>"I promise it'll taste better than <em>that</em>."</p><p>She looks pointedly at the apple on my hand while setting the plate down next to me to flatten her palm on my knee.</p><p>Shaking my head, I lean forward a little bit. A wider grin splits her face when my mouth parts, and without breaking our eye contact for even half a second, Celeste is slipping the bite into my mouth and sliding the fork out from between my clamped lips, satisfaction written on her own.</p><p>"Good?"</p><p>I chew, shaking my head while smiling begrudgingly, and when I swallow, I concede, "It's good, but..."</p><p>Her eyes drop to my lips when I lick them, and that smug expression on her face melts away. She sets the fork down in the plate slowly, murmuring with a tilted head, "But?"</p><p>My pulse leaps. "I can think of something that would taste... <em>so</em> much better."</p><p>Celeste stares at me, her eyes big, dark, and unreadable. She glances between my eyes, and her nails start to dig lightly through my trousers and into my legs. But then she's grabbing me by my tie and pulling me down so I have no choice but to slip down to my feet. Her lips first collide with my jaw, but she wastes no time finding mine and slipping her tongue into my mouth, tasting like sugar.</p><p>My hands grab at her skirt and her sweater. This keeps happening, doesn't it? She keeps kissing me, I keep kissing her, and every time we do, it feels like walls go crashing down in my head.</p><p>Almost unconsciously, I flip us around so it's her pushed up against the counter, my hands pulling at her arse to make her gasp against my mouth. Her own hands tug at my hair while she tilts her head, glasses pressing right my cheek.</p><p>I lean in closer to her, the plastic starting to dig in, and then I pull away. The disappointment is unmistakable on her face, making me smirk.</p><p>"It's a shame these keep getting in the way," I murmur huskily, carefully plucking the glasses off her face and folding them before slipping them into my pockets, Celeste's eyelashes batting against her cheek. "You look so pretty with them."</p><p>She laughs breathily, lowly, and the sound crawls up my spine. "And without?" she asks smoothly, leaning in to give my lower lip a gentle nibble before pulling away.</p><p>"Mm, still just as..." I shake my head, corners of my lips tilting up.</p><p>"<em>As</em>?"</p><p>"There aren't proper words for you, to be honest."</p><p>She smirks haughtily.</p><p>"Except perhaps <em>stubborn</em>," I continue, my hand slipping under her skirt to squeeze her arse so harshly that she's too surprised to get angry, "<em>infuriating</em>"—my other hand grabs her jaw to force her head back closer to mine, and at this her parted lips spread into a lazy smirk—"and..."</p><p>"And?" She's breathless.</p><p>"Fucking <em>addictive</em>."</p><p>Celeste moans softly when I crash my mouth on here, this time with no glasses obtruding. Her hands grasp desperately at the back of my shirt, pulling it out from where it's tucked into my trousers until she can slip her hands up my bare back and rake her nails down my skin.</p><p>"You know," she pants when my mouth finds her neck, "I could say the same about <em>you</em>."</p><p>"That I'm stubborn?" I rasp, sucking just over her racing pulse.</p><p>Celeste grips the counter behind her to stay upright, her breathing heavy and noises desperate. "Y-<em>Yes</em>."</p><p>"And <em>infuriating?</em>"</p><p>She curses as I bite down on her tendon, struggling to choke out, "<em>Yes</em>, yes, yes."</p><p>My hands on her arse slip just a little bit higher until I find the waistband of her underwear, and the way she gasps sounds so sweet as I tug them down and come to a kneel to pull them completely off her legs.</p><p>Celeste's thighs squeeze tightly together as I don't bother biting back a smirk. I look up at her, her panties dangling from my finger, seeing the way her eyes are completely widened and her hair has fallen in her face. Her hands grip the hem of her skirt almost shyly, and the thought of <em>Celeste</em> being <em>shy</em> almost makes me laugh out loud.</p><p>"And what about intoxicating, hm?"</p><p>She watches me with parted lips and a heaving chest as I come to a stand again, tucking her underwear away. Her hands press to my torso as I lean back towards her, and she tilts her head up for a kiss that I only ghost against her lips but won't give.</p><p>"Answer me," I whisper, slowly inching my hand back up her skirt. Her hand comes down to grip my wrist tightly, and my hand stops moving.</p><p>"Not here," she exhales softly, her eyes fluttering shut and her hand loosening. "This is where the food gets made, not here..."</p><p>I groan softly in irritation, but I pull my hand away anyway, giving her a slight nod. "Fine," I murmur, pulling her taught to my front, "just answer me and we'll go <em>somewhere else</em>. Addictive, Celeste? You think I'm addictive?"</p><p>She shakes her head.</p><p>"I <em>know</em> you are."</p><p>And then this time it's Celeste that's dragging me by my tie out the kitchens and down that very hall until we reach an alcove hidden behind a tapestry. She presses herself up against the wall and tugs me up against her, her leg lifting to hook over my hip and her hand guiding my mouth to hers in the dark.</p><p>I make a quiet, muffled noise, gripping her thigh with my left hand while my right slips between both her thighs. I swallow her sound of surprise when my fingers connect with her exposed heat, sliding against the slick arousal.</p><p>"Quiet, <em>ma chérie</em>," I whisper softly, my hand touching my wand to cast a wordless Silencing Charm. "You don't want us to get caught, do you?"</p><p>"Shut up," she whispers, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back against the wall. Her hips rotate against my hand, mouth falling open with silent pleasure as I slowly move my fingers against her heat. "I need—I need more..."</p><p>I lean in to kiss her, my tongue brushing against hers and her teeth knocking lightly against mine. Celeste grips my shoulders tightly, her standing leg already starting to shake and her breaths coming out in struggled pants. She bites back all her soft moans, but when my finger brushes against her sensitive clit, she can hold back a muttered curse.</p><p>"You know how to ask nicely, don't you?"</p><p>"<em>Draco...</em>" she whispers, her voice begging and eyes pleading. But she doesn't say anything more, only throwing her head back against the wall and panting softly. Her hands tug harshly on my hair, making it difficult to hold back a low groan.</p><p>I lean in to press kisses on her neck, sucking lightly on the skin and leaving the occasional nibble. My fingers continue rubbing up and down over her core, occasionally slipping the very tips in to tease, but wholly avoiding where I know she wants me to lavish upon generously.</p><p>Carefully, I lower her leg from where it's hooked over my hip and pull my hand out from between her legs. She makes a frustrated noise, but when I press my fingers to her lips, she happily takes them in to gently suck.</p><p>I moan lowly at the sensation, my eyes closing as her teeth scrape against the pads of my fingers. It sends an electric feeling down my spine, but I eventually pull my fingers away and and lean in to kiss her chastely on her lips.</p><p>"Alright, love?" I ask softly, a snarky grin on my face.</p><p>"I can't stand you," she whispers back hoarsely, trying to pull my hand back down to her skirt.</p><p>Instead, I drop to my knees.</p><p>"Yes," I agree, nodding gravely with a faux, somber expression on my face, "I don't think you'll have an easy time standing. Roll your skirt up for me, won't you, darling?"</p><p>Her breath hitches. "What?"</p><p>I give her a look, and without another pause, she picks her skirt up by the hem and pulls it up. I don't break our eye contact—though her eyes are already growing heavy, so I think she might—as I force her legs further apart. Her thighs are already quivering. I run my hands up and down the insides of them, her hands burying deep in my hair.</p><p>When my mouth presses to the inside of her knee, her legs nearly snap shut. I don't even need to force them back apart, though—she does that all herself, breaths heavy.</p><p>Slowly, I trail my lips up the inside of her thigh until I get to the thick, fleshy part where I suck harshly on a sweet patch. Celeste makes a few open-mouthed noises, and I glance up to see her skirt tucked into the waistband and her eyes closed tightly in anticipation.</p><p>"Are you going to ask me to give you what you want?" I ask coolly, resting my cheek on her thigh.</p><p>She hesitates, plump lips parted. The moment her resolve falls apart, I can see it on her face. "<em>Please</em>, Draco," Celeste whispers in a soft voice that makes my gut twist.</p><p>And usually I'd prod for more, but from her, it's enough.</p><p>So I tilt my head up until my lips wrap around her clit, and the strangled noise that rips out her throat is a reward entirely. I move my mouth slowly, keeping my lips firm while my tongue strokes back and forth against her. She tastes better than any cake, tastes like she should always be on my tongue, and I decide right then that I don't like the idea of anyone else ever getting to taste her.</p><p>So I suck on her clit lightly, making her whimper out a curse. She leans back against the wall full, hips pushed out into the air and thighs clenching with the effort not to push together. I tilt my head back further for a better angle, keeping my eyes open and steady on her beautiful, twisted face.</p><p>"Oh, fuck," Celeste whispers, rising up on her toes as if to escape me. I only follow her up, though, and when I can't, I grip her ankles and pull her back down to the floor. "Oh, <em>fuck</em>. Oh, M-<em>Merlin</em>, <em>please</em>..."</p><p>I groan softly against her when she gives my hair a rough pull, and the way her jaw drops tells me she likes it. Resisting a smirk, I groan more quietly, my lips forming a seal around her most sensitive spot. She whines softly, pushing at my head to pull away her grinding down on my tongue.</p><p>"It's—It's so—" She cuts herself off with a cry as I part my lips to let my tongue flick against her quickly and freely, my hands now gripping her hips so she can't pull away. "<em>Fuck</em>," she curses, sounding so tortuously close to tears. "I'm... Yes, <em>yes</em>, <em>yes</em>, just like that... just like..."</p><p>I move my hand across her hip to press my thumb to her clit, rubbing it in round circles while my head tilts back and I lean forward to lap my tongue at her core. She jolts, legs squeezing briefly around my head before pulling apart. Her knees are shaking, and her hands are nearly pulling my hair straight out of my head.</p><p>And then my mouth is back at sucking and teasing at her clit. I open my eyes and tilt my head up to see her own pair open and fixated heavily on me. They all but drop with desire, watching me like she wants to tear me apart as soon as I'm done making her crumble, looking at me like I'm the object of all her fantasies. Her left hand has a powerful grip on my hair, and her right cups the side of my face as best as she can with half of it buried between her legs.</p><p>It's clear she wants to close her eyes, but she keeps them open. "I like—I like you on your knees," she pants out, her legs shaking violently now.</p><p>I think I like being on my knees for her.</p><p>It's only moments later that she gasps so sharply and arches her back fully while her legs nearly give out at her orgasm. I have to hold her tight so she doesn't physically crumble to the floor. All the while, I don't dare let my tongue stop moving until she's pulling at my hair and pushing at my face and begging desperately for me to stop.</p><p>I stand up quickly, licking my lips and letting her fall forward into my arms. She wraps hers around my neck, panting into the crook of it. I wrap my own around her waist, holding her so tightly that she lets her knees go fully limp.</p><p>"<em>Shit</em>," she whispers softly.</p><p>I bite back a smirk. "That was shit?"</p><p>She gives my back a halfhearted slap. "You know that's not what I meant," Celeste mutters.</p><p>She sighs when I let go of her to reach into both my pockets to come up with both her underwear and her glasses. She pulls away too, but when she moves to take the glasses, I pull my hand away.</p><p>Celeste scowls. "What the hell?"</p><p>I smirk, using my lip to unfold the glasses before carefully sliding them back onto her face, giving her forehead a slight poke after that makes her wobble back. She then scowls at me, snatching her underwear out of my other hand as if afraid I might attempt the same with it, and then she turns around.</p><p>"Don't watch me," she snaps lightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder.</p><p>My eyebrows rise. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"<em>Turn around</em>. Don't watch me," she huffs.</p><p>"You say that as if I didn't just—"</p><p>"You're making me nervous, okay?" Celeste snaps.</p><p>I look at the back of her head with widened eyes, my heart pounding from everything I just did to her to everything about her. And then, hardly bothering to bite back my growing smile, I turn around so my back faces her.</p><p>I glance down at my watch, hardly reading the time when I see it. I can't think about anything but how she makes me nervous too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0092"><h2>92. ALWAYS HERE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>April 15th-18th. 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>APRIL 15th, 1997</b>
</p><p>When I fall into my bed, I realize how easy it is to forget.</p><p>And I wish the world worked so that when something is forgotten, it just disappears. But it doesn't, of course. All the things that will never be gone simply lurk. They're patient, the way death is. They know you'll eventually remember, so they wait until you're all theirs again. They let you have your moments of bliss, because they know you can't escape.</p><p>So I lay in bed. I don't bother drawing the curtains of my four poster bed, as it's past three in the morning and I doubt the other girls are awake. I don't even slip under my covers. I didn't even brush or change my clothes before dropping onto the bed.</p><p>There's nothing for my mind to do but go back. Go back to that day at the mausoleum, that conversation with my mother. She'd said that she couldn't bring herself to tell me, but maybe my father could.</p><p>And I'd been confused. My father? Did she mean the man she slept with, or the man we'd gone to see?</p><p>I'd asked her that. She told me that she isn't in contact with my blood father anymore, that she hasn't been since the day they'd met. She'd hesitated, and she'd added tentatively that if I <em>really</em> wanted, perhaps she could find him again. <em>Only</em> perhaps.</p><p>I shook my head definitively, even if I didn't know the answer. Because I didn't. I don't want to meet him, because I miss not knowing he existed. But if I'm not even an ounce of Father, then I want to know who I am exactly.</p><p>What makes up my blood.</p><p><em>No</em>, she'd said,<em> not your blood father. Your real father</em>.</p><p>And I didn't know how to respond, because that sentence alone had felt so ironic. Not my blood father, my real father. Doesn't the blood make him my real father? The thought filled me with guilt, a gnawing, rotting feeling eating me inside out.</p><p><em>One of his memories</em>, she'd clarified.</p><p>When we went home, the first thing I did was paw through that velvet blue box of vials, looking for the one she'd described. <em>Your fourteenth birthday</em>, Mother had said, and the look on her face was drawn with more guilt than I'd ever seen on a person before. <em>You'll be angry with me when you see it</em>.</p><p>His memory had started with him having breakfast in our home in France. He had been clearly distracted, and it was clearly early in the day. Father didn't even finish his coffee before vanishing away the food and quietly starting up the steps.</p><p>We passed the master bedroom in which Mother was still fast asleep, looking peaceful and young. Father had stopped briefly at the door to look at her, his eyebrows taut and mouth frowning.</p><p>But he didn't enter, so onward we continued until we reached my familiar door. Father raised his fist to knock, though I must have been asleep still, so he cautiously twisted the doorknob and pushed the wood open. I had slipped in before him, wondering if maybe just this once I might feel his shoulder brush against mine.</p><p>I didn't.</p><p>And there I lay, three years younger. <em>Almost four</em>, I had realized quickly, as August is long gone yet fast approaching. My hair was a mess, half of it having fallen out of its bonnet, and the thin blanket I wore was completely tangled with my legs.</p><p>But when my sleeping self heard my father step into my room, I began to stir. It was jarring watching myself come to consciousness, smile at my father when he apologized for just walking in, sit up to give him a tired hug as he sat down beside me. I just looked so... <em>young</em>, so strikingly young.</p><p>"Where's Mother?" I'd yawned softly, stretching my arms out before collapsing against the headboard.</p><p>"Sleeping in," Father had responded with a soft smile. "She stayed up late preparing for today, so I think I'll wake her after an hour."</p><p>I'd watched my younger self and my father sit there for minutes, talking aimlessly about the plans for the day, laughing tiredly about some memories that I can't even remember now. And then as my fourteen-year-old self reached over to pluck her locket from her nightstand, Father speaks up suddenly.</p><p>"Can I tell you a story?"</p><p>My eyebrows had darted up. "A story?"</p><p>Father had nodded, a slight smile on his mouth. "I'll keep it quick," he'd said. "I know you must be eager to get ready for your birthday."</p><p>I'd smiled, and I could tell from the look on my own face that I wasn't really in the mood for a <em>story</em>, but still I'd nodded and settled back in my bed, holding a pillow to my chest.</p><p>And the story had began with a blind woman. Beautiful, but blind. It was years back, during the time of Merlin himself or perhaps even earlier.</p><p>She'd been born that way, blind from her first cry, first walk, first word. It was ironic, my father had said, that someone with such unearthly beauty didn't even have the eyes to see it. But that was all she knew—the dark, relying on all her other senses—so even despite all the sympathy, she'd never felt a deep desire to see.</p><p>When she grew up from a girl to a woman, she'd eventually married a man that people had said was just as beautiful as her. They had fallen in love before they married, but as the years passed it was starting to confuse her. She'd wear layers on the hottest days to cover all his marks, and he'd whisper he loved her after he made her cry. He said he loved her because she was so beautiful. She decided she needed to be able to see him to feel her love for him again.</p><p>Rumor had it that in a cave near their village lived a gorgon. It was nothing more than a tall tale to most of the villagers, but still, they avoided it as best as they could. Nobody had claimed to actually have seen her in years, but stories still spun about the beast.</p><p>Stories of her magic ability spread especially. Apparently, blood derived from the left side of a gorgon's body can kill in mere moments, but blood from the right can heal any ailment—and even bring a person back from the brink of death.</p><p>The woman had resisted the urge to seek this gorgon out for as long as she could manage, but one night, when her husband was fast asleep, she slipped out of their cottage. If she hadn't traversed this village so many times before, my father had said to my fourteen-year-old self, the blind woman would have gotten lost.</p><p>When she happened upon the cave, she stood at the mouth of it in silence, waiting for a sign of life. It was only when, after getting over her nerves, she called for the gorgon that the gorgon's voice reached her ears.</p><p>"Who <em>dares </em>intrude on my home?" she had hissed.</p><p>The woman had bravely ventured a few steps forward into the cave, and that was when she had knocked into something stone. A statue, perhaps, Father speculated, no, most likely. And that was when the woman had realized why there was nobody that had ever seen the gorgon before.</p><p>Because all the stories speculating her abilities failed to report the most vital one. The ability to turn men to stone.</p><p>When the woman hadn't responded, the gorgon slinked out from whichever dingy corner of the cave. The woman couldn't see the gorgon, of course, but she could hear the rattle of a thousand snakes.</p><p>"Open your eyes," the gorgon had whispered. The woman hadn't even realized her eyes were closed.</p><p>At this point, fourteen-year-old me had interjected to ask, "And <em>how </em>do you know all these details?"</p><p>My father smiled. "Creative liberty."</p><p>The woman didn't know why, but she opened her eyes at the gorgon's hissed command. Nothing changed, of course. It was all still just as dark. But she could sense the gorgon coming to stand in front of her, and she flinched at the feeling of cold fingers on her lowered face.</p><p>"You came to <em>hunt</em> me, did you, witch?" the gorgon whispered.</p><p>The blind woman only shook her head. At this, the gorgon laughed.</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>," she cooed, "so you've come to have my head <em>and</em> you lie to me? For that, my dear, you'll pay. You'll make a lovely addition to my collection. I haven't had a face as beautiful as yours in... years."</p><p>And the gorgon had lifted the beautiful, blind woman's head, but when her eyes—whatever color they may have been—locked with the milky blue pair, she instantly understood.</p><p>"I <em>see,</em>" she'd hissed. "The townspeople have sent someone they know cannot be turned to stone. Never mind that—I have other ways to ensure that you don't leave my cave—"</p><p>"I'm not here to kill you," the woman had bravely, desperately interjected.</p><p>So then the gorgon, resisting the urge to crush her throat with one hand, asked <em>why</em> she was here then. The woman proceeded to tell her, and with a scoff, the gorgon had turned around. Of course. The people only ever sought her out to either mount her head above their doors or to have her blood—whether to heal or to kill.</p><p>She'd told the woman that she was in a rare mood, the mood to give clemency, that the beautiful, blind woman should run off before the gorgon changed her mind.</p><p>The woman stayed. She pleaded. The gorgon said no. So the woman asked if there was anything she could offer that the gorgon would like.</p><p>The gorgon was <em>insulted </em>at first. Here was a poor, blind woman with bruised arms and tattered clothes acting as though <em>she</em> had anything to offer a powerful being like the gorgon. She'd snapped, she'd hissed, she'd threatened to tear the woman apart.</p><p>And when she'd calmed, she'd conceded,</p><p>"<em>Company</em>."</p><p>The woman was surprised, of course. This gorgon apparently sought company, yet she didn't hesitate to petrify her trespassers into stone. She had wanted to question it, but she knew better.</p><p>Because after a moment, it made sense. Here was a gorgon cursed to petrify whoever sees her, who only ever was sought for her power or her head, and here <em>she</em> was. A blind woman who, yes, did seek blood from the right side of the gorgon's body, but nothing else. And here she was offering anything.</p><p><em>Company</em>.</p><p>The woman didn't know how much company would be enough before the gorgon would give her blood, but day after day, when the sun set and so did her beautiful husband's fists, the woman would sneak out the village. She would find the gorgon in the cave and sit with her until the sun rose. Eventually, after weeks passed, she knew how to navigate the cave without knocking over any of the petrified people.</p><p>And the gorgon fell in love.</p><p>She'd fallen in love with the one woman, the one person she couldn't turn immobile. She spent night after night listening to the woman talk about the village, about her friends, and she didn't want to let the woman go.</p><p>But months were beginning to pass, so one night, the woman had to ask, "Isn't it time now?"</p><p>The gorgon didn't want to say yes. So instead, she asked what the woman wanted her blood for. Her eyes, the woman had responded, to be able to see the world the way everybody else can.</p><p>And the gorgon frowned. "But then you won't be able to visit me."</p><p>The woman didn't respond.</p><p>"Don't you love me?" the gorgon had asked, and though her voice was light and accompanied by a chorus of snakes, she suddenly sounded so much so like the asleep wizard in the woman's bed.</p><p>"Of course I do," the woman had consoled her, just as she did her wizard.</p><p>When the woman had returned home that night, her husband was awake and waiting for her. And when he was done with her, he had kissed her forehead and whispered to her that if she didn't stop seeking out whoever she was tarnishing their union with, he would leave her.</p><p>And she couldn't have that. What would she do without him?</p><p>The next night, she returned to the gorgon's cave. The gorgon kissed her cheeks, grabbed her hand, and pulled her along to sit in their corner of the cave to hear more of the woman's stories.</p><p>But then the woman had said, "I need your blood now. Please, I can't wait."</p><p>"But <em>why?</em> You said you never used to care so much about seeing. And you know you can't see me."</p><p>The woman had hesitated. And then she said it: she'd told the gorgon of the husband she longs to admire.</p><p>The gorgon had hissed, her voice strewn with betrayal. She'd ripped her hand out of the woman's and stood up abruptly, the snakes on her head writhing and angry. She'd accused the woman of only ever intending to <em>use</em> the gorgon. She'd accused the woman of only getting close to her to leave her just as suddenly.</p><p>She was angry. The woman had told her she loved her, and she had a husband all this time.</p><p>Perhaps the gorgon would have killed the woman right there, but instead came a crashing noise. The gorgon left the woman to see who it was, and at the shout that came, the woman quickly realized it was her own husband.</p><p>He must have followed her here. The woman got up, she begged that the gorgon leave her husband alone. There were louder shouts, and then he went silent, only the echo of his last noise bouncing off the walls. The woman gasped, staggered forward, and she reached out until her hands touched the hardened face of her husband.</p><p>And the woman wailed, wailed so loudly that it was remarkable the entire village hadn't heard.</p><p>She'd done this to herself, the gorgon told the woman. She shouldn't have lied. She'd said she'd loved the gorgon.</p><p>And the woman screamed back, "How could I have ever loved a <em>beast</em> like you when I had already found my true love?"</p><p>The woman felt the gorgon's wrath before she'd heard it. It coursed through her like poison, like her own bile seeing into her bloodstream. She could feel the magic in her changing, transforming, until she was left panting at her husband's stone feet.</p><p>And then the gorgon had grabbed the woman's face and pushed her wrist to her mouth, forcing her to swallow down the stream of blood. It could have been the poisonous side, it could have been the healing side, the woman didn't know until a few moments later when she was still breathing and the darkness... the darkness was beginning to <em>fade</em>.</p><p>"If a beast can't be loved," the gorgon had hissed, "then you, my love, must learn how it feels to be one."</p><p>That's where the story had ended.</p><p>While I watched across the room with my pulse pounding and eyes widened in horror, my tired, freshly woken fourteen-year-old self just scowled in confusion.</p><p>"That's a horrible story to tell on someone's birthday," I had said bluntly to Father, and he spared a pained smile.</p><p>"I had to tell you," he said back to her—me—after a moment of hesitation, as if carefully picking his words.</p><p>"So that's it? She gets cursed by a gorgon to... what, turn into one herself?"</p><p>My father nodded. "Not just any curse. <em>Blood</em> curse..." He looked away from my younger self as if the sight hurt too much, instead opting to look out the windows where I was standing. For a moment, it felt as though he could really see me. "It wasn't immediate. It was a slow process. They didn't have wands then, only runic magic. So one by one, transformational runes appeared on the woman's skin until eventually, she wasn't that beautiful witch anymore, but a cursed gorgon. She had remarried and even had a child by then. Her husband was the one who... <em>slayed</em> her."</p><p>"That's morbid."</p><p>"Irreversible too, but..." He hesitates. "This may be a rumor, or perhaps an adaption to the story as those happen when a story is handed down for so many years. But... wherever this may have sprung from... perhaps, the one thing that can prevent the curse from taking over is learning how to love."</p><p>My younger self's confusion only grew, as did my own confusion where I stood listening.</p><p>"But <em>didn't </em>the woman love? Didn't she love her husband? Or maybe the gorgon?"</p><p>My father shook his head. "Not a single one of the people in this story knew how to love. They thought they did, but none of them knew what love was. The man was... well, he hurt the woman he claimed to love <em>physically</em>, the gorgon hurt her taking away someone she thought she loved, and the woman..." He looked at me, giving the back of my hand a light pat. "She didn't know either. But that wasn't her fault. She didn't have anyone to teach her properly."</p><p>My younger self then asked why my father told her, us, me the story. He struggled for a bit, as if physically incapable of getting anything out, and then he told her to get ready.</p><p>When I followed him out of the room, my mother was right there, her eyes wide, skin pale, and her hands shaking.</p><p>Wordlessly, they both stormed into their bedroom. One of them slammed the door shut before they began a whispered argument.</p><p>"I <em>told</em> you—"</p><p>"I don't <em>care—</em>"</p><p>"I told you not to tell her anything!" Mother shouted in a whisper, still dressed in her night clothes, still wearing a bonnet. "I <em>told</em> you, Alaric, I <em>begged</em> of you!"</p><p>"She deserves to know!"</p><p>"She is <em>too</em> young! She is <em>fourteen</em>," Mother's voice breaks loudly, and she shakes her head before quieting a bit. "She is fourteen. No fourteen-year-old girl needs to know that she is turning into a—"</p><p>"You made me take an Unbreakable Vow, Corinne," my Father growled, storming across the room to his bedside where he grabs his watch. "If I'd broken any promises, I'd be <em>dead</em> now."</p><p>"You went around it," she hissed. "That's not the same as keeping a promise."</p><p>"It's not the same as breaking it."</p><p>"<em>Fine</em> so you didn't break the promise, but I hope you know you've certainly broken my <em>trust</em>," she'd spat, eyes watering dangerously and her hands shaking so hard that she had to ball them up into fists.</p><p>"I did what I had to do," Father had responded matter-of-factly, looking at her like he wanted to scoop her up and instead digging his nails into his arms. "Just because you force me into an agreement doesn't make it <em>right</em>."</p><p>"<em>Forced</em> you?!" She glared at him and lowered her voice again. "I did not <em>force</em> y—"</p><p>"You knew I disagreed with your decision."</p><p>"But <em>you</em> agreed to make the Vow!"</p><p>"I deserve just as much say in what happens to Celeste, Corinne! I deserve to have just much weight in my opinion, and I say that she <em>needs to know</em>," Father said, his face angrier than I'd ever seen on him. "What, she isn't my blood but yours, so <em>you</em> make all the decisions?"</p><p>Mother's face absolutely broke at that. The tears in her eyes started to spill, and she's shaken her head while bringing her hands up to cover her face. "You <em>know </em>I don't think that."</p><p>Father shook his head, his eyebrows deeply furrowed. Well, I've done it. I can't reverse it. Unless, what, you want me to remove her memories?"</p><p>Mother's face didn't twitch. "That's dangerous. You could easily wipe all fourteen years of her life."</p><p>Father scoffed and pulled his wand out. "Better take the risk, right? If that'll make you happy." He sounded bitter, angry, almost close to tears himself. "I don't need you bringing this up in an argument one month later."</p><p>I'd watched him do the spell on me. And as he did, my eyes weren't on him. They were on myself, taking in how my cheeks were a bit rounder, my jawline less defined. How my hair was weighed down from too much of Sleakeazy's hair potions, how I was two inches shorter. How the clothes I wore were just <em>horrendous</em>. How young I looked.</p><p>And as he drew the memory out of my head, I started sobbing on the floor of my room in France, because I wanted to stay here. I wanted to stay in 1993, I wanted to be having my fourteenth birthday again, I wanted to be clueless of the bracelet and first kiss I would be getting. I didn't want to know.</p><p>I <em>don't</em> want to know. I want to forget.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>APRIL 18th, 1997</b>
</p><p>"Be careful when you Apparate," Draco says, reaching down to absentmindedly fix the collar of my shirt which had bent up. "Make sure nobody's looking at you."</p><p>We're testing the cabinet again today, as there's no other way to know whether the spell is working or not. It's a Hogsmeade day, so as soon as I'm in the village, I'll Apparate out to Knockturn Alley to check on the sister cabinet in Borgin and Burkes. Meanwhile, Draco will place one of the two twittering birds in the cage beside us into this cabinet.</p><p>And we'll both just hope for the best.</p><p>"I know," I say, nodding gravely.</p><p>He gives me a long look, one that I return. There's something simmering in his silver eyes, like it's filled with the electricity if a thunderstorm. When his hand lightly touches mine, a silent "good luck" on his face, it sends a spark all the way up to my shoulder.</p><p>He feels it too, and we both jerk apart simultaneously. His cheekbones dust lightly with pink, and my own neck grows heated.</p><p>"Just... be careful, yeah? Don't get caught."</p><p>"What, and leave you all by yourself? You'd be hopeless without me."</p><p>At Hogsmeade, I waste no time disappearing into an alleyway and promptly Apparating into Knockturn Alley. There's nobody around to startle with the loud cracking noise, but still I pull the hood of my robes up over my head.</p><p>Not particularly wanting to be abducted by any lurkers, I hasten my pace and hurry along to Borgin and Burkes. It's only a few minutes long walk, but still I exhale a sigh of relief when I reach.</p><p>Pushing my glasses up with one hand and the door open with the other, I step into the shop. It's as quiet as ever except for the bell alerting the owners of my presence, and sure enough, not a minute later out steps Borgin from the door in the back.</p><p>He doesn't say a word to me when he scans and recognizes me. All he does is glance to see if anybody else is coming behind me, and then he gestures for me to follow.</p><p>We go to the same place in the back where the Vanishing Cabinet sits. Borgin leaves when I flash a look over my shoulder, leaving me there in silence. I glance up at the clock on the wall to see if it's time yet to check. At reading the hands, I see that Draco must have placed the bird into the cabinet in the Room of Requirements five minutes ago.</p><p>I steel myself, inhaling deeply and straightening my spine. Cautiously, I reach out to pull open the door to the Vanishing Cabinet, my eyes looking straight ahead. They drop all the way down.</p><p>I gasp shortly, jumping back while my hands slap over my mouth.</p><p>Laying limply at the bottom of the cabinet is a little white bird. I stare at it in horror, waiting for its wings to twitch, beak to part with a chirp. It makes no noise nor any movement, it's black eyes open and staring endlessly towards me.</p><p>I tell Borgin before leaving that there's a dead bird in the cabinet, that I won't be touching it, that he should move it before it starts stinking up his shop. And then I scurry out the door, blinking away the stinging tears that want so desperately to spill down my face.</p><p>I pass the Spiny Serpent as a speed down the streets. I slow as the door suddenly swings open, and then I come to a complete stop to see that same woman—with the leathery skin and raspy voice—who works at that apothecary, who gave me that draught, whose brother apparently owns the Spiny Serpent, step out with a bag slung over her shoulder.</p><p>And with a burning flame of furry overtaking that urge to crumple to my knees and sob, I stride towards her.</p><p>"What the <em>hell</em> did you give me?!"</p><p>The woman turns to look at me, but she doesn't seem even slightly startled. She only stands there holding her bag waiting for me to approach her, eyebrows—or where she would have eyebrows if her skin wasn't so hairless and thick—raised.</p><p>"What was that, doll?" she rasps, hacking out a cough after.</p><p>"That—That <em>draught!</em>" I spit, my hand raising to point at her accusatively. "That <em>Sleeping</em> Draught!"</p><p>She tilts her head. "You got glasses."</p><p>"I—" I falter, pushing the frames up my nose. "That's not relevant. I'm asking about your <em>stupid</em> little draught from your <em>stupid</em> little apothecary. What the hell is in it?!"</p><p>She shrugs. "Typical Sleeping Draught ingredients. Where'd'ya get your glasses from, doll?" She frowns, peering at me. "Did ya get it for a good deal, a'least?"</p><p>"<em>Stop looking at my—!</em>" I close my eyes, inhaling a deep puff of air to calm down. When I open them again, she's smiling slightly, as if I'm amusing to her. "That Sleeping Draught you gave me," I start lowly, taking another step towards her while my hands tremble, "is..."</p><p>"Is?"</p><p>"It—When I take it—" I shake my head furiously, eyes squeezed tight. "It sends me where I went when I died!"</p><p>I open my eyes after several long seconds of silence. Her own bluish pair are widened, looking at me like she can understand me. And then she clears her throat, coughs out loudly, and she says, "Try a smaller dosage."</p><p>"You—"</p><p>She Apparates away.</p><p>—</p><p>I sit at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall watching my tomato soup drip from my spoon.</p><p>Draco sits across from me, though he's in the middle of a half-hearted conversation with Adrian Pucey who can't seem to stop going on and on about the Quidditch match going on. I sneak him a quick glance. He's nodding along, occasionally murmuring a distracted word while pushing his food around on his plate.</p><p>I look back down at my own, resting my cheek on my fist. I pick up another spoonful of the soup before letting it drip back down into its bowl.</p><p>"Alright?"</p><p>I glance to my right where Maxon seats himself, a soft smile on his lips and his brown eyes bright.</p><p>"Yeah," I clear my throat, putting the spoon down and placing my hands in my lap while I straighten my back. I watch him serve himself some food.</p><p>"We haven't talked in a while," he says casually while I trace my left wrist, reminded of that missing bracelet.</p><p>"Yeah, I—I know, I've just been—" I shake my head, close my eyes, and suck in a quick breath, searching in the depths of my mind for just an <em>ounce</em> of my suavity. My collectedness. "It's been a... busy few weeks for me, I'm sor—"</p><p>"No, don't apologize," he interjects quickly, his voice light. He glances at me with another smile, but I can see mild worry in his eyes. "Don't worry about it. You're sure you're alright, Celeste?"</p><p>I look at him, briefly getting lost in the depth of his warm eyes. <em>I'm turning into a monster</em>, I want to say, but I force my lips up into a smile and nod.</p><p>"I'm <em>wonderful</em>, actually."</p><p>He doesn't look convinced. His smile grows a little, as if trying not to show any concern. "<em>Okay...</em>" he starts lowly, glancing down at my food, "that's good. And you know you don't have to lie, right?"</p><p>I shrug, my stomach dropping. "I'm not."</p><p>Now he really doesn't look convinced. His smile slips off, which he catches and brings back up. "Okay. Good. I'm always here, you know. I know Blaise and Pansy aren't happy with you, for whatever reason, but I'm always here."</p><p>I look away. "I know," I say truthfully, picking my sooon back up to give my soup a stir. "Thanks, Maxon."</p><p>He's quiet for a moment. "Sure," he then murmurs, and he turns away to tuck into his dinner.</p><p>I watch my soup swirl for a little while, looking at the morphing shapes and making images at them. If I tilt my head the right way, it almost looks like the curve of a snake looping around the bowl. I drop my spoon again, cheek falling back down onto my fist, and my eyes lift to look across from me.</p><p>Draco's eyes are trained firmly on Maxon. He doesn't blink, his fork blindly pushing his food around and jaw clenched.</p><p>He then looks at me so quickly that my pulse instantly jumps and stomach twists. His eyes are so sharp and silver, gleaming like the blades of daggers, but they soften slightly as they rest on me. He scans my face, his own relaxing a little and his tense shoulders dropping. And then his mouth twists and brows furrow, and Draco looks back down at his plate.</p><p>I frown softly, disappointment settling in my stomach. My fingers tremble a little, so I squeeze my hands into fists waiting for him to meet my eyes again.</p><p>He doesn't. So I tentatively extend my leg to nudge his shin with my foot.</p><p>He first looks to the side to give a glare to Adrian, but Adrian isn't even looking at him anymore. Draco shakes his head, turning his attention back to his fork, and then I give his leg a harder—though not <em>hard—</em>kick.</p><p>At this, he looks up, a few strands of his fine hair falling in his eyes. He looks mildly confused, glancing between my eyes to ask what I want. I don't know how to tell him that, well, I <em>don't </em>know. I'm not sure what I want, not from him, not at all in general. Except maybe his eyes on me. I like having his eyes on me. I like the way he bites the inside of his cheek when he looks at my lips.</p><p>I offer him a small smile. It feels tense and uncomfortable on my face, and I'm sure I look horrendous. I don't expect him to return it. He's hardly said a word since I returned him and told him about the bird.</p><p>But then a corner of his lips turns up, and it looks more genuine than mine feels. The way it's so crooked, so casual, so pretty makes mine turn a little more real. In turn, the <em>other</em> corner of his lips turns up, and this cycle continues where little by little our smiles grow until I'm biting back a grin and dropping my face towards my soup.</p><p>I look up to see him still watching me with slightly crinkled eyes. He then rolls his eyes, but before they can land on me, they land on something <em>behind</em> me.</p><p>I watch in mild confusion as he continues looking, his hand then rising in a tentative wave.</p><p>Frowning, I turn around to see Pansy and Verona walking into the Great Hall. The sight makes my stomach twist, the way Pansy's grinning at her compared to the scowl she gave me when I reached for the last pancake yesterday.</p><p>But then I see Pandora on Verona's other side. She wears a soft smile paired with tentative eyes, and her hand is raised in a half wave.</p><p>And before I can even register what I'm doing, I'm suddenly getting up out of my seat, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and walking away from the table towards the doors.</p><p>My shoulder all but rams into Pandora's as I pass the three girls, making the blonde gasp in surprise and murmur an "ow." I vaguely hear Pansy mutter something with my name, but my blood is rushing too quickly in my ears to catch it all.</p><p>Even despite my glasses, my vision starts blurring and going a little red as I storm down the halls. Something tells me it hasn't got a single thing to do with my blood malediction, however.</p><p>I walk without a destination, but I power through the halls itching with the urge to tear the walls down with my magic. I can't explain or understand <em>why</em> I'm so angry, but seeing that stupid, blonde-haired blue-eyed <em>slag</em> wave and smile like she's... <em>Merlin</em>, I don't even know.</p><p>I'm storming towards the Astronomy Tower when I hear footsteps racing to catch up to me. A hand clamps down on my shoulder and pulls me to turn around.</p><p>"Get <em>off</em> of me," I spit, pushing at the person's chest, though they're clearly sturdier than me as I just go stumbling back into a wall.</p><p>"Celeste," Maxon's patient, warm voice reaches my ears, "what's wrong?"</p><p>"<em>Nothing,</em>" I hiss, a cruel smirk twisting my lips. "Absolutely <em>noth—</em>"</p><p>He steps towards me. "Then why are you crying?" he asks softly.</p><p>Before I can even react, Maxon is reaching up to carefully pluck my glasses. I blink as my vision turns blurry but less blotchy, watching as he uses the sleeve to dry the lenses and then the hem of his sweater to clean them.</p><p>"I'm not—" My lungs spasm, making me inhale sharply and shakily. "I'm not crying."</p><p>Even without proper vision, I can see the incredulous look he gives me. Maxon then tucks my glasses into my hand before reaching his own up to swipe his thumb under both my eyes. I wince at the wet feeling smearing over my cheeks, and then I curse myself quietly. <em>Crying</em>. I've been doing too much of that lately.</p><p>"Tell me what happened," he urges quietly, pulling his sleeve over his head.</p><p>"I—" I go quiet as his hand gently cups the back of my head to hold it steady, the sleeve covered one gently rubbing under my eyes. "Nothing, okay?"</p><p>"You're not the type to cry over 'nothing.'"</p><p>"I cried because ink got in my sweaters the other day."</p><p>"Didn't Pansy do that? I think you were crying because you miss her."</p><p>"Shut up," I snap harshly, giving his chest a rough push. "Just... fuck off, Maxon. You don't know anything."</p><p>He pauses. "Okay," Maxon says gently, stepping back even though my push did nothing, "that's fair. I <em>don't </em>know anything. But I don't think you should try to keep this all in, so maybe—"</p><p>"Fuck, just shut <em>up!</em>" I whisper-shout, the side of my fist hitting the wall. My other hand squeezes so tight, I'm surprised my glasses don't break.</p><p>"Celeste—"</p><p>"What is <em>wrong</em> with you?" I spit, taking a step forward that makes him take a step back. My face burns with heat, my hands tremble violently, and my eyes sting like they'll start pouring with tears again. "Can't you listen to a few simple instructions? Huh? Or are you just <em>that </em>fucking stupid? I said I'm fine, and that means I'm <em>fine</em>. I said to fuck off, and that means <em>fuck off</em>."</p><p>He lifts his hands in the air. "It doesn't take a genius to see how stressed you are. It's <em>okay </em>to not feel fine, Cel."</p><p>"Oh, my <em>goodness</em>, you're fucking—" I cut myself off, shaking my head. "What is <em>wrong </em>with you? Are you just obsessed? Is that it?" I can hear the venom in my voice, but it doesn't make me stop. I want more. "Fuck off, Maxon. Easy as that. I'm sorry you're so fucking obsessed with me, but <em>I don't want you</em>. Seriously, is that it? Are you, what—" I scoff, "—in <em>love </em>with me? Do you <em>like</em> me, Maxon?"</p><p>My vision is blurry, but I can see the way the concerned expression on his face starts to slowly drop until he's just looking at me in disbelief.</p><p>"<em>Well?</em>"</p><p>His eyebrows tighten. "I..."</p><p>"Oh, you <em>do?</em>" I mock, my voice shaking and throat tightening, a stiff smirk finding my lips. "That's pathetic."</p><p>Maxon watches me a few moments longer, his chest heaving and his frown deepening. He scans me once or twice, mouth opening as if to say something.</p><p>And then with a tousle of his hair, he turns to walk away, leaving me at the foot of the Astronomy Tower wishing I could forget.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0093"><h2>93. YOU HURT PEOPLE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>April 20th, 1997</em>
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</p><p>Pandora moans softly in my ear, an arm tightly wrapped around my shoulders and her head resting in my neck. Her legs are wrapped around my hips, though she sits atop a desk in the empty, locked classroom. My hand is between her legs rubbing circles over her core while hers is between mine stroking my length tightly.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em>," she whispers, voice strained as her thighs try to clench around my hand beneath her skirt. Her hand tightens on my cock, making me grunt softly.</p><p>She comes first with a fit of breathy gasps and trembling moans. And then when she calms, she wordlessly drops to her knees to finish me off too, big green eyes watching my face when I throw my head back and come right in her mouth.</p><p>And then I'm buckling myself back up and casting a few Cleaning Charms while she slides her underwear back on and glances in the window to pat her hair down. When Pandora turns around, looking pink and flustered but otherwise put together, her cheeks glow slightly.</p><p>"Um..."</p><p>"You should have something to eat before you head to the match," I say casually, packing up all my books into my bag (as I'd been helping her with History of Magic before everything happened). "For your energy."</p><p>"Yeah. Okay, yeah, I'll do that," she stumbles over her words, bumping into a desk while coming over to pack her own things up.</p><p>I give her a short glance before closing up my bag. After making sure I haven't missed anything, I sling it over my shoulder and head towards the door while giving her a short wave. Before I can leave, however, Pandora's soft voice stops me.</p><p>"Draco, I—"</p><p>She cuts himself off as I turn my head over my shoulder to give her an inquisitive look. My finger taps against the doorknob impatiently, but she doesn't seem to notice. She falters, cheeks getting redder still and fingers tugging at locks of her blonde hair.</p><p>"Yeah?" I prod, hearing the irritation in my own voice.</p><p>Her eyes widen slightly, as if she's surprised I heard her say my name at all. "Nothing. I—I mean—" Pandora shakes her head a little, her lips quirking into a small smile and her hands now toying with her sweater. "Well, I was just wondering..."</p><p>Swallowing back a heavy sigh, I turn to face her fully and give her a questioning lift of my brow.</p><p>"The match today."</p><p>My eyebrows furrow. "Slytherin versus Hufflepuff, yeah, what about it?"</p><p>"I..." Her chest inflates with a deep inhale, and she turns to look away. "I was just wondering if you'd like to sit together. Today. To—To watch the match."</p><p>I freeze. Something in my stomach goes cold and drops down to my feet. I scan her with an incredulous gaze, looking for a hint of a joke or laughter. She doesn't show a sign of either, instead scratching her nail on a desk anxiously and occasionally letting her eyes flit over to my shoes.</p><p>"You want to sit together."</p><p>She nods, carefully meeting my eyes.</p><p>My eyebrows twist together. "<em>Why?</em>"</p><p>Her cheeks turn fully crimson. "I just thought it might be nice... but never mind, it was a stupid—"</p><p>"Pandora," I start slowly, taking a step towards her while using my Legilimency to prod at her mind, to see what she's thinking and get a sense of what she's feeling. I give myself a few seconds to read her before I continue, "I like you a lot, alright? You're a great girl."</p><p>She bites down hard on her lip, head tilting down and mouth twitching. "Yeah?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"But I don't..." She inhales deeply as if steeling herself, her back straightening and chin tilting up. Her green eyes still don't meet mine, instead focusing on my chin. "I don't think you like me the way... the way <em>I</em> do. You." She shakes her head, flustered. "I mean, the way <em>I</em> like <em>you</em>."</p><p>I curse under my breath, taking another quick dive into her head while my own scrambles for the proper words.</p><p>"Now, how do you even know that?" I laugh easily, and her eyes briefly meet mine. "Why are you worrying about these things?"</p><p>"If you did like me, you wouldn't say no. I know you're going to say no," she whispers, her voice hoarse and her hands trembling a little.</p><p>"You know, Pandora? I like what we have," I say casually, stopping two feet in front of her and taking her chin in my fingers to lift her lowered head. My pulse races with the pressure to say the right words, especially when I see in her eyes how hard she's holding onto them. "I like you. I like this. But I don't think we should try to turn it into anything... <em>else</em>."</p><p>Her face falls visibly.</p><p>"Sitting together, taking what's private and making it even a little public <em>ruins</em> it," I whisper to her intently, and her green eyes widen as I lean in closer. "We won't like each other as much. Do you really want that? To ruin us?" Pandora shakes her head, breath hitching when my thumb tugs lightly at her lower lip. "Besides, you're graduating this year. Why don't we just enjoy what we have, yeah?"</p><p>Pandora glances between my eyes, her lips parted and her breaths a bit heavy. "But..." she exhales breathlessly, "I just... I just wanna know..."</p><p>"Anything."</p><p>"If you <em>actually</em> like me."</p><p>I stare at her for a few moments, and without warning, I lean in to press my mouth to hers. She makes a soft, startled noise, her hands coming up to my hair and her lips frozen. A few seconds in, however, when I brush my tongue against her lower one, she begins kissing back. My hands pull her by her waist into my chest, squeezing at her back to make her moan softly while my tongue carefully pressed against hers.</p><p>I pull away just enough so that my forehead is against hers, keeping my eyes shut as I whisper, "If I didn't, would I kiss you like that?"</p><p>Pandora doesn't say anything, still catching her breath. I can sense the doubt in her mind, so I sneak my hand back between her legs and up her thigh until I'm grinding my flattened fingers up against her covered core. She moans in surprise, gripping my hair tightly and whimpering near my mouth.</p><p>I give her another deep kiss, plunging my tongue towards the roof of her mouth while pushing her to lean against the desk again. She's already grinding down on my hand, all breathless and flustered.</p><p>"Would I touch you like that?"</p><p>Pandora stifles a few choppy moans. She manages to get her lips to my ear to moan quietly, "The—The <em>match</em>, we're supposed to be..."</p><p>"I think we can be a little late."</p><p>—</p><p>Slytherin loses the match.</p><p>We're all in the common room after, some of the team in there as well sulking and complaining to whoever that'll listen that it was everyone's fault <em>but</em> theirs. The rest are locked up in their rooms. Carlier, who'd been distracted and off his game the entire match, had stormed straight to his after showering.</p><p>I spot Blaise across the room sitting on the sofa by the fireplace, looking completely pissed off. Despite the people around him, he isn't in conversation, not even with Warrington who looks very.</p><p>So I promptly stride over and seat myself beside him. He doesn't look at me or give any indication of noticing me.</p><p>"Hey," I greet casually, eyeing him carefully while running my hand through my hair. "Match was..."</p><p>Blaise doesn't say anything, his eyes instead dropping to watch as he twists and fiddles with his rings. I only see the side of his face, but he wears a tremendous scowl.</p><p>I then shrug. "It wasn't <em>that</em> bad. Not as humiliating as everyone is saying, at least—"</p><p>"Don't talk to me, Malfoy," Blaise interrupts with a low sneer, his hand tightened into a clenched fist.</p><p>My blood boils. "Yeah? And why not?"</p><p>He turns his head to look at me, a murderous gleam in his dark eyes. Blaise's jaw clenches once, twice, and then he all but snarls, "Because the sound of your voice makes me want to throttle you, and I don't want to have to kill my best mate."</p><p>"Well—"</p><p>He gets up almost instantly, storming away and towards the exit of the common room. I give a brief glance to Warrington, whose expression of dismay has morphed into one of concern, and then I'm up on my feet and following him as well.</p><p>I vaguely notice someone watching me and starting to move towards me as well from the corner of my eye, but I ignore this and instead focus on getting through a throng of fourth year's to slip out the stone passage door before it can close behind Blaise.</p><p>"Mate, I—"</p><p>"No, you don't call me that," he laughs dryly, his voice echoing in the stony chamber before the rickety stairwell, though it's muffled by the churning noise of the stone door sliding back in place. He turns, and the lame green lantern light glints in his eyes.</p><p>"Blaise..." a voice murmurs softly, and the realization that it belongs to Celeste makes me shiver.</p><p>I turn my head left, squinting as my eyes haven't adjusted to the sudden dark. When I feel her arm brush my right, however, my head snaps that way. We both simultaneously edge inches apart.</p><p>"You can't just ignore us both forever," Celeste says, indignantly prevalent in her voice. "I'm your cousin. He's your best friend."</p><p>"I'm not allowed to be pissed off? Or upset? Or—Or concerned, at all?"</p><p>"There's <em>nothing </em>to be concerned about," Celeste huffs loudly.</p><p>"Yeah, honestly," I start, slightly irritated and glaring in Blaise's direction, "it's not your fucking business to be pissed off about. It isn't. You don't get to be upset about who I'm fucking or who your cousin is—"</p><p>"No, no," Blaise laughs dryly, menace in his voice, "the fact that she's my cousin and you're my best mate is <em>exactly</em> what gives me the right to be... to be <em>disturbed</em>, cause this is <em>fucked up</em>."</p><p>"Blaise, what is <em>wrong </em>with you?" Celeste steps up, incredulous. She speaks with her hands, the back of her palm lightly smacking my arm. At this, she mutters a low apology and brushes her fingers against the spot before letting them drop. "I can fucking handle myself. You don't really need to treat me like... like I'm your younger sister." She then scoffs. "I'm a month older, remember?"</p><p>"Yeah, you know what else I remember?" Blaise snaps, stepping closer so the light falls on him better. "I remember watching you and your mother Apparate away to send you off to St. Mungo's. I remember finding out that you were <em>hurting</em> yourself, Celeste, I mean..."</p><p>My stomach twists. "I see. You think I'm gonna hurt her, Blaise?" I ask coldly. And then I feel the urge to throw up start to grow as I remember that I already have.</p><p>"I don't need to be <em>protected</em>, Blaise," Celeste spits. "I don't know why you think—"</p><p>"No, I don't think you need protection, Celeste," he interrupts with a harsh whisper, his lips twisting into a scowl. "I'm not worried he's gonna hurt you. I <em>know</em> he will. And I know <em>you're</em> going to hurt him just as bad."</p><p>My body goes cold. "What the hell are you saying?"</p><p>"I'm saying that—" He shakes his head. "I'm saying that, I love you both, alright? I mean, you—" He points to me, "—I've known all my life. You're basically my brother, mate. And you—" He points to Celeste, "—you're my <em>cousin</em>, alright? You're the only family I have left that I even <em>want</em>. And you know what? I know you both well. I know you both <em>too</em> well, even if I don't notice things that quickly. And I love you both, I swear I do, but you two have the <em>least</em> regard for other people that I've ever seen before."</p><p>Neither Celeste nor I say anything. I hear her swallow hard, but my throat is too dry to do the same.</p><p>"You hurt people. A lot. And you never care when you do. You're <em>both</em> going to get hurt if you keep doing whatever the hell you're doing, because <em>neither</em> of you give enough of a damn about people's feelings. I'm sorry," he scoffs, "but I'm not. Someone had to tell you, I <em>have</em> to tell you before both my cousin and my mate get hurt."</p><p>"I don't..." Celeste's voice is hoarse. "I don't know what you're talking about."</p><p>"Please," Blaise mutters. "The way you treat Maxon, Celeste? And Pandora, Draco? That doesn't tell you enough about yourselves?"</p><p>My nails dig into my palm.</p><p>"I'm not worried that you'll hurt her or she'll hurt you. I'm worried you're both gonna destroy each other."</p><p>Celeste's voice shudders. She inhales shakily, and then she lets out, "But we're not even... It's not even like that. It's not about—" She chokes slightly, and then she turns and coughs into her elbow.</p><p>I pick up for her. "It's not about feelings," I say, the words heavy on my tongue. "Anything we... <em>do</em>. It's not about feelings."</p><p>Blaise stares at us blankly, glancing between Celeste and I every few seconds. And then he shakes his head yet again, backing away towards the stairwell.</p><p>"I'm oblivious, Malfoy," he mutters turning to start up the stairs. "But I'm not stupid."</p><p>—</p><p>That night, we're quiet as we work in the Room of Requirements.</p><p>We spent a few hours on the Vanishing Cabinet, taking turns using the spell. We peered over a rudimentary map of the castle, figuring out plans for whenever the time comes to use the Vanishing Cabinet, to go through with the task. We made eye contact and silently agreed we didn't want to think about it for the rest of the night. We sat down on the sofa, and now there we still sit working on our homework and studying for upcoming exams quietly.</p><p>It's a small sofa, but not a single inch of me touches an inch of her. And I glance away from my Defense Against the Dark Arts notes to see the way she's curled up against the left hand arm, her shoes kicked off and cheek resting on her fist.</p><p>"Hey, do you have notes on the Unforgivable Curses?" she asks without looking at me, and I look away before she can.</p><p>"The Unforgivables?"</p><p>"Yeah, I..." She sighs softly, and there's brief rustling as she shifts in her seat. "I don't know. I can't find most of my notes on them, so..."</p><p>I glance at her, watching as she distractedly plays with her lower lip. And then I clear my throat and look down at my own notes, rifling through them until I find the ones she's looking for.</p><p>"I don't have notes on everything," I say, stacking them up neatly while Celeste moves so she's curled up the other way, careful to lean back against the sofa rather than into my shoulder, "but maybe if we put ours together..."</p><p>Celeste hands hers off to me while carefully plucking mine from my hands. She then exhales loudly as I scan her notes, my eyebrows rising. Of all the things that have changed, her handwriting certainly hasn't. She has pages and pages of notes, and I'm sure they're detailed, but the handwriting is completely illegible.</p><p>"Are you sure you can't find all your notes?" I ask coolly, flipping through them with a frown to see if I can read <em>any </em>of it. "Or is it just that you haven't got the slightest clue what you've written?"</p><p>She gives me a light shove on my arm. "I <em>can</em> read them."</p><p>"Oh, yeah? What does this say?"</p><p>Celeste squints down at the bit of parchment I hold out in front of her face. Her fingers pull her glasses down from where they push her hair back, leaning in closer to get a better look. "Um..." Celeste shakes her head. "Whatever. I don't <em>need</em> to read them, because I take such good notes I hardly have to look at them again. If only I could find..."</p><p>I spare her a soft smile, but she's busy frowning down at that one parchment. "Are you looking for anything specifically?"</p><p>"Yeah, on..." She stills, flashing a quick glance at me. "I can't find any notes on the Imperius Curse. I—I mean, I didn't really take any."</p><p>I bite down on my lip. She looks down at my notes, her hair falling in her face. My stomach twists slightly, as it's no mystery why she wouldn't. But I reach carefully to take my notes from her, sorting through them until I find the ones on the Imperius Curse. She gives me a tight smile as she takes them from me.</p><p>"Honestly, I don't know why Snape wants us to write a whole essay on resisting it," she exhales softly, shaking her head as she wiggles her hips to sit up more comfortably. "He could just have us do it." She snorts dryly, her smirk cold. "Nothing I haven't done before..."</p><p>I choke slightly on my spit, crumpling my notes in my tightened hand while I lean away from her. She looks up in alarm, lightly patting my back.</p><p>"Was that—Was that too soon?" she sputters, sounding a little nervous. "I mean, it happened to <em>me</em>, so I don't know why—"</p><p>"No, just caught off guard," I cough out, rubbing my eyes.  I blink them open to see her looking at me curiously, though she quickly looks down to where she fiddles with the sleeves of her sweater. "I, um..."</p><p>"You don't have to... apologize, if that's what you were going to do," she mumbles, her arm brushing against mine and her fingers pushing her glasses up even when they weren't slipping down in the first place. "I mean, you already did, in France." Then Celeste frowns, tilting her head up to look at me. "Did I ever thank you for that? For bringing me there?"</p><p>"I think you d—"</p><p>"Thank you," she says quietly, a small frown on her lips. Her hand touches my thigh, giving it a light squeeze. "I... It was..." Her fingers tease up my arm until they're playing with the hair at the nape of my neck, her lips parted and eyes distracted. She opens her mouth as if to add something more, but then her fingers come to my chin to pull me down.</p><p>My eyes close on their own as she pulls my face closer to hers. The tip of her nose grazes mine. When her thumb pulls at my lip, I speak before I can stop myself.</p><p>"He would've hurt you."</p><p>She falters, and then she pulls away an inch. "What?" Celeste whispers, her thumb on my chin.</p><p>My pulse leaps and continues racing. I can hear her every inhale and exhale, and I can feel the way she searched my closed eyes for a clarification.</p><p>"If you'd... <em>lost</em>, if you hadn't been able to resist the Imperius Curse, if your Occlumency hadn't been strong enough. He would've..." My eyes open, but before them flash only images of what he'd done to be. The things he'd shown me, the things he'd made me feel. That haunting image of my parents swinging from their nooses. "The Dark Lord wouldn't have been happy with you."</p><p>The images clear and give way to Celeste's confused face. Her eyebrows are knitted together, and her lips form a slight pout.</p><p>"<em>Okay...</em>" she murmurs, her hand dropping to my arm. "Why are you... Why are you telling me this?"</p><p>I open my mouth to respond, but the words can't make their way out. They don't seem to even form in my head, because how am I meant to say it? And why would she even believe me, anyway?</p><p>She glances between my eyes, and I look into hers intently, wishing I could just share my memories with her.  And when realization dawns, it makes itself apparent in those dark brown irises. They widen, and then she pulls away to get a better look at me.</p><p>"Draco..." Celeste starts lowly, "you didn't. Tell me you didn't <em>let</em> me... resist the curse."</p><p>I hesitate softly. Her eyes darken, and for a moment Im sure she's furious with me. "I could feel your magic," I say clearly, lowly, tilting my chin up, "and your Occlumency wasn't strong enough." I leave out the fact that I'd been able to hear her begging for just a little more time. She was <em>begging</em>, so I faltered.</p><p>"You're lying."</p><p>"I'm not."</p><p>"You are," she nods, but she doesn't look or sound convinced. Her face is unreadable, displaying nothing but a tense frown and deeply furrowed eyebrows. I'd look into her mind to see what she's thinking, but I can barely focus enough to understand my own. "Why would you even do that?"</p><p>"I told you, he would have—"</p><p>"But why would you care?" she interrupts, frown deepening. "I mean, not so long before... that night in your room..."</p><p>"I—" I exhale harshly, reaching up to ruffle my hair while pulling away from my slightly bent position. The air is cold away from her, but I ignore that. "I was..." I shake my head, giving up on finding carefully crafted words, instead opening my mouth and praying whatever slips out doesn't earn me a slap. "I owed you. I felt I owed you that much. I didn't—I didn't like what I'd done even then, but I couldn't apologize because—" I swallow thickly.</p><p>"Because of your pride?" she offers lamely.</p><p>"...Yeah. That." My ears burn. "I felt guilty, and after everything I'd done, I didn't want to get you... I didn't want him to..."</p><p>"You didn't want him to hurt me," Celeste finishes, voice low and silky. And then she frowns, head tilting curiously and eyebrows knitting together. "But... wouldn't he have hurt <em>you?</em>"</p><p>I falter.</p><p>Her eyes widen then. "Oh, my goodness," she whispers, her hand finding my arm. "Oh, he—he <em>did</em>, didn't he? Draco?" She squeezes me through my sleeve, tilting her head to get a better look at my face while my eyes drop to look at our notes. "He did."</p><p>"I—" I shake my head. "Honestly, it wasn't—"</p><p>"What did he do to you?"</p><p>My pulse jumps higher somehow, beating so fast that I'm not actually sure if it's beating at all. My eyes flash up to hers in a panic, her frown gleaming in the brown, and then dart away. "I don't really want to..."</p><p>She waits a few moments for a response. "Okay," she then mumbles when I find no words to continue, and then her trembling hands smooth over her notes. "That's alright."</p><p>"Let's just keep studying, alright?"</p><p>I can feel her thoughtful eyes trained right on the side of my face as I adjust myself to slouch back against the sofa, casual despite how stiff I feel. I stack my notes back up, ready to begin reading them. But then her soft, cold hands gently rest on mine, pausing my movements.</p><p>"I think we're done studying for tonight," she says simply, pulling the parchment out of my grasp with ease.</p><p>She takes her time stacking everything and packing it away, placing both our bags on the floor right in front of the sofa. And then she turns to look at me, and even though we're packed up and done for the day, so proclaimed by her, I suddenly don't want to leave. I just lean back against the arm of the sofa, my cheek on my fist, and I watch as she fiddles with her locket.</p><p>Yes, I definitely like glasses on her. I like how they make her eyes just a bit bigger, I like how she's always pushing them up even when they haven't slid down. I like how she pushes her hair back with them every once in a while, how she'll sometimes take them off and press the tips to her lip. I like how they start to fall when she looks down to long, and I like how she scrunches her nose when her hands are too busy to push them up.</p><p>"I want to show you something," she says softly, gnawing she her lip with her eyes cast off to the side.</p><p>My eyebrows lift. My pulse still hasn't steadied, so I take moment to collect myself before speaking. "What is it?"</p><p>She gives me a long look. And then her hands go to the hem of her sweater, swiftly pulling it up over her head. It messes her hair up and makes her glasses nearly fall off, but that's nothing compared to the way I jolt up in surprise.</p><p>Celeste tosses the sweater onto her bag before sitting up to kneel between my legs, her knees touching my thighs. I bend my own legs, moving to sit up a little as well. Her nimble fingers tug at the green tie she wears, loosening it until she can pull it off fully.</p><p>When she starts unbuttoning her white shirt, I reach out quickly to grab her wrist and stop her.</p><p>"What are you doing?" I deadpan, my heart halfway up my throat.</p><p>"I'm not getting naked."</p><p>"You—"</p><p>Celeste pushes my hand away and continues unbuttoning her shirt until I can see the lacy trim of her bra. My eyebrows rise and eyes nearly close lazily at the sight.</p><p>"Where's my wand..?" Celeste mutters, patting around until she procures it from where it got wedged between two cushions. "Okay," she sighs mostly to herself. She gives me a covert glance, and then she presses the tip of her wand to her skin.</p><p>I watch with my pulse threatening to burst straight through my skin. She puts her wand down first, her other hand still covering her chest. She shakes, her entire body, but I'm too frozen where I sit to pull her towards me.</p><p>She drops her hand, revealing a rune.</p><p>I swallow thickly, trying to figure out what to say. I can't say I already know about it, that I saw it in her memories. That R-shaped rune, Raido, glares at me, black against her dark skin.</p><p>"Did you get a tattoo, or..?" My voice comes out weak.</p><p>"A tat..? No, this..." Celeste shakes her head. Her hands scratch at her neck, tug at her hair, and then drop to fiddle with the hem of her skirt. "This I didn't do myself. I mean, if I ever got a tattoo, it wouldn't be of a rune," she attempts at a laugh, but it slips away quickly. "No, this..." Her voice quiets, turns solemn. "I woke up with this on my skin after I—after my father died."</p><p>My breath hitches softly. She tugs on her skirt, watching me carefully. "Does it hurt?" I ask softly, dragging my eyes away from the rune up to her glittering eyes.</p><p>"No," she mumbles, shaking her head.</p><p>"Can I... Is it okay if I... touch it?"</p><p>Celeste swallows thickly. She then nods a little too quickly, shifting closer to me as much as she can get without fully climbing on top of me. I sit up a little straighter while she leans in, planting a hand on the arm of the sofa beside me to keep herself up.</p><p>I watch her carefully, waiting for her to change her mind. Her wide, dark eyes only stay focused on mine, shining and full as my hand traces her collarbones. I touch the cool chain of her locket, following it down to where the gorgon's head pendant sits against her sternum.</p><p>And then I let my eyes drop, pushing the locket out of the way to see the rune in full.</p><p>"Raido," I murmur, tracing the lines with my index finger. "Right?"</p><p>She nods. "Yeah," Celeste mutters back, moving her locket to her back so it won't come out of the way.</p><p>I try for a soft laugh. "I only recognize it because of you, honestly," I say, pressing my finger a bit more against her skin. "All those hours last year, you'd drill Ancient Runes into my head. Raido, is that—is that j—?"</p><p>"Journey," she says with another nod. Her hand then comes up to mine, and thinking she doesn't want it there, I begin to pull away. But she catches me by my fingers, pressing them flat against her sternum to fully cover the rune, her littles finger running over my rings.</p><p>"Why do you have it, Celeste?" I ask softly.</p><p>She looks at me intensely, as if she's reading my mind with some newfound capability of Legilimency. Her eyes start glittering more and more, but she blinks away anything that might spill. Celeste pulls her glasses off her face, and then following a beat of hesitation, she tells me.</p><p>She tells me about her locket. She pulls my hand away from her chest to move her locket back to the front. She lets me turn it this way and that, let's me examine it closely and trace every snake on the gorgon's skull with my thumb. She tells me about receiving it on her twelfth birthday, right before beginning school. She tells me about never taking it off, about being scolded when she did. She tells me about the Ministry of Magic. She looks away from me, refuses to meet my gaze as she tells me about my father. She tells me about the things he said, how ready he'd been to kill Potter's friends. She tells me about her father, about Bellatrix. About the bolt of green lightning that went hurtling to her face.</p><p>She doesn't say much about being dead. She glosses over it entirely, and instead she tells me about waking up three days later to find out her father was dead. She tells me about her father's ring, pointing it out on the chain of her locket, and her mother's bracelet. She tells me how the same rune appeared on her father's skin, how her parents had manipulated magic to take him, not her.</p><p>And when she's done, she watches me, waiting for my response. Her face is distraught, her eyes worried, and she gnaws away at her lower lip.</p><p>"That's..."</p><p>"You don't have to say anything, I don't know why I dumped that all on you. I..."</p><p>My mouth opens and closes, as if the words will come to me magically. Nothing comes, though, and I watch her face fall further.</p><p>"I'm sor—"</p><p>"No!" I interject a little too loudly, making her jolt. My ears turn a little red, but I continue, "No, don't... don't feel bad. You don't need to feel bad, I just... I don't want to say the wrong thing."</p><p>"Oh." She glances away. "You don't need to say anything at all."</p><p>"I..." I want to touch her—her arm, her knee, anywhere—but I refrain. "Is that the first time you've told anybody all that?" I then ask softly, hardly hearing my own voice from over the steady thrum of my blood rushing in my ears.</p><p>Her hand balls into a fist. "Yes." And then Celeste turns to look at me, her eyes pleading. "You don't have to say anything perfect, Draco, I just... I'd like to hear what you think. If you don't mind."</p><p>It's difficult to say know when she's looking at me with wide, shining eyes, her lips so soft and turned down, her fingers wringing at her sleeves. "I think..." I turn away from her, overwhelmed by how heavy her gaze is. "I think it's incredible you're not a mess. I—I mean, I'm pretty sure I would be if all that happened to <em>me</em>. Merlin, I just..." I shake my head, hands starting to shake. "It's too much for one person. And... I'm sorry. <em>Fuck</em>, I'm sorry. I just—I just can't believe you took all <em>my </em>shit after all that."</p><p>"You didn't <em>know</em>," she says lowly, hoarsely.</p><p>"What, and that's supposed to excuse it? Fuck, I'm so sorry, Celeste," I rasp, a hand pulling harshly on my hair. She reaches up to try to ease it away, but my fingers are practically locked. "You didn't deserve that, any of that."</p><p>Celeste's lower lip trembles. "I'm not sure I really I deserve much," she laughs slightly, her hands pulling at the collar of her shirt. "I—I as good as killed my own father."</p><p>My eyebrows twist together tightly. "No, don't—don't say that."</p><p>"Sorry."</p><p>"No, I—" I groan softly, dropping my head and dragging my hands through my hair ten times over. I give it a harsh tug before lifting it again to see Celeste still looking at me, cheeks still dry but eyes glittering. "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm not—I don't know how to react properly, I—" I shake my head, resting my hand on her knee. "Is there... anything I could do? Or—Or that you need?" I grimace slightly.</p><p>Celeste looks a little stunned. She shakes her head, and the movement makes a tear drop to her cheek. She's quick to wipe it away, ducking her head. "No," she mumbles, "thank you. I—I just wanted to tell you."</p><p>My heart skips a beat. "Tell me? Or tell <em>someone</em>?"</p><p>She doesn't look up. "You."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"I just wanted... to say it, that's all. You don't have to say anything, really," Celeste continues, her hands now tucking her curls behind her ears repeatedly. "I—I mean, honestly, I wouldn't have the slightest clue what to say in your spot." She laughs dryly, fiddling with her glasses. "Honestly, I probably wouldn't have even said a word up until now. To be fair, it did come out of nowhere, and there isn't much to say to—"</p><p>Celeste cuts herself off, looking up at me with eyes filled with horror. "Sorry. Rambling."</p><p>My lips twitch. "I don't mind when you do."</p><p>At this, she turns her head away from me, shivering lightly. Her fingers stumble to do her buttons back up, but they tremble too much. Swallowing back a ball of nerves, I reach up tentatively to pull her hands away. She gasps audibly and drops her hands, eyes boring holes into my face as I slowly button her shirt back up, careful not to touch her skin or the rune.</p><p>She mumbles a thanks under her breath.</p><p>And we're quiet for a few minutes. It's a horrible kind of quiet, one that could be comfortable if I didn't feel like I had to say something. I try not to look at her lest she catch me, and it seems she too is having the same dilemma. I only play with my watch, feeling her legs pressed against mind, faintly catching a whiff of her intoxicating smell.</p><p>Her words still circle my mind, her story still at the forefront. And it makes me sick to know that all that happened to her. It makes me wonder what she hasn't said, what she won't say, what she's hiding. And it makes me wonder why the first time she would ever say that all, she would say it to me.</p><p>Not to Blaise. Not to Pansy. Not to Maxon. To me.</p><p>"Draco?"</p><p>Her voice is soft, pretty.</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"What Blaise said..."</p><p>His words come hurtling back to me, knocking hers right out of my head. Instantly, my jaw clenches and hands ball into fists with the deep desire to knock him in the mouth, even if he isn't here.</p><p>"What about it?" I ask hoarsely.</p><p>"Was he right?" she whispers. And then she adds quickly, "I mean, I know it doesn't matter, really, since we're not..." Celeste trails off. "But... was he right?"</p><p>I chew on the inside of my lip absentmindedly, stopping only when I taste a hint of metal.</p><p>"I don't know," I say.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0094"><h2>94. JUST AS LONG AS YOU STAND</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>CELESTE ZABINI </em>
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  <strong>
    <em>April 22nd-25th, 1997</em>
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</p><p>
  <b>APRIL 22nd, 1997</b>
</p><p>"Hi, Father," I whisper, offering a soft smile. "It's been a little while since I've come to... <em>talk</em>. I hope you don't mind, it's just that I've had a busy few days, and I needed to catch proper sleep." I glance down at the coffee that appears before me. This happens often, but I'm still not sure if it's him or my consciousness that's doing it. Or if there's even a difference between the two. "But I'm here now."</p><p>I don't get a response, not that I was expecting one.</p><p>"Though... That probably doesn't bother you much. Nothing affects you," I try at a dry laugh, but my smile slips away quickly. "I—I've been so confused lately, and I don't really have anyone to talk to about it. Blaise is..." I shake my head. "He's upset with me, but it's so stupid. And Pansy and I have been fighting for a while."</p><p>I glance up at him warily. "If I tell you why, would you judge me? I mean, I know you won't say anything. I know you won't even nod or shake your head, but... You never judged me before. I just hope that hasn't changed."</p><p>I look back down to the coffee, wondering if the smell of the beans is a trick my mind is playing on myself or not.</p><p>"It was about the whole blood thing, in a way. Blood purity. Pansy has a girlfriend, Verona. They've been seeing each other for... more than five months, I think. Pansy's had a crush on her since at least fifth year, but I never thought it was serious. Not even when they got together." I give a slight shrug, tracing my finger over the handle of my coffee cup. "I just always assumed they were having fun, getting that first relationship out of the way. I mean, I <em>know</em> they both know it never could have been forever. Forget the fact they're seventeen, Pansy's parents would never let her marry much less date a half-blood, and just as much not a girl."</p><p>I dip my finger into the liquid to see how hot it is. It burns for half a second, and then my finger just turns numb.</p><p>"And I never expected Pansy to want that, anyway. I mean, sure, I knew she wouldn't ever want to end up with a <em>guy</em>, even if her parents want her to. I didn't think she'd want that with a half-blood."</p><p>"I just... I don't get it. You and Mother <em>both </em>always told me that blood purity is important. You told me that it's important to protect traditions—that just like how we will never understand Muggles, they'll never understand us. That Muggleborns aren't raised with the same values and understanding of magic, that half-bloods aren't either. You told me that."</p><p>"But you didn't want to be a Death Eater, did you?" I glance down at my left arm, uncovered and proudly displaying that grotesque Dark Mark that twists on my skin. "At the Ministry, you were trying to stop them. You'd been against the violence. So is that it? Blood matters, but not enough to spill any of it?"</p><p>I look up at his face, my eyes imploring him to speak. He's watching me as he always does, and maybe I can imagine that somewhere in his eyes he's truly listening. I have no way of knowing for sure.</p><p>"And if blood matters, then how the hell am I meant to feel about... about <em>you?</em> About my father—my <em>blood</em> father—and you. Cause if it matters... If <em>mine</em> matters..." I gnaw on my lower lip. "Mother told me she doesn't know him, his name. There are only so many Purebloods in the world, and I think... I think if he was one, she'd know."</p><p>I glance up, waiting for a reaction. It doesn't come.</p><p>"She could be <em>lying</em>, of course." I laugh dryly, "She does that a lot, so it wouldn't be a surprise. But... But she offered to try to find him if I wanted her to. She wouldn't have offered that if she already knew who he was, I mean unless she planned on pretending not to be able to." I look up at him. "Right?" And then I add quickly, "I said no."</p><p>He doesn't seem to particularly care.</p><p>"But you had to have realized that too. When Mother came to you and told you she was pregnant, when you proposed to her the idea of taking care of it—" I shake my head, "—<em>me</em>, assuming that was you, you <em>had</em> to have known. You had to have realized that he's not... That I can't be..."</p><p>"That I'm not a Pureblood."</p><p>Father only looks at me, blinking every once in a while. His pale scars are laid over his dark face exactly where they were when he was alive. His hair is as short as before, his eyes just as hazel and warm, his shoulders as broad and strong. But his voice is missing.</p><p>"And you <em>knew</em> what I would become. You knew the story about Carise, Mother's aunt, about all those many Zabini women before me. You knew I got what they had. You knew I had a blood malediction, and not just any kind. That I'm a <em>maledictus</em>, cursed to become a beast. A... A gorgon."</p><p>When he still says nothing, my blood starts simmering, rising. He blinks once, twice, and says nothing.</p><p>My hands slam down on the tabletop as I come to a sudden stand, leaning over my coffee. "<em>Fuck</em>, just—just <em>say something!</em>"</p><p>Father doesn't flinch, only tilting his head up to continue watching me. I almost see a hint of a smile on his eyes.</p><p>"Why won't you <em>say anything?!</em>"</p><p>My hand grabs the coffee, clutching it tightly.</p><p>"Why are you just sitting there?! Say something! I'm your <em>daughter!</em>"</p><p>Without realizing, my hand rises up in the hair and comes slamming down against the table. The cup breaks into a hundred little shards, hot coffee spilling down to my legs, and then I'm suddenly waking up in my bed with a loud gasp.</p><p>I scramble to kick my blankets off of me, seeing nothing but blackness.</p><p>"Shit, shit, shit," I whisper under my breath, my voice breaking and getting progressively croaker.</p><p>My hand comes up to clasp my throat, feeling it tighten. It can't be, not again, not when I've been wearing my glasses.</p><p>"Fuck, <em>fuck!</em>" I shout in a whisper, falling out of bed.</p><p>"<em>Go back to sleep</em>," Daphne's tired groan makes me freeze.</p><p>I hear her bed creak as she turns in bed, and then the silence of the night returns. My hands quivering and blood charging through my veins, I reach a hand out tentatively until I touch the curtains of my four-poster bed. Swallowing thickly, I pull them apart, and when the darkness breaks and in pours the subtle green light of the Dark Lake, I weep silently in relief.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>APRIL 25th, 1998</b>
</p><p>I lay on the floor of the Room of Requirements, my arm extended out towards the ceiling while my fingers absently trace the distant lines in the architecture.</p><p>The floor is dusty, dirty, but I couldn't care enough, or at least not enough to do more than put my bag between my head and the ground. And it's cold down here, and the carpet moves around, oddly enough. But I lay there following my index finger as it draws in the air. I could fall asleep like this if I let myself.</p><p>The door to the Room of Requirements swings opens and closes in the same heartbeat. I don't jolt or flinch. I don't even look up to see who it is. I just listen to the familiar footsteps approach, imagining the way he might be fiddling with his tie or running his fingers through his hair.</p><p>His footsteps come to a stop before he comes into my line of sight.</p><p>"I left to go to the bathroom for <em>five</em> minutes," Draco deadpans, sounding unimpressed. "How the hell did you end up on the floor?"</p><p>I sigh softly, tracing a beam on the ceiling. "Did you wash your hands?" I ask coyly, my eyes tired.</p><p>Draco scoffs. "Yes, obviously."</p><p>"Good boy."</p><p>He sighs softly, sounding somehow more tired than I feel. I tilt my head back, digging it into my bag to see him standing upside down a few feet away. I can only see him from above my glasses, so he's a little blurry, but my memory fills in the details perfectly fine. His hands are propped loosely on his hips, and his blond hair is a mess over his forehead. He tilts his head when we lock eyes, pink lips pulled into a smirk. My heart flutters dangerously at the sight, cheeks heating a little.</p><p>And then he continues walking towards me at a slower, more casual pace until he's about two feet away, his head tilted down all the way.</p><p>"What are you doing on the floor, Celeste?"</p><p>"It's nice down here."</p><p>"Celeste."</p><p>"I got tired."</p><p>His hands then drop to his knees so he can bend down closer to me, a lock of his hair hanging down. Draco's grey eyes gleam at me, a hint of amusement lining them like silver in rainclouds.</p><p>And then he crouches down all the way, arms hanging off his knees. I glance to his hands, his silver rings glinting despite how dull and washed out the light is here in the Room of Requirements. I look back up at his pale face, breath hitching at how much closer it is now.</p><p>"There's a perfectly good sofa right there," he says coolly, glancing at it as he speaks. I don't follow, though, my eyes frozen on the way his lips are somehow so pretty even when they're upside down.</p><p>"I didn't feel like moving all the books off," I respond simply, my voice soft and a little dazed. My hand still hangs all the way up in the air, wavering a little.</p><p>Draco's smirk breaks into a slight smile. "You're an idiot."</p><p>"Well, that's not nice."</p><p>"I'm not known for being nice."</p><p>He then glances up at my hand hovering near his face, lips twitching. Draco reaches up to take it with his own, sending a sharp shock of electricity all the way down to my shoulder. He doesn't seem to feel it, though, wrapping his fingers around my palm and pulling it down to hold while his arm rests back on his knee. The position is a little uncomfortable, forcing my arm back a little, but I don't dare pull away.</p><p>"Get off the floor, Celeste," he says humorously, eyes glittering a little. I can smell his cologne from where I lay, and I tilt my head back a little more to catch more of it.</p><p>"I don't want to," I sigh simply, unconsciously giving his hand a squeeze.</p><p>"We can take a break, if you want—but not on the floor."</p><p>"What the hell do you have against the floor?" I roll my eyes, careful not to pull my hand out of his as I reach it up to prod a finger against his lip.</p><p>He flinches slightly, smile growing, and then he swats my hand away entirely. My palm feels cold without his against it, but I let it rest against my bag anyway.</p><p>"Fine, you stay here," he says simply, giving my forehead a light tap that makes me flinch before getting back up to his feet. He tilts his head back down to give me a long look, head shaking and eyes amused, and then he turns around to walk out of my line of sight.</p><p>"What are you doing?" I call out with a frown, the air cold without him leaning over me.</p><p>"Just looking around," he calls back, his voice clearly distant.</p><p>I prop myself up on my elbows, twisting around to look behind me. He's not there, though, having disappeared into the tall stacks of furniture and archaic antiques. "Be careful," I say, a frown pulling at my lips. "Be careful what you touch." I almost laugh sardonically as I add, "You never know what's cursed or not."</p><p>I hear him laugh softly, and the sound makes my stomach erupt into a flock of bats. "Is that concern I hear, sweetheart?"</p><p>"<em>No</em>."</p><p>"No?"</p><p>"I mean, I'd rather not have to do this task alone," I huff irritably, pushing to sit up on my knees and rub my eyes from under my glasses, "so there's that. If you touched, like, a cursed <em>hourglass</em> or something and then—and then <em>died</em>, then, well, this would get a lot harder, you know? And, yes, you're an insufferable little <em>prick</em>, but I've gotten used to having you around."</p><p>I sniff loudly, turning my chin up indignantly while my neck burns. "But it's not like a <em>personal</em> thing, of course. I'd say the same to anyone who's helping me with the task. I mean, not that I <em>want you</em> to die, but—it's not like I'm concerned because you're <em>you</em>, it's like... well, I'd warn <em>anyone</em>." My face is on fire at this point, so I fiddle with the hem of my skirt. "Though, I guess I like having you to work with. And I mean <em>you</em> specifically there, not <em>someone</em>. Just don't let that get to your head. I just... I can't imagine doing this with anyone else..."</p><p>I frown. He hasn't spoken in a while.</p><p>"Draco?"</p><p>My own voice greets me back in an echo. I count to five, and when no noise comes back, I'm quick to push myself up to my feet.</p><p>"Draco? You didn't run off, did you?" I attempt at a weak laugh, dusting myself off while walking off in the direction he'd gone.</p><p>Still, no noise comes in response. My stomach twists, and with a hastened pace, I hurry through the maze of oddities, glancing around for a flash of blond hair.</p><p>"Are you—?" I gasp softly as my hand knocks into something, wincing when a glass vase shatters against the floor. I hold my arms out over my face, waiting for a spirit or a demon or something to come wafting out of the fragments.</p><p>Turns out, however, it's just a regular vase.</p><p>"Are you hurt?"</p><p>I glance up to see Draco standing not five meters away, his body facing the side and his head turned to look at me curiously. His hand holds something, hair still all tousled and lips pouting a bit. My breath gets caught in my lungs at the way pale sunlight streams in through the window in front of him.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>"No! No, I—No, no, I'm fine," I exhale all in one breath, stumbling back a little and then wincing when a piece of glass crunches under my foot. "I'm—I'm not hurt."</p><p>"I—" Draco stifles a soft laugh, glancing away from me. "Alright, Celeste?"</p><p>I blink. "Yeah. Why?"</p><p>"You're just... very jittery, very uncharacteristically jittery," he says with a small smirk, scratching the back of his neck. "Were you saying something to me, by the way? I got distracted, so I wasn't really..."</p><p>"Oh, no, I—" I shrug slightly, glancing down as I step over all the little glass pieces. Feeling his eyes bore into me, I turn around and give my wand a little twirl so that the vase puts itself back together and floats back to the little side table where it had been sitting. "You just... You stopped responding, so I... I don't know, I had just been telling you about how touching the wrong thing could, like, <em>kill</em> you, and then—"</p><p>"<em>Ah</em>," he interrupts lowly, "yes, I think I remember you saying something about how you like having me around."</p><p>My neck flushes.</p><p>"Don't tell me you were <em>worried</em> about me."</p><p>"No, I—<em>Never</em>."</p><p>"<em>Never?</em>"</p><p>"I mean, maybe not <em>never</em>, but..." I turn back around, scratching my ear while giving him a brief glance. I look away as soon as I see him still watching me, amusement written into his features. "What are you doing, anyway?"</p><p>He turns away from me to look at whatever it is that grabbed his attention. "I found a gramophone," he says with a simple shrug, and curiously, I take tentative steps towards him with my hands clasped tightly behind my back lest I shatter something else.</p><p>I struggle to tear my eyes away from how his hair kisses his cheekbones, but when I do, my breath hitches. He stands before a massive, oddly familiar-looking gramophone with a horn at least five feet in diameter and a twisting diaphragm as wide as my fist. In it already sits a slightly dusty record, the needle plucked off.</p><p>I frown softly, trying to remember where I've seen it before.</p><p>"Do you want to listen?"</p><p>I glance up at him, turning to lean against the dusty, ornate table upon which the massive device sits. I give him a shrug, looking away when the intensity of his gaze gets too much for my neck.</p><p>"I wouldn't mind some music, I suppose," I say cautiously, frowning as I examine the gramophone. It's familiar, and I've definitely seen it before. I just can't remember where.</p><p>"Alright, let me just..." His hands fiddle around a bit, and he mutters something about not having a clue how to work the thing. It's a Muggle contraption, yes, though it was adopted into the Wizarding World long ago. Still, I'm sure he just like everyone else our age is far more accustomed to working a Wireless.</p><p>I frown further when I realize that <em>that</em> too was created by Muggles.</p><p>Eventually, he slips the needle onto the record after blowing on it lightly to clear some of the dust. It starts spinning slowly, a cracking noise emiting from the horn, but no music comes. We wait thirty tense seconds in which it seems that we're both pointedly avoiding gazing at each other—even though it seems my eyes want nothing more than to admire him—but when it seems that nothing will come, we drop our shoulders and shrug it away.</p><p>"Let's go back to work?" I suggest, wondering why I sound so breathless.</p><p>He gives the gramophone another glance, gives <em>me</em> a short nod, and without touching the contraption again, we make our way back towards the cabinet and our claimed sofa. I can feel his eyes on my back the entire time, making me suddenly so aware that the school-issued skirt really <em>isn't </em>as long as I once in fifth year complained it was, and I really hope my shirt isn't untucked in the back because that would just be embarrassing.</p><p>Still too lazy to move all the books stacked on the right hand side of the sofa, I only squeeze myself in next to them while Draco falls down on the left. It's already a tight fit without anything else occupying the space, but now, my legs are all but overlapping with his.</p><p>He braces his hand on my thigh to lean over me and grab one of the books. My breath hitches and eyes go wide as his face comes dangerously near mine, and though his eyes remain strictly on our schoolbooks, his lips turn up in a subtle smirk. I try to remind myself of who I am, that a stupid hand on my stupid thigh is <em>nothing</em> to me, but then his thumb starts rubbing as he single-handedly opens up the textbook.</p><p>"Do you mind quizzing me? We have that exam in Herbology coming up soon," he says casually, rings cold against my skin.</p><p>I turn myself towards him a little more, curling my legs up onto the sofa so my knees rest on one of his. "Fine," I say tightly, taking the textbook onto my own lap.</p><p>"Thanks." I can hear a smirk in his voice.</p><p>"Sure," I clear my throat, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes defiantly, because he does <em>not</em> bother me. Does not bother me, make me flustered, nothing of the sort. I look back down with a soft frown, skimming the pages. "Okay... Where does the Sopophorous plant grow, and what may be used to stimulate this growth?"</p><p>"Gloomy marshlands, and Mooncalf dung." Draco squeezes my leg to get my attention, making me jolt. "Too easy, you insult me," he teases, a devilish grin on his lips and a boyish amusement in his eyes that makes my stomach flip. "Give me a challenge."</p><p>"Fine," I huff with a roll of my eyes, quickly snatching his hand out from beneath the textbook to toss it back towards him. He doesn't let me, though, instead tightening his fingers around mine to hold it loosely. I falter, but I don't dare give him the satisfaction of the look on my face. "I... Flux—Fluxweed."</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"I mean, what are it's properties when plucked during the different moon phases?"</p><p>His thumb brushes over the backs of my fingers. "Well, during a waning or waxing crescent, it's as good as any other regular flower. At half-moon, it can cause temporary Metamorphmagical properties if consumed in high amounts." Draco frowns at this, and I glance up to see a pensive expression on his face. "You know," he starts, sharp eyes darting to mine, "Metamorphmagic runs in my family. My mother's side. We don't have contact with her anymore, but I think my aunt's daughter—my cousin, I mean—is a Metamorphmagus."</p><p>"Really?" I quip, tangling my fingers with mine as subtly as I can manage.</p><p>It's not so subtle, apparently, as he glances down. To my luck, however, he doesn't make any stupid remark. All he does is turn a little pink at the cheekbones.</p><p>"Yeah, she is. I haven't seen her, but she can change her entire appearance at will," he says with a slight shrug, his own fingers wiggling to press closer to mine. "And my grandfather—again, on my Mum's side—he was a partial. He could only change his hair." Draco glances down at our hands again, his gaze holding fast this time. "Kinda wish I got it sometimes."</p><p>I frown softly. "Really?" I ask again, feeling like an echo.</p><p>"Yeah, I mean, wouldn't it be kinda cool to be able to change how you look?"</p><p>My lips tug down deeper, and then they move to speak before I can censor myself. "But what would you even want to change about yourself?"</p><p>His eyebrows dart up in surprise, something shimmering in his silver eyes. I gulp, my words catching up on my own brain. My hand moved to retract from his in embarrassment, but he laces his fingers tightly between mine and hardly lets my thumb twitch.</p><p>"I—I meant other than—"</p><p>"My <em>pointy chin</em>?" he interjects coolly, sounding offended though the expression on his face is soft. His eyes glance between mine, lips poorly suppressing a smile.</p><p>I glance down at the textbook, pretending to read. "Am I that predictable?"</p><p>"Quite the contrary, Celeste."</p><p>We continue studying like that, his hand in mine so I have to turn the pages awkwardly with my left, his heated eyes on my face while I pointedly don't let mine leave the textbook. Every ounce of confidence I possess, every every ounce of assuredness I have, it all goes flying out the window with him. I'm <em>powerless</em> with him.</p><p>As the night carries on an hour, we sink deeper and deeper into the sofa. The books dig into my back, but I don't want to move lest he let go of my hand. We eventually move on from Herbology to Potions, at which point the textbook moves onto his lap.</p><p>I rest my arms on the top of the sofa, cheek pressed to my forearm. My hair kept falling in my face, so now I have it twisted back in my wand. I still remember as I'd straightened to do so, Draco's voice had dwindled away until he was clear his throat and ducking his head into the textbook to hide a lovely red glow on his cheeks.</p><p>And this is what I mean when I say it's so easy to forget. Because he frowns softly in focus as he reads from the textbook, and he rubs at his lower lip when he's deep in thought, and he unconsciously squeezes my hand when he laughs, even if it's nothing more than an amused exhale. And when he runs a hand through his hair, there's nothing in the world worth remembering except how good it looks when it falls back in his face a second later.</p><p>I can feel my face smushed against my arm, but I don't bother moving. I only watch him, my eyes half-lidded and my breaths gentle. He's reading from the Potions textbook, a crease between his brows and a focused frown on his lips. I wonder what it would be like to lean in and kiss them, if the frown would disappear.</p><p>He looks perfect, simply put. And I realize I'm glad he's not a Metamorphmagus, because then maybe his hair wouldn't be as soft and deceptively angelic. And his eyes wouldn't be as silver, as sharp and breathtaking. Maybe his hands wouldn't be so slender, so powerful, so warm against mine. And his voice wouldn't evoke the same shivers from me.</p><p>I glance at our hands. I wonder if he'd still hold mine if he knew what I was becoming. What my blood already is.</p><p>His mouth moves nicely. I let my head rest fully on my arm as I watch pretty pink lips move.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>My eyes flash up to his, widened inquisitively. He doesn't say anything, mouth parted and twitching slightly as if refraining from laughter. There's a soft gleam in his eyes that makes me tense self consciously.</p><p>"Yeah?" I clear my throat, straightening up a little while my face warms.</p><p>"I asked you a question," Draco says lowly, leaning in a little with a patronizing expression on his face like he doesn't think I'll hear him properly. "Were you listening?"</p><p>My ears burn. "Yeah," I scoff, "obviously."</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Then what's the last thing you remember me saying?" he prods, the smirk on his face begging to be slapped off just as much as it taunts me to lean in and kiss it.</p><p>"I..." My eyebrows rise complacently as I look away to avoid his heated gaze. It takes my a moment to realize that I've started squeezing his fingers nervously, and I loosen my hand. "You were talking about the Regermination Potion."</p><p>"<em>Ah</em>, so you stopped paying attention <em>ten</em> minutes ago."</p><p>"Yeah, well," I huff softly, looking away and pushing my hair out of my face, "it's not <em>my</em> fault that your voice is so monotonous, plus that music has—" I freeze suddenly, sitting up a little straighter to look over the back of the sofa as if I can see anything past the tall stacks of furniture.</p><p>Slightly muffled music plays from behind us, a happy tune that sounds so old and so familiar. A man's voice serenades us, slightly crackly as the record is old and dusty, and I realize all too late why that gramophone was so familiar. With a sinking sensation in my stomach, I remember watching my parents slow dance to songs by a Muggle man named King shortly before my mother turned down my father's marriage proposal.</p><p>"How long has that been playing?" I ask, my voice faint to my ears.</p><p>"What, the music?" Draco responds distractedly. "A few minutes, I think. We never took the needle off, so it must have started up a bit late, but..." He trails off as I sense him looking up from the textbook to gaze at me. "Do you want to turn it off?"</p><p>"I..."</p><p>I frown, swallowing thickly. I know the Room of Requirements can turn into anything that is asked of it, but it's jarring to me that the same gramophone and same record my parents danced to now plays in this very room two decades later.</p><p>And then I remember that the record was already sitting in there when Draco found it, covered in a fine layer of dust. The last people to have touched it were my parents, and the next were <em>us</em>.</p><p>"This is a Muggle song," I say out of nowhere, still staring at the tall dresser behind me as if I can see through it.</p><p>Draco's fingers, which had been absently giving mine squeezes, still. "Oh?" he prods, sounding strange. "How do you know that?"</p><p>"I've... heard it before," I settle on, figuring it isn't a lie. "It's old too. From the 70s, or maybe earlier."</p><p>I close my eyes briefly, straining my ears to catch more of the happily warbled lyrics. I try to remember the room, tried to remember the sound of clumsy feet against carpet as they slow danced to otherwise fast paced music.</p><p>My heart pounds fast and off the tempo of the music. It makes me feel sick, so I open my eyes again and turn to see Draco looking at me curiously.</p><p>"Tell me a secret," he urges softly.</p><p>My eyebrows lift. "A secret?" I echo back, pulse only thundering faster.</p><p>His lips look tempting. "Yes, a secret. Something you've never told anyone, or maybe something you haven't admitted in so long that you've almost forgotten."</p><p>My hand feels a little too hot in his suddenly. "Why?" I ask smoothly.</p><p>The only secret I can think of is that concerning my blood: what's in it and what it is doing to me. And a soft voice in the back of my mind tells me that somehow he knows this secret. That he wants me to admit it before he can ridicule me for being a stain.</p><p>"I've spent more time with you than time alone this year," he says, and I nod. Somehow, the air with his smell in it is more familiar than the air without. "Yet it feels like I don't know you."</p><p>"Why do you want to?"</p><p>His eyes flash. "I don't know."</p><p>The music seems to grow louder, crackling and haunting in my ears even when I know it's only muffled and distant. I shift my feet uncomfortably, feeling unnerved. It's recognizable, but still warped. When I let it only brush against my subconscious, it almost sounds a million little voices, hoarse and angry. No, it's not happy at all.</p><p>"You go first, then, if you want so badly to hear a secret of mine."</p><p>Draco turns his chin up. "Fine," he says coolly. He then glances aside to think for a moment, inhaling deeply before beginning again. "I didn't inherit the ability to change my appearance from my mother's side of the family, but... I did get curly hair."</p><p>My eyes widen.</p><p>His cheeks glow softly with pink, and he avoids my eyes as he continues. "A full mop of curly hair by the time I was one. Mum doesn't have hair as curly, but even when mine started straightening out, it was still much closer to yours than Father's," he murmurs with a shrug, thumb swiping over mine. "When I was young, he started using spells and potions to get it to look more like his, and now..." His slender fingers rake through the soft, tousled mess that sits over his forehead. "Now, it's this."</p><p>The music comes back to fill the absence left by his voice, making my ribcage feel right. Draco glances at me sneakily, and when our eyes make contact, my stomach flips.</p><p>"Your turn," he adds quickly right as I open my mouth to release a teasing jab.</p><p>I pout softly, and he rolls his eyes. "Does that even count as a secret? It was about <em>hair</em>."</p><p>"Well, neither of us specified what kind of secret it had to be, did we? Now, go on."</p><p>He lets me think for a few seconds, during which he places our hands on his lap before loosening his fingers from between mine. I watch as his hand pulls away only for his fingertips to begin drawing little shapes on my palm, tracing my veins. It tickles, but I don't move.</p><p>"Cheeky isn't his name," I blurt all of a sudden as the song changes.</p><p>His hand pauses. "What?"</p><p>"Cheeky isn't his—"</p><p>"It's Chicken, isn't it?" Draco interrupts with a stupid grin that makes my hand twitch with the urge to both punch him and grab him by the jaw. "I <em>knew </em>it."</p><p>I roll my eyes with a huff. "I <em>meant</em>, that's not his full name."</p><p>"No? Do tell, then."</p><p>"It's..." I sink slightly into the sofa, pushing half my face into the cushions. His fingers wrap gently around my wrist, ready to tighten if I try to pull away. "Okay, I just need to preface this: I was <em>seven</em> when I got him, okay? So you can't make fun of me. Promise?"</p><p>"I... do <em>not</em> promise."</p><p>"<em>Draco</em>."</p><p>His lips twitch. "Just tell me," he coaxes, rubbing my wrist.</p><p>My face burns so hot that I wouldn't be surprised if he could actually see it. "Sir Cheeky of Pawsville."</p><p>He laughs at me for a full ten minutes after.</p><p>The entire time, his grip on my wrist only tightens until I have to brace myself to keep from falling over as he constantly doubles over in laughter, voice breathy. He apologizes every few seconds, swears he'll be done soon, and then tears leak from the corners of his eyes from the effort it apparently takes to <em>fail</em> to restrain his laughter.</p><p>He's sniffling as he leans back against the sofa, throwing his head back over the top of it. His free hand wipes away the few stray tears, his cheeks red and his hair even messier than before. Hes pointedly avoiding my eyes, lips still twitching.</p><p>"It wasn't that funny," I deadpan, watching him and completely unamused.</p><p>His hand lets go of mine to scratch the bridge of his nose while he turns his head to look at me. I roll my eyes when I see how red his are, feeling his fingers slip to loosely tangle with mine again.</p><p>"Who in their right mind would name their cat <em>Sir Cheeky of—</em>?"</p><p>"I was seven!" I huff, tearing away from him to stand up.</p><p>He calls my name, a laugh in his voice while I brush the wrinkles out of my clothes and promptly stalk away, my face burning with the debate between scowling and grinning giddily. I ignore Draco even as he calls my name louder, tells me to turn around and follows after me with long legs and a languid pace.</p><p>"I'm sorry!" he calls out, sounding wholly unapologetic. "I just can't imagine you—seven or seventeen—naming your Chicken <em>Sir Cheeky of Paw—</em>"</p><p>"I had just finished reading a children's tale of King Arthur," I snap back without ceasing my stride, arms crossed over my chest. "And I had a <em>crush</em> on Sir Lancelot—"</p><p>"On Sir <em>Lancelot?</em>"</p><p>"Shut up!"</p><p>He grabs my wrist to spin me around suddenly. I gasp as I'm pressed up against the side of a wardrobe, his one hand pinning mine next to my head and the other grasping my hip.</p><p>His face comes close to mine, mischievous glint in dangerously dark eyes and a smirk on parted, pink, slightly wet lips. His hold on me isn't tight at all, and I could break away without any effort, but I stand there glaring as his fingers massage lightly.</p><p>"I was only <em>teasing</em>, Celeste," he murmurs, smirk growing as I notice the music's crackle is much louder now.</p><p>I glance over my shoulder to see that the gramophone is in fact right there, but then his hand leaves my hip to take my jaw and turn my head so I'm looking at him again. My breath hitches, and his eyes darken.</p><p>"I don't like being teased."</p><p>"We both know that's a lie."</p><p>My cheeks grow hotter. I reach my free hand up to pry his away from my jaw, and he lets me, gnawing on his lower lip.</p><p>"Tell me another secret," he then prods, pupils blown and mesmerizing.</p><p>I swallow hard. "I can't think of any worth telling," I lie, my blood curse heavy on my tongue and begging to be let out.</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Then will you answer some questions?"</p><p>"Why?" I jut my chin out challengingly, catching a whiff of his perfume and the little bits of apple, the combination making my chest tighten. "Am I being interrogated here, Malfoy?"</p><p>His lips spread into a smile, so devilishly pleasant and hiding a tongue as sharp as a dagger inside. "I think if your instinct is to jump to that conclusion, then you must have a reason to be interrogated."</p><p>I smirk, saying slyly, "We're trying to kill a man here, Malfoy."</p><p>His smile curdles. "Good point."</p><p>And then his hands let me go completely, though not without a lingering touch and a lingering look before he steps away and walks down the little hall created by the wall and a thick line of furniture.</p><p>I turn my head to watch him curiously before following after as well. "What kind of questions?" I ask him as he stops in front of the gramophone. I glance at the device, my stomach twisting at the record that spins in it, and then I look at him again.</p><p>Draco shrugs. "Whichever questions come to my mind."</p><p>"Then... What questions come to your mind?"</p><p>He turns his head to look at me, eyes holding something that I can't quite understand. His features, crafted perfectly from marble, make my heart still. He's beautiful, and wickedly so.</p><p>"Who do you think you would be if you had never moved here from France?" he asks softly, leaning against the table upon which the gramophone sits.</p><p>The question makes me freeze entirely. His gaze feels like an insect crawling all over me, disappearing down the collar of my shirt or creeping up the hem of my skirt. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly struggling to catch a decent breath.</p><p>"Well, I... I don't know," I exhale, leaning against the wardrobe when my knees feel weak.</p><p>He nods, to my surprise, accepting my answer rather than provoking an explanation from me. "Do you wish you'd never moved?"</p><p>"Yes," I say before I even fully understand his question, and even then, my answer doesn't change. His eyes flash, and I swallow thickly. "If I hadn't come here... I think my father would still be..." I let myself trail off, glancing down to my shoes. "And I wouldn't have the Dark Mark." My eyes flash up to his, panic striking my chest. Am I allowed to admit that? That I don't want it?</p><p>"Is there anything that could maybe change your mind?" he asks casually, his eyes telling me he knows the answer.</p><p>"I... I guess. Maybe." My nails dig into the soft wood of the wardrobe, and my eyes trail to the gramophone that currently struggles to cough out a song. "I'd never have gotten to know Blaise, met Pansy, even if the two of them... <em>hate </em>me now."</p><p>I never would have learned all those secrets about me, but I'm still not sure whether I prefer ignorance or not.</p><p>"And <em>you</em>. I wouldn't have met you." I try for a smirk, offering him a tentative glance. "Still haven't figured out whether I like the idea of that or not, but..."</p><p>His eyes darken, and my heart skips a beat.</p><p>"Teasing," I echo him, toes curling in my shoes. "I'm only teasing."</p><p>Draco watches me closely, and then his head drops to look at how he fiddles with the knob on a drawer. "You haven't answered me," he then says as the gramophone skips a good measure or two of the song it plays.</p><p>"Nothing could change my mind," I respond lowly, my hand unconsciously moving to pick up my locket and rub my thumb along my father's ring. "Some things... When you lose them, they can't be replaced." I watch as he nods quietly, and I add, "But I can think of a few things that would make me hesitate."</p><p>Draco's sharp eyes flit to mine. He then nods, fiddling with the knob of the drawer that apparently broke off at some point while I was talking.</p><p>"What was Beauxbatons like?"</p><p>"Beautiful," I say shortly, shaking my head. "Just... gorgeous. The castle, the scenery." And then my lips tighten into a frown. "Though, looking back now, I don't think I was as happy there as I thought. I didn't really..." I kick lightly at something small on the floor. "I don't think I had many real friends there, other than Maxon."</p><p>He's silent for a few seconds, eyes on the ornate little knob. "None?"</p><p>My lips curve into a wry smile. "I guess if somehow time turned back and I stayed there, I'd like to have you all there as well. Blaise, Pansy, you."</p><p>"Me too?"</p><p>"Didn't I say 'you?'"</p><p>He's quiet after that. The song currently playing shows to a crackling stop, and then theres the long hum of the record spinning between songs. My eyes slowly trail up his long legs and toned torso to find his face. So heartbreakingly beautiful.</p><p>I've never filled my locket with pictures before, and I don't plan to ever, even with my father gone. I've always found the concept sickly sweet. But a face like his, so timeless, so breathtaking, so utterly unearthly looks like it was crafted to be kept in his lover's locket.</p><p>"Though I don't know if things would be much better there," I speak softly, my eyes still on his as his find mine though. "Pansy hates me. Blaise won't speak to me. You'd be my only—"</p><p>I hesitate. Friend. Can I call him that? It doesn't feel right, for some reason. Like it's so close to true but not quite.</p><p>"What about Carlier?" He spits Maxon's name like it's poison. "You two are close."</p><p>I laugh dryly, crossing my ankles. "<em>Were</em>. I hardly doubt he's up to being very amenable to me anymore."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>I clear my throat. "I... said some things to him, and I don't think he took to them very lightly at all," I say carefully, my jaw clenching at the memory of him turning away and stalking off down that hallway.</p><p>Draco's interest had clearly been piqued. He frowns, crosses his arms, and nods at me. "What did you say, then?" he prods, voice sounding eager.</p><p>"I..." I shake my head, looking again at the gramophone. I can almost imagine my father spinning Mother in circles right here in the space between us, and my heart fractures into a thousand glass pieces that puncture my lungs and chest from the inside. "I accused him of being obsessed with me. Told him to fuck off, said he was—" I exhale a laugh, but it isn't funny in hindsight. "Called him pathetic."</p><p>Draco whistles lowly, and I shoot him a sharp glare he deflects easily. "Well, you didn't say anything <em>wrong</em>, did you? Poor bloke <em>is </em>a bit obsessed, if you ask me," he shrugs easily, sharp eyes raking up and down my frame. "I'll admit, though. I can't blame him."</p><p>I fidget lightly, chest inflating with a deep inhale. And then I glance away covertly while the gramophone continues its monotone hum. "Sounds like you speak from experience."</p><p>"Don't flatter yourself." Draco pauses, fingers drumming against the desk. "And don't worry," he adds stiffly, his voice and the look on his face telling me the words are difficult to choke out. "You're better off without him, but if you <em>really </em>miss that little..." His mutters grow distant, and he shakes his head before looking at me scathingly. "In my experience, the people that are obsessed with you will always come back. You'll have your pet Papillon by your side in no time."</p><p>My lips turn into a soft scowl, something heated expanding in my chest. "Oh? Have quite a few people obsessed with <em>you</em>, Malfoy?" I quip, malice on my tongue.</p><p>He only smirks.</p><p>"You're right, though," I then add, sighing softly. And he is. I know Maxon will forgive me, because I know Maxon. I smile softly, and he rolls his eyes.</p><p>The humming of the gramophone continues as we quietly watch each other. Neither of us look away, though occasionally one of us will blink or drop our gazes to the other's lips, neck, chest, legs. His is particularly heated as he watches me rub my thighs together in an attempt to get a little warmer.</p><p>And I feel my own grow hot as he drags his forefinger over his lower lip.</p><p>And then the monotonous spin transitions into the crackling start of another song. It's neither fast nor slow, and even through the crackling, dusty haze of the old gramophone, somehow, it's lively.</p><p>"I think I'd be different without you," Draco says quietly, his fingers unconsciously tapping against the wood to the beat of the song.</p><p>
  <em>When the night has come</em>
  <br/>
  <em>And the land is dark</em>
</p><p>My eyes flash to the gramophone in a panic, King's familiar warm timbre filling my ears.</p><p>
  <em>And the moon is the only light we'll see</em>
</p><p>This is it, this is the song he proposed to, the song she rejected him to. My heart grows faint and hearing thin. It's surreal listening to this song so many years later, knowing there's nothing but time between my father and me, nothing but space between Draco and I.</p><p>
  <em>No I won't be afraid</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Oh, I won't be afraid</em>
</p><p>"This is a nice song," Draco murmurs, looking a little pink in the face. "I mean, for a Muggle song."</p><p>
  <em>Just as long as you stand, stand by me</em>
</p><p>I push off from the wardrobe, walking over to where both he and the music sit equally making my pulse jump to heights it shouldn't reach. His gaze follows me, clearly confused, possibly concerned.</p><p>
  <em>So darling, darling</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Stand by me, oh stand by me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Oh stand, stand by me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Stand by me</em>
</p><p>"Did you hear what I said?" he asks softly, and internally I try to respond that yes, I did.</p><p>But my mind and my body seem disconnected. I reach out to the gramophone almost unconsciously, wondering what it felt like for my mother to be whisked on her feet by the love of her life.</p><p>
  <em>If the sky that we look upon</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Should tumble and fall</em>
</p><p>"Because I heard what you said earlier when I'd walked off, and... I can't imagine doing the task with anyone else either."</p><p>
  <em>Or the mountain should crumble to the sea</em>
</p><p>My eyes sting, threaten to pool up with tears. I only barely blink them back, chiding myself silently.</p><p>
  <em>I won't cry, I won't cry</em>
  <br/>
  <em>No, I won't shed a tear</em>
</p><p>I feel his hand gently graze mine, and I jolt. His touch burns me with the intensity of all the stars in the sky.</p><p>
  <em>Just as long as you stand, stand by me</em>
</p><p>And suddenly with all the images of my parents dancing in love, moments away from their destruction, his voice echoes in my head. Those meaningless, meaningful words, that if he was a constellation then I must be the entire night sky.</p><p>I'd said to him that night that maybe he wasn't just a constellation. I didn't know what it meant.</p><p>
  <em>And darling, darling</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Stand, by me</em>
</p><p>I think I do now. It becomes so blatantly clear, a deadweight sitting on my chest trying to crush its way to my heart.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, stand by me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Oh, stand now</em>
</p><p>Its meaning is the reason why earlier the word "friend" didn't sound right on my tongue. Because it wasn't right. It was so far from the word I needed.</p><p>
  <em>Stand by me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Stand by me</em>
</p><p>I don't dare look at him, even as his warm palm slides up from the back of my hand to my forearm. My fingers tremble, ears rush with blood, lungs struggle to inhale properly. His gaze is too much for me. It makes it difficult to breathe, difficult to see, hear, function properly. It makes me want to cry. Just drop to the floor and cry as hard as I can.</p><p>"Celeste..."</p><p>Oh, <em>Merlin</em>, and the way he says my name makes me just want to <em>sob</em>. I want him to whisper it again, but this time in my ear, this time with his arms around me enveloping me in him.</p><p>"I didn't mean to make you upset."</p><p>He <em>hasn't</em>. Or he has. He's done something, and I don't understand it. Or maybe I <em>do</em> understand it, I just don't want it. It terrifies me. It plagues me. It makes my throat tighten and ears burn.</p><p>I don't want to be his night sky. I don't want it. I don't want him be my constellation, or more than a constellation.</p><p>I hate this song. It ruins everything.</p><p><em>Friend</em>. A stupid, useless word. Of <em>course</em> it didn't fit. Defining him as a <em>friend</em> is as good as trying to fit a dozen lifetimes into a singular tick of the second hand on his watch—impossible. No, it simply can't be. He's is not designed to accompany me, he is designed to be my counterpart. Perhaps that which finally disintegrates me, or perhaps that which makes me whole.</p><p>I hate him. I hate him. I <em>hate </em>him, I decide as his hand finds my jaw and turns my head to look at him. I refuse to move my eyes off of the gramophone, clenching my jaw as the all too cheerful music plays. Each beat makes my heart closer to exploding.</p><p>No, I won't look at him. He'll be all strong-jawed, pretty-lipped, sharp-eyed. He's all deception, charm, beguilement. A part of me wonders if this was his intent all along from the moment I bumped into him on the Hogwarts Express. Or perhaps even earlier when his father introduced us in Knockturn Alley.</p><p>
  <em>Darling, darling</em>
</p><p>"Look at me," he coaxes, sounding concerned.</p><p><em>Idiot</em>. Did he really think I wouldn't realize what he was doing to me? It took time to sink in, but I see it now. He's weakening me. <em>Trying </em>to. That concern can't be true.</p><p>Or perhaps it is, in which case the situation is far more dire. In which case I'm hopeless, limp like a puppet whose strings have been forgotten.</p><p>
  <em>Stand by me, oh stand by me</em>
</p><p>I hate <em>him</em>, I hate the <em>stars</em>, I hate myself.</p><p>
  <em>Stand by me</em>
</p><p>"You're scaring me, love."</p><p><em>Love</em>. I want to scream at that word. It ruins everything, doesn't it?</p><p>The blind woman loved her husband, so she used the gorgon to see him even when he hurt her. The gorgon loved the woman, so she killed her husband and cursed her love when she felt spited. My mother loved my father, so she turned him away to save him. She hurt him, hurt me, hurt <em>herself</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Whenever you're in trouble won't you stand by me</em>
</p><p>And if my father told that story right, then it's <em>love </em>that could save me. I nearly sneer at the thought. For millennia, countless women have been plagued by my very disease. But not a single one of them have evaded it, so if dozens of Zabini women couldn't <em>love—</em></p><p>Who says I'm even remotely capable of it?</p><p>
  <em>Oh stand by me</em>
</p><p>He says he's just a constellation, but I'm the entire night sky. I say he's more than just a constellation. And I understand now.</p><p>
  <em>Oh won't you stand now, stand</em>
</p><p>He is every single star that has ever shined, that shines today, that will shine one day in the future. He is ever star that has been, that is, that will be. He's the source of all light in the universe, in <em>all</em> the universes, an amalgamation of fire hotter than a person can touch, brighter than a person should see. He burns with an impossible intensity that is so tantalizing, so tempting, that seduces you to reach out and touch. And then he grabs you by the hand and pulls you into him so that you go burning with him.</p><p>I may be the night, but he is all the stars. And what would the night be without her light?</p><p>
  <em>Stand by me...</em>
</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>"Celeste?"</p><p>"I have to go," I choke out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0095"><h2>95. BURY ME PROPERLY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>DRACO MALFOY</em>
  </strong>
  <br/>
  <strong>
    <em>May 3rd-8th, 1997</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <b>MAY 3rd, 1997</b>
</p><p>I look up at the ceiling of the Great Hall where dark storm clouds broom ominously. A crackle of lighting snakes across the ceiling, and torrents of rain come pouring down before disappearing into thin air about halfway down the room.</p><p>It's been like that on and off for the past week. Sometimes it will storm and thunder for days in a row, and then the weather will relent and give us light drizzles. The sky teases, pretends like it will calm and return to us blue skies and visible stars, but then the angry clouds come back to terrorize us with their shouts and lightning.</p><p>I prod at the fruits in my plate blindly, still looking up at the fake sky. I almost wish the charm displaying the weather was real, though of course producing magic that can create weather on such large scales is difficult. But I'd like to feel the rain pelting down, soaking my hair, weighing me down. Somehow, I think it would be relaxing. It would certainly be cool against my hot, burning, aching skin.</p><p>I look down carefully. Across from me sit Pansy and Verona. Pansy gives me a slight smile when we make eye contact, and then she goes back to looking at the new tarot cards Verona got for her birthday last week from her parents.</p><p>My eyes then slide further down the table to where Celeste sits with Carlier.</p><p>He's got his arm slung around her shoulders while he talks casually with Nott. His hand occasionally gives her arm a tight squeeze, while she busies herself with picking at her breakfast. Her expression is vacant, giving away nothing while she stares down at her food without lifting a bite of it to her mouth.</p><p>Carlier then says something that makes her lips spread into a brilliant grin, and it takes me a second to catch my breath. She turns her head up to him to say something that makes him laugh in response, and then she's giving his hair a ruffle before pulling him down to kiss her.</p><p>I look away instantly, my stomach twisting with half a mind to heave up what breakfast I've had so far. It's at this moment that I feel a hand lightly pat my back, and I glance to the side to see Blaise slipping into his seat. He gets himself comfortable before turning his head to offer me a slight smile.</p><p>He looks sympathetic. I want to hit him.</p><p>But I don't, because I'm grateful enough that my best mate silently forgave me only a week after blowing up on me. I still think he's full of shit, that he didn't have a damn reason to get pissed at me in the first place, but at least he didn't make me grovel.</p><p>I also think it might have something to do with Celeste having a new boyfriend that quite pointedly isn't me.</p><p>I jab my fork into a cube of melon. <em>Boyfriend</em>. What a trivial matter, especially in the face of our impending task. I'd scorn her for wasting her time and energy on such things if we both didn't seem to have a tacit agreement to avoid each other unless necessary.</p><p>I glance again at Blaise to see him leaning into Cassius while the latter whispers something into the former's ear. The grin that splits his face makes me shake my head and look away again.</p><p>When she laughs, I can hear the chime all the way where I sit. It's out of place in the dreary, dismal grey of the Great Hall, louder than even the blood rushing through my ears. I don't like hearing it and not knowing what's caused it. My jaw clenches, and I slide the cubed melon off the tongs of my fork before jabbing them into a halved grape instead.</p><p>Her thoughts had been running a million miles a second that night, and it had been beautiful. I'd wanted to lay down, close my eyes, and spend the rest of eternity stroking my fingers through the intricate twists and turns of her mind. I wanted to become acquainted with her thoughts and memories, feel her emotions so strongly that deciphering where hers began and mine ended would be a futile task.</p><p>I've been in many minds since Bellatrix taught me the art of Legilimency. Some have been those of my weaker-willed professors, some have been my own classmates. Sometimes I'll find myself in the minds of my friends, of my enemies. And they all bore me. I thought I would never spend a second bored, not when I could indulge myself in the minds of others, but none of them suited me like hers.</p><p>Even when I'm not in her mind, it stuns me. It's brilliant, simply put, even when she's flustered and her mouth, despite running so fast, is too slow to spit out all her exceptional thoughts properly.</p><p>It was like standing in a tornado, the wind whipping by so quickly that it was remarkable it didn't whisk me away with it. And in the wind were all her millions of thoughts and memories and emotions. I reached my hand out to touch them, to see them, but they came and went so quickly that I could only pick up on so much.</p><p>Carlier nudges her and says something that makes her smile gently. And then she speaks, and from the glint in her eyes and the way her eyebrows rise so complacently, I just <em>know</em> she's said something snarky.</p><p>He grins at this, and then when I see her raise her fork for him to take a bite of fruit off of, I've had enough.</p><p>Quietly, I grab my bag from under my seat and sling it over my shoulder before getting up to stalk out of the Great Hall. I feel a pair of eyes follow me out, but I don't bother checking to see who they belong to.</p><p>—</p><p>I step out of Borgin and Burkes carefully, looking down solemnly at the small black bird in my hands. I don't dare walk faster than the pace of a leisurely stroll, afraid to disturb the winged creature. It's limp, but alive.</p><p>The bird was more than lively when I left Celeste in the Room of Requirements, and in the seconds it took to go from the cabinet there to the cabinet here, it ended up like this.</p><p>Slack, only shallowly breathing. Occasionally it's wings give a twitch or beaks part out to release a somber croon. It lasted longer than the first bird, at least.</p><p>I come to a stop in the alley in which I first Apparated here, cupping the bird closer to my face. It's still breathing, still living, but I have no way of knowing whether its heart will start beating soon or slowly regain its vigor.</p><p>Holding the little bird closer to my chest, I tilt my head up to the dismal grey sky from which a light smatter of rain falls. Right as one of its wings brushes against my thumb, I Apparate to Hogsmeade with a crack.</p><p>I'm a little disoriented as I reappear in an alley in the little town. My heart pounds dauntingly. I spare the bird a quick glance, afraid to truly exam it and find out that it didn't survive the jump. Instead, I tuck it into the loose front pocket of my satchel, keeping it unlatched to let air in, and I walk out onto the lonely street.</p><p>It's busier down the way, but these days, less and less students have been coming to Hogsmeade. I suppose it's lost its charm now that the windows are fully plastered with warnings and wanted posters. Half the shops have shut down too.</p><p>I don't waste any time hurrying down the cobblestone street, avoiding eye contact with anyone lest they try to engage in conversation. Reaching the bend, I glance once over my shoulder before starting up the hill until I reach the carriages that draw themselves—or, rather, by Thestrals if that oaf Hagrid wasn't lying.</p><p>A brown-haired girl that I recognize as a Ravenclaw in my year stands nearby holding out a thick slab of raw meat. I watch as the invisible creature next to her devours it, and only when she turns her head and makes eye contact with me do I slip into one of the carriages and slow it to take me back up to the castle.</p><p>Drawing the curtains on both sides, I reach into the satchel to pull the little black bird out once more. To my relief, I can feel the minuscule muscle of its heart thumping slowly against my thumb. Its wings hardly twitch, and its eyes remain closed, but it's breathing.</p><p>In the castle, I take my time walking to the Room of Requirements. In there I know waits Celeste, but in the last two weeks, being stuck in a room—especially the room she walked out on me in—with her has been a nightmare.</p><p>Not the kind with claws and fangs and blood everywhere. The kind of nightmare where you're simply sitting in a dark room alone, knowing something is lurking but never seeing it.</p><p>It's as I'm finally approaching the corridor, figuring I can't put it off any longer, that Professor Snape appears from around the corner with a swish of his cloak. I stop in my step, too tired to glare, sneer, scowl. The look on his dead black eyes tell me he's striding with such purpose in pursuit of <em>me</em>, and I don't have the energy to evade him.</p><p>"Mr. Malfoy," he intones nasally, black hair grazing his chin, "a word?"</p><p>He comes to a stop right in front of me, his hands clasped behind his back and his beady eyes peering at me from over his hooked nose. I don't say anything, tilting my chin up while I wait for him to speak first.</p><p>When he doesn't, I give in.</p><p>"If this is about the task, I don't want to hear it."</p><p>"It <em>is</em> about the task, and that is why I highly suggest you put your pride aside and listen."</p><p>"I'm happy having my pride where it is, thanks," I say curtly, not blinking as I stare up at his worn face. "Don't waste your time, Professor."</p><p>"I reach out for <em>your</em> sake."</p><p>"Worry about your own." I pause and add as an afterthought, "<em>Sir</em>."</p><p>"You're acting like a <em>fool</em>, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape sneers, watching as I brush past him towards where the door to the Room of Requirements should appear at my mental command. "You'll get yourself <em>killed</em>."</p><p>"Make sure they bury me properly."</p><p>The door materializes not two seconds later, and right as I hear him call out my first name, I swing it open and slam it shut behind me.</p><p>I nearly drop my satchel to the floor as I collapse against the wood of the door with a sigh. My temples throb in agony, and the Dark Mark on my forearm flares up in complaint. My knees feel like they'll give out any second. I want nothing more than to go down to my room and collapse onto my sheets. I wouldn't even mind if I never woke up again.</p><p>I open my eyes when I feel a strange sensation on me. Giving the Room of Requirements a quick scan, I soon find the pair of dark eyes that peer at me curiously. They dart away, and there stands Celeste looking at my shoes just a few feet away from me.</p><p>"It worked," I say simply, pushing off the door to make my way to the Vanishing Cabinet.</p><p>"It did?" Her voice is quiet, foreign.</p><p>"Somewhat." I crumple onto the sofa, careful with the satchel as I reach in and pull out the somehow still alive bird. It lays in my hand, wings occasionally twitching. "Better than last time, but not fixed fully."</p><p>Celeste creeps towards me slowly, stopping at the cabinet. "Is it dead?" she asks lowly. I still remember the way her eyes were red the day she'd returned and told me the little white bird was still when she'd opened the sister cabinet.</p><p>"No, but as good as," I respond shortly.</p><p>"Do you think it stands a chance?"</p><p>I look up only to where her hand presses against the side of her thigh. "I'm not sure. Maybe it will get better, or maybe it's just a slow death."</p><p>She steps a little bit closer, and I can't help but to meet her gaze. It's dark and intense, yet it's restrained. Her expression is unreadable. I'd use my Legilimency to see what she's thinking, but I've Apparated twice today on a nearly empty stomach. Not to mention the last time I used it on her... It let me down, in a way.</p><p>"What do you <em>really</em> think, Draco?"</p><p>I bite back a wry smile, ducking my head down to the bird. My name rolls off her tongue too easily, and I can't decide what I want to do. I can't decide if I want to plunge my tongue into her mouth to take my name back, or if I want to leap up and shout that I don't want her to speak it ever again.</p><p>"I think it's suffering either way."</p><p>We're both quiet for a few moments. Then Celeste slowly closes the space between us until she's reaching down to carefully take the bird from me. Her fingers brush against mine briefly, cold and making me jolt, but she doesn't linger.</p><p>And I don't follow her as she walks off somewhere. Her footsteps cease, as does the creaking of the wood under the ratty carpet.</p><p>"<em>Avada Kedavra</em>," I hear her whisper followed by a quick Vanishing Spell.</p><p>When she walks back, face all solemn, I don't know how to tell her there's a little black feather clinging to her sweater. I choose not to, instead watching it, waiting for it to fall back to the ground.</p><p>It doesn't.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>MAY 5th, 1997</b>
</p><p>Where I was numb before, I'm angry now, both in body and mind.</p><p>It's like when the water first burns. First it's searingly hot, making it tempting to jerk away. After a little time, however, all feeling goes numb. I'll turn the water off, and as red as my skin looks, as white as it gets at the slightest press, it feels like nothing.</p><p>Then not even an hour later the feeling returns more than I ever asked for. It comes in a barrage, unexpected, uninvited, unrelenting. The burn aches more than ever, and it lasts longer than any kind too. It takes forever to heal, and even when it does, its reminder sits there as a scar.</p><p>I can't remember the last time I had a smoke.</p><p>Which is why when Blaise called me to his room, I gladly accepted the invitation. I've hardly talked to him or Pansy in the last few weeks, even when he's forgiven me. I didn't think I'd be able to spare them many words tonight either, but at least I could have a smoke.</p><p>I forgot who he shares a dorm with.</p><p>So now I sit on the floor leaning against is bed, on top of which he and Cassius are tangled lazily, passing one of the joints back and forth between each other. Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle are all here too.</p><p>And Carlier, of course, sitting on his own bed lounging against the pillows with his legs spread casually for Celeste to sit between. She leans back against his chest, holding onto his arm that drapes over her. Occasionally he'll lean down and whisper something in her ear that makes her smirk, and sometimes she'll tilt her head all the way back to whisper in response.</p><p>So, I was right. She got her pet Papillon back.</p><p>Across from me Pansy and Verona sit against Nott's bed. Pansy says something to me while leaning forward with a joint in her hand. I don't hear what she says, my blood roaring in my ears, but I absently reach for the joint and pluck it from my fingers.</p><p>Celeste throws her head back with a laugh as I bring the rolled paper up to my mouth, slotting it between both lips. Carlier looks at her with a disgustingly bright gleam in his eyes, his cheeks turning rosy while he watches her. I exhale harshly through my nose before inhaling through the filter.</p><p>The smoke burns my throat and my lungs as it goes down, but I inhale as long as I can until there's no more space. I vaguely sense someone plucking the joint right out of my mouth, but I don't pay attention, holding my breath for a few seconds.</p><p>She <em>likes</em> me.</p><p>If that word even describes it. I think that was the word. It was difficult understanding anything in that mind of hers.</p><p>I exhale slowly, letting the smoke sting my throat on the way out. It comes out in white, slightly pink-tinted smog, slightly Occluding my view of the new couple. That night she was curled up next to me holding my hand, thinking things about my eyes and lips and the stars. She told me she didn't want to do the task with anyone else. The very next morning she was on his lap snogging him at breakfast.</p><p>I pick up the water from beside me, taking a short sip to ease my throat so I don't couch.</p><p>I've spent every night since retracing my steps, echoing every word I said back in my mind. Picking hers apart, trying to find the meaning between them. Trying to find where I messed up.</p><p>Pandora walks in at some point, taking a seat on Verona's other side. I pull my eyes away from Celeste and Carlier with great effort, and only because he's sucking bruises down her neck in this room in front of a dozen others. When I look ahead, Pandora's about to place the joint between her lips. Her green eyes catch on mine, though, and she freezes.</p><p>I gesture for her to come towards me. The blonde hesitates softly, and then she's shifting to sit on the floor next to me.</p><p>Carefully, I pry the joint out of her grasp. She watches with glittering eyes as I take a deep breath in. As I'm holding it in my lungs, I pull her towards me by her chin, tilting my head while she knowingly parts her lips.</p><p>Her lips are soft on mine, but they aren't right. They taste like sugar quills where they should taste like bitter berries, and they move tentatively where they should be nipping at me by now. Her hand holds my jaw while I pass the smoke to her.</p><p>I pull away when there's none left to see her eyes closed, and then I look away again. Pandora slumps down against the bed like me, her arm pushed against mine. I hear her exhale, let out a few soft coughs, and then her head drops to my shoulder.</p><p>Celeste kisses him. She twists around and tilts her head, fists at his hair and palms at his chest. He plunges her tongue into his mouth like she's hungry and only he can satiate her. Meanwhile, my stomach twists in disgust and hands clench into trembling fists.</p><p>I turn to Pandora, tangling my hand in her long locks and dragging her head off my shoulder and closer to my face. She gasps, and the look on her face reeks of hesitancy, of insecurity. I can smell it without even taking a glimpse in her head.</p><p>"I want you," I purr lowly, bringing her mouth closer to mine.</p><p>Her green eyes watch me with fascination.</p><p>"I <em>need</em> you."</p><p>She still tastes like sugar quills.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <b>MAY 8th, 1997</b>
</p><p>I've had nightmares for the last few nights, and they've all been nearly the same. Dead birds, harsh words, and a Dark Lord that will absolutely tear me and my family apart if I ever disappoint.</p><p>It starts with a rainfall of feathers, and some how they materialize into her. She doesn't stay long, though, not when she gets ripped through to make way for the Dark Lord. For some reason, I can never remember his words when I wake up. But they bite. They're harsh. They scorn me for my failure, and then his wand raises to kill my family and then kill me. No green bolts of lightning, no Killing Curses. Only slow, excruciating death.</p><p>I walk alone to dinner. The rest of Slytherin left fifteen minutes ago, but I'd fallen asleep in bed and woken up a little late.</p><p>I don't have much of an appetite, anyway. It's difficult to work one up when the end of the school year is fast approaching, the impending fact that it's either I take a man's life or have mine and my family's be taken. There isn't a choice in the matter—or if there is, there isn't a good one. There's only one real option.</p><p>But never mind having the stomach to do it, there's also <em>actually</em> being able to do it. Fixing the cabinet in time, getting the time and coordination right. I still have the Felix Felices, of course. I won it in Potions, and though it's only enough for three hours, it might be what does the trick. I'm not sure how much luck can do, though.</p><p>Just the thought of any of it makes my heart race in my chest, make my gut twist.</p><p>And what really sells the urge to heave is the sight of Carlier and Celeste in an alcove devouring each other's mouths as if there aren't perfectly respectable meals waiting for them in the Great Hall.</p><p>I watch for a few seconds in stunned silence, trying to decide whether I'm still asleep and my mind is projecting a new nightmare run all its masochistic cruelty, but then Carlier makes such a disgusting, animalistic noise that I recoil and instantly hurry the opposite way down the hallway trying to figure out why my chest is so hot, throat so tight, eyes stinging.</p><p>My legs move on their own, rush me into a bathroom where I throw myself into a stall just in time for my breakfast and lunch to come up out my mouth. My hand grips the top of the stall, but I feel faint, about ready to collapse and hit my head.</p><p>I only barely manage to fall to my knees, elbows resting on the seat of lavatory uncaring how unsanitary it may be. I groan lowly, feeling another rush in my head right before I'm throwing up again. My mouth tastes like bitter bile mixed with salt, and that's what it takes for me to realize I've started crying.</p><p>I curse loudly, staying propped up above the seat for a few minutes longer before coming shakily to my feet. I only barely manage to flush my lunch down before bracing myself against the walls to heave out the last of the contents, mostly water and bile.</p><p>"Oh, what's <em>wrong?</em>" a sickly voice coos, and I shudder as something cold passes through me to come to my front and face me.</p><p>I lift my eyes heavily to see Moaning Myrtle floating above the lavatory with an exaggerated pout on her translucent face.</p><p>I turn away, resting my forehead against the side wall and curling my arms over my head. I groan again, a pounding headache wracking my mind and tearing it into pieces. Angry, numb—I'm both, aching to every corner of my body but unable to feel a thing. I don't feel any of the gears that drip down my face. I only become aware of them when they slip past my lips, the taste threatening to make me gag again.</p><p>Myrtle passes through me once more, and I shudder out a groan. "Don't... Don't <em>cry</em>..."</p><p>I snarl out a response that's unintelligible to my own ears, pushing past the broken door to the stall. Myrtle yelps as if I could bulldoze her, and my nails dig into my palms at the screeching noise. I all but fall against the sink, gripping the edges of it tightly while waiting for my head to clear.</p><p>"Tell me what's wrong..." she croons, sounding weepy as she sweeps past me.</p><p>I inhale shakily, lungs spasming and throat choking up, and I scramble to turn the tap on. I cup water into my hand, leaning down to clean the taste of bile out of my mouth. Myrtle continues weeping and moaning and crying out to me. I struggle to turn it back off, vision blurry through my tears.</p><p>"Don't—"</p><p>"Shut <em>up</em>, Myrtle!" I growl, and she whimpers quietly. "Just... Just..."</p><p>My voice breaks off, and I curse under my breath while my head falls a little. I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, I see a few tears fall down into the grimy basin to swirl before disappearing into the drain. My mouth opens to say more, but instead a sob rips through my throat. It's distant and foreign to my ears, like it's coming from someone else, but the way my throat is so raw and chest so tight tells me it's all mine.</p><p>I gasp shakily, a tortured noise struggling against my convulsing throat, and I look up to the mirror with a gulp. Through the grime stuck to the reflective surface, I see a familiar pair of green eyes and a lightning bolt staring at me.</p><p>Mindlessly, I whirl around, pulling my wand out of my pocket. My lips part with profanity, but the hex I send at him is Nonverbal. It misses Potter by inches, shattering the flickering lamp on the wall.</p><p>He flicks his wand with a jinx, but I'm already blocking and deflecting it towards Myrtle who screams bloody murder and goes sweeping around the bathroom.</p><p>"No! No! Stop it!" she squeals, her voice echoing off the tiles while I raise my wand with my own jinx. "Stop! <em>STOP!</em>"</p><p>There's a loud bang as the spell leaves my wand and explodes the bin behind Potter. I grit my teeth in frustration, my hand shaking dramatically and making every spell I shoot miss pathetically. Potter shoots his own curse, and this time a cistern smashes. Water begins pouring in from everywhere.</p><p>Blood surging through my veins, arms starting to shake, I raise my wand with a snarl, and as Potter slips to the ground, I cry out, "<em>Cruci—</em>"</p><p>"<em>SECTUMSEMPRA!</em>"</p><p>I stagger backwards, wand dropping from my hand.</p><p>
  <em>Why did I do that?</em>
</p><p>I blink blankly, watching as Potter's slowly blurring face dawns with horror. It's only when I collapse down to the flooded floor that I feel it—that I feel the slashes all down my chest, my legs, my arms. I blink up at the ceiling, gasping softly while my fingers twitch, but my vision fills with red. My face—sword slashes on my face.</p><p>I scrabble at my chest, gasping for breath while the air fills with the thick scent of iron. I hear stuttered noises, a loud, squealing shout, but my eyes start to slip shut.</p><p>The door bursts open, and I fall into a dreamless sleep.</p>
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